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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter6

2018-01-23T17:56:44Z

Double Check: Duplicate sentence.

==Chapter 6: Planetary Fire==

=== Part 1 ===

In an instant, cracks seemed to run through space. Something like heated iron bit through them and forced itself within.

Screams of pain rose from Orba’s mouth. Zafar’s parasitic existence was already inside him, and now some other foreign substance was creeping in. It felt as though his skin was splitting and his muscles were being torn off, and unable to bear the agony, he screamed.

''Guaaaaah!''

Zafar also appeared to be experiencing the same excruciating pain, and the old man’s face, drawn from stars, was also being pulled about and distorted.

Orba and Zafar, the two whose spirits’ were occupying that space, looked over at the same time. From the other side of the cracks running through space, a wave of even deeper darkness was surging forward.

It too contained stars of various sizes. Some burned blue, others shone red, others still twinkled gold/with a golden hue.

At the same moment –

There was another person, in a separate place, who was also witnessing the expanding ocean that was about to utterly engulf Orba and Zafar’s consciousnesses.

Guhl Mephius.

On the lowest floor of the temple to the Dragon Gods’ faith in Solon, the Emperor, likewise confronting a sorcerer, fell to the ground and writhed around, froth bubbling at his lips. The sorcerer’s own body was right before him, but its consciousness had been released from it and was attempting to infringe on Guhl. The protective walls that should have been able to defend his soul were easily broken through, and the outside intruder was gradually crawling into him.

The pain was unimaginable. It was, so to speak, the same kind of fight that Orba was currently experiencing. Someone other than himself was forcibly pushing into his body and mind, stealing Guhl Mephius’ own self, and ‘transferring’ it to another being.

Guhl – the emperor who had reigned over all of Mephius for so long – writhed on the temple floor, wailing uncontrollably. He even felt that if he had known that he would experience pain so intense, he might have preferred to let a foreign enemy invade and be put through the fires of their aggression.

''Anyway, what attachment do you have left to this world?'' A voice whispered enticingly. Yet even so, Guhl twisted his body until his bones snapped, and clawed at the floor with his nails. As a human being whose instincts were surfacing, all he could do was resist.

Then, during that strange struggle, Guhl ‘saw’ without seeing. Or perhaps it was the past, the memories, or the historical knowledge of the one who was trying to encroach on him. As he watched, Guhl’s spirit was filled with a dark ocean inlaid with lights.

Within that darkness, something advanced, roaring thunderously.

It looked both like a huge pyramid, and like a large, ceremonial warship.

At long last, having crossed the sea of stars, what appeared before Orba, Zafar, and Guhl was a vivid blue sky. No sooner had it landed on the surface in a thick cloud of dust, that it turned into a city whose countless grey spires pierced the heavens.

''That'' however did not seem to be welcome on this earth. From what Orba could see, throngs of strange, repulsive creatures immediately started attacking the city.

Although the way they ran on the ground with two legs was entirely human-like, scales grew all over their hides, they had long tails, and, more than anything, they had the projecting snouts of reptiles. Their black eyes that looked like glass marbles goggled and rolled about as they moved; they held long, two-pronged spears, and descended on the city like an avalanche.

It was not only the creatures’ appearance, but also the fight itself which seemed mysterious in Orba’s eyes. When the creatures, which looked like some kind of cross between dragons and humans, brandished their spears, the pointed tips released flashes of blueish light. That light drilled holes in the ground and penetrated through rocks, yet it bounced off the walls of the city time and time again.

On the other hand, the warship, which had transformed into a city once it struck the ground, was carrying out a strange counterattack from within its structure. With no sound either of wheels or of cogs being turned, part of the wall spontaneously removed itself, and a cluster of gigantic needles appeared from inside of it. They then emitted red flames before soaring into the sky, drawing trail of smoke behind them.

The needles chased after the enemy as though they possessed a will of their own, and exterminated the creatures while sending soil whirling up like columns of water.

''That’s…

''For a second, Orba forgot even the pain that was tearing his body apart as he gazed at the strange spectacle. And while he was staring, night arrived without him realising it, then, in the space of a blink, the morning sunlight had swooped down.

The fighting repeated incessantly.

The city had already crumbled, unrecognizable compared to its original form. Its solid walls had turned into debris, scattered here and there, and many of its spires were broken. Above all else, no human figure, or even a hint of their presence, could be seen within.

Its aggressors were nowhere to be seen either, and only the desolate wind seem to blow there.

No –

''There’s… someone.''

Orba could see a tiny figure clambering over the walls that had turned to rubble, and heading towards the central part of the construction.

It looked like a young man.

That slender figure vanished inside the building through a fissure that ran through its central section.

Decades must have passed in the blink of an eye, for when the figure emerged once more from inside the fissure, the youth had turned into an old man with white hair.

The old man held up what he was holding. Curved in shape and gleaming white, it looked like the fang or claw of some giant beast.

“Magnificent,” he whispered, in a voice so clear that even Orba could hear it.

There were no other sounds. Thinking about it, not only were there no humans in this forest, there were no birds or beasts, or even any sign of any other living creature.

“This planet… the Dragon Gods and their civilisation have given me so many approaches that science could not. It’s hard to believe that I used to play with those codified formulas. Paths open one after another, and each and every time, a hundred… a thousand new doors appear before me. There is no doubt that what I seek lies beyond that endless line of doors. Yes, if I can unravel what the Dragon Gods were attempting to perform once they perceived the signs of their own degeneration, even the dream of immortality might be… Even the ideal world that everyone dreams of but that no one has ever been able to build. But it’s not enough. The time allotted me in my lifespan is absolutely not enough. No… ten, twenty lifespans would still be insufficient.”

''...''

“I need a new body. If I inject the data that I obtained from the ruins into this ‘claw’, I might be able to digitize my soul and inject, or transfer, it to a new body. So that I can verify the link between the Dragon Gods and the Ryuujin tribe. Even that would be miraculous, but it is not yet perfect immortality. To find what I seek, I still need to pry open so many doors. And for that, one day, I will definitely set foot in ‘Barbaroi, the land of savages<ref>The kanji stand for “the land of barbarians” (蛮人たちの地) and the furigana read “barbaroi”. As an added note, “[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbarian barbaroi]” is ancient Greek and was the name given to other cultures, who were usually seen as uncivilized by them. It was later adopted by the Romans (as was most of Greek culture) and is the root of the modern word "barbarian.</ref>’, where the living witnesses to the ancient civilisation still reside.”

The old man smiled faintly.

“That humans were led to this planet… yes, it was fate. Destiny. It was necessary for evolution. I will create a new history with my own hands. Even if it takes me hundreds, thousands of years. Humans will be freed from the shackles of flesh and attain the spiritual nature of gods, then a perfect society will surely emerge on this new planet.”

Uncertain of what it was he was seeing and hearing, Orba had simply been washed over by the flood of information, but now, for some reason, strong emotions suddenly welled up within him.

''I will create history… a world'' – the revulsion that he felt at the old man’s words, at the smile curling across his lips, made him want to reject them with all his might.

In the end, however, Orba’s powerless emotions were left adrift as the scene he was witnessing, along with the old man’s laughter, were soon carried away by the wind, and the entire land itself soon vanished.

Just before it did so, an old man’s scream overwhelmed his hearing.

No, not the same old man that he had been watching just a moment ago. The one who was screaming was Zafar. He had been the first to succumb to the almost unbearable pain of those indescribable scenes – of the information flowing directly into his mind.
“What… is this? What are you showing me? Damn you… who are you? Who are you!”

Repeating the questions that Orba had previously had for him, Zafar groaned in agony. As though in inverse proportion to his suffering, Orba could feel the agony slowly receding from his body. Instinctively, he understood that Zafar was being separated from him.

In this vast expanse of space, which might be the universe itself or mountains in the night, pillars of flame now erupted upwards from all sides.

The sky was the colour of dawn, the stars were scattered over it like drops of blood, and even the horizon burned red.

“Your Highness!” Pashir’s voice struck against his earlobe.

When Orba opened his eyes, he was met with a feverishly hot wind, dazzling light, and the feel of something soft. The area was surrounded by fire. The soft sensation came from Hou Ran’s body, which was covering his torso. He closed his eyes for a second and didn’t move. Judging by the startled faces nearby, it seemed that he had lost consciousness.

“You’re well.”

“Yeah,” Orba replied hoarsely.

He felt as though his body and consciousness were still not quite aligned with one another, and he was slightly dizzy.

“What… happened?”

“That is what I would like to know…” although confused, Pashir briefly explained what had happened after Orba lost consciousness.

“And Ran?”

No sooner had the mysterious girl kissed Orba, than she had fainted as though her strings had been snapped, and had fallen inert on top of him. Orba had apparently regained consciousness immediately afterwards.

He gently laid her on the ground. Although he could not could make any logical analysis of what had happened to him, he could easily guess that Hou Ran had saved him.

“Uwaaaah!”

A man’s shriek was heard, and in the same instant, the surrounding area was engulfed in screams.

Pashir’s expression went tense, and he stepped in front of Orba to shield him. His hand reached for the sword at his waist, but the once undefeated gladiator showed a tinge of fear on his face.

A soldier had been ripped apart lengthwise. The corpse tumbled to the ground, dark red blood streaming out, but the assailant was nowhere to be seen. Taking up defensive stances, the soldiers carefully scanned the surroundings.

“Thirteen.”

Whose whispered voice was that?

This time, it was a soldier standing right in front of Pashir who collapsed forward. Cries of pain were heard immediately after.

When Pashir looked down, both the of the soldier’s feet had been amputated at the ankles. Yet he himself had not realised this, and was attempting to stand up, falling forward again and again as he clawed at the ground.

Pashir and Orba both gasped.

They both saw it. An arm suddenly seemed to stretch out from the soldier’s shadow and scythe towards his chest. It tore through his armoured torso as though cutting through paper, and the soldier died amidst pools of blood.

The arm was sucked back into the ground and disappeared from sight.

“Fourteen.”

Beyond all doubt, it was Zafar’s voice.

The soldiers with seized with frenzy. Those who had witnessed the same scene as Orba and Pashir jabbed their spears deep into the ground. Even supposing there was someone lying hidden there, were those really the actions of sanity?

No… in that sense, Zafar was probably no longer sane either. Orba naturally had no way of knowing it, but the sorcerer had already cut down as many lives as the Mephius’ elder had given him permission to, and had greedily devoured the ether from them.

“Fifteen.”

Orba could feel the hair on his body stand on end with horror at the sound of that voice. He felt as though he could see that shadow which had been absorbed back into the ground and which was running through it. Moving just like a snake chasing prey, the shadow homed in on Hou Ran, who was still lying unconscious.

Using his sword as a staff, Orba hauled himself to his feet. But his body had yet to catch up with his consciousness, and he collapsed.

The shadow was already drawing up to the nape of Ran’s neck. The arm extended out.

Whereupon, there was a flash of steel – Pashir had struck. He too had noticed the shadow, just like Orba had, and had been waiting for the arm to appear. His blow was like that of a scythe harvesting crops, yet in the next instant, Pashir’s sturdy body staggered backwards. The tip of his sword had broken off. The shadow changed its course and now dashed straight towards him.

Pashir forced strength into his numbed leg muscles and jumped back. Yet this fight was unusual enough to make even a man like him misjudge distances. The arm appeared from the ground at an acute angle and cut through his shin guard, giving the impression that Pashir’s entire body was stretched out in the air.

By then, Orba had finally managed to stand up. He had, however, lost sight of the shadow. Because the soldiers holding torches were moving about in every direction, he could not visually chase after it.

“Bring me fire,” he yelled, but be they Mephian or from Dairan, the soldiers were too terrified of the unknown assassin to listen to him. If this had been, say, Safia, the capital of the Grand Duchy, the reaction would probably have been a little different, but even though this was also Ende, the people of Dairan unfortunately had virtually no opportunity to come in contact with sorcery.

Orba’s eyes suddenly stopped at a point on the other side of where the soldiers were running around chaotically.

There was a single Baian. Ran must have ridden it. Even though the area was strewn with blood and flesh, it was paying no attention to that and had its head lowered towards the ground. Only its eyes were squirming left and right.

Faster than intuition formed a thought in his mind, Orba started to run.

“Milbak!”

Being called to like this for the first time, the dragon raised its head with a jerk. Clearly, it recognised its ‘name’.

As Orba got closer to it, it now, conversely, lowered itself to the ground. He jumped onto the dragon’s back without a second’s hesitation.

Instantly, a fiery impulse coursed through him.

The Baian roared once, then kicked at the ground with its thick legs. In a few bounds, it reached Pashir’s side. Anyone who didn’t know better would believe that the dragon was about to eat him.

Orba unsheathed the gleaming sword at his waist.

“Move, Pashir!”

It was unclear to what extent Pashir understood what that order was about, but he rolled away from where the Baian landed.

As the dragon’s feet struck the ground, Orba put the sword into an underhand grip and thrust it into the earth’s surface. Once it had pierced through the solid-feeling crust, it found living flesh.

“Gaaah!”

It was almost exactly like spearing a harpoon through the water’s surface, and hauling a large fish into the boat. A living human appeared in a spray of earth and dark red blood.

Even as he was convulsing from where the sword had pierced through him, he gave a wave of his arm. His hand seemed to be enveloped in a flash of black lightning. Orba guessed instinctively that he intended to use it to break the sword’s tip, and quickly pulled back his blade.

“You asked me who I was,” Orba’s steel stood at the ready.

For the first time, he was seeing the old man who called himself Zafar in the flesh. Therefore, Orba had no more reason to fear the enemy. Not when he had steel in his hand and an opponent made of flesh and blood.

“If you want to know that badly, I’ll tell you. I’m…”

Zafar gave a low groan and sprang towards Orba. And as he was leaping, Orba swung his sword.

=== Part 2 ===

Was it coincidence or not?

At about the same time that Zafar was run through with steel, Emperor Guhl Mephius, clinging to a pillar, somehow managed to stand.

''It’s useless'' – a voice whispered.

But not the kind of voice that could be heard with ears. The words were sent directly to his brain, and there was no longer anything to differentiate them from his own thoughts.

''What attachment do you still have to this realm?''

''Hasn’t it already denied you entirely? This country and this very world reject you. If you were still steering the helm as we told you, you could have become an emperor whose name would go down in history. Such a pity.''

Guhl was drenched in sweat, every muscle in his body was contorting simply from trying to stand, but, breathing raggedly, he finally succeeded in placing his two feet firmly on the ground.

His hand was convulsing as he slipped it into his breast pocket. His fingers came in touch with a hard sensation.

''It’s useless'' – the voice repeated once more.

Maybe it had realised what the emperor’s intention was.

''But go ahead. Shooting my old body won’t change anything'' – it laughed scornfully.

His hand shaking, Emperor Guhl took out a gun.

It had belonged to Simon Rodloom. Just before his death, he had sent it to Guhl. The implication was that – ''I could also have shot you with this.''

There had been only one bullet within. Guhl had used it to fire through Simon’s phantom.

Just before the audience with the crown prince, the emperor had seemed to think of something, and had likewise gotten a single bullet from a soldier to load into the magazine.

Guhl had pointed the gun at the crown prince during the audience. He had even pulled the trigger. He had known that the one before him was an impostor – that he was not his real son. But even if he had not known that, even if his opponent had brought absolute proof of his identity as his son, the emperor would not have hesitated.

Yet no bullet was fired. The emperor lost. He had lost even at a test of luck that he himself had set up on a whim.

“It’s just as you say,” said Guhl, a large vein pounding at his temple. Simply speaking was causing his wrinkled countenance to tremble from the effort, sweat was falling from his beard, and it looked as though at any moment, his entire face might be torn off.

“I’ve been toppled. You’re right when you say that the country and the world have rejected me.”

Where had he erred?

What would have been right?

“There are no answers. If you take ten people, then you’ll have ten different ideals, and if you take a hundred rulers, you’ll have a hundred different paths to the future.”

He lifted the revolver unsteadily. In front of him was the small body of an old man. Just a vacant shell that had already lost its use as a ‘vessel’.

“But – Sorcerer. Not even a toppled ruler is passive. To become just a small part of the tapestry of history is fine. Turned to ash, my body will become soil, and the blood I shed will be inherited by future generations.”

Guhl Mephius had been determined to become a titan. As a titan, he would have no connection to the feelings of ordinary men.

In the end, however, he too had been no more than human. If there was one clear mistake that he had made, perhaps it was simply that he had not been able to go beyond being the ‘vessel’ of one lone human.

This was the judgement of future historians –

Rather than executing a single person who had opposed him, Guhl should have made an example by executing a hundred people. For example, even though he had ordered the execution of Rogue and Odyne’s families, both of whom had gone against him and joined the crown prince’s side, he used Simon Rodloom’s suicide as an excuse to halt it. Whereas if the emperor had seriously wanted to maintain both his own reign and peace within the country, he should not have stopped it.

Which meant that Guhl was too much of a fool to be a tyrant.

Regardless of future evaluations, at that moment, Guhl keenly felt that he was a single human whose existence was like that of a bubble which, from birth until its disappearance, was carried along in the great stream of time that flowed from beginning to end.

The gun muzzle was raised higher. It passed above the old man’s chest, above his head, and then changed its angle.

''Guhl!''

The voice that echoed inside him was more pleasant to Guhl’s ear than the finest musical performance given at the palace.

The muzzle was pointed firmly at the temple of Guhl Mephius’ own head.

Something red had started to mix with the sweat that was running along his face. Blood vessels had finally started to break within him.

And with it, it was now the old emperor who was smiling scornfully.

“I won’t abandon my fate to anyone. From when I was born to when I die, I will have been the emperor of Mephius himself. Playing with you was amusing. Left alone in the darkness of this world, I might have abandoned the throne long ago. In that sense, the Dragon God’s faith, and the way you lot schemed with its teachings, certainly had meaning. For me, that is.”

''Stop it, Guhl. Stop!''

With the elder’s voice inside him, and trickling blood plastered over his face, Guhl’s laughter reverberated. Then –

“To the one who will inherit Mephius, the one who will bear responsibility for it.. You who raised an invisible sword towards me, is the talent you possess truly that great? I will be watching carefully from the heavens.”

This time as well, there was no hesitation.

With a roar of delight, the bullet which had failed to kill Crown Prince Gil Mephius, pierced through from the emperor’s right temple to the left.

The ruler of Mephius lay in a pool of blood.

Emperor Guhl Mephius breathed his last not on the throne, not among fine silk hangings and gold-leaf screens, not within the protection of gallant spears, but on cold stone and in bleak darkness.

The next second, the elder staggered backwards as though startled, then blinked repeatedly. Having lost his target for invasion, he had returned to his previous vessel. Left alone in the shadows, the old man stared down impassively at the emperor’s remains.

“Impossible…”

He whispered, as emotion gradually returned. This time, it was his face that contorted until it seemed that all of its wrinkles would split open.

“Impossible!”

At that moment, mixed in with the screams that seemed torn from his throat, somebody else’s laughter wafted through the underground of the temple.

“Has it already been settled? I had been intending to play my hand, but for all that he had grown old, he was still an emperor. Let’s show him respect for having finished things with his own hands. Thanks to that, every last piece of your diagram of fate had been destroyed.”

“What!”

The voice sounded neither young nor old, and the elder turned to behold its owner.

Who had no physical substance.

It was a semi-transparent illusion created through sorcery. Although he was better placed than anyone to be able to comprehend what he saw, the elder was still evidently shaken by this sudden apparition.

“There are supposed to be double or triple-layer barriers. How could someone other than my own subordinates have sent their ‘shadow’ in….”

“Oh my, having only just regained that body, have your eyes and senses gone dull? To not even be able to see through me… Since you just said that the barrier is ineffective against those who are close to you, there is no reason why I shouldn’t be able to slip in. Isn’t that right? Since I’m none other than one who inherited your blood.”

“So it’s ''you'', is it…” the elder growled. His swarthy face darkened with hatred.

“You shouldn’t pull such a face. Not at our first ‘father and son’ reunion in several decades, or even in several centuries.”

“Shut up. If you’re calling yourself my son, then why are you getting in my way? I take it that you were the one pulling the strings behind that impostor of a crown prince.”

“I can’t claim that I was pulling his strings. I simply gave him an opportunity. In imitation of you, I wanted to try working out my own diagram of fate.”

The illusion laughed. Even from close up, it was hard to distinguish who this was, since the face changed round and round every time he spoke. It was as though he was switching from one mask to another.

“With your half-completed diagram of fate right before you, you weren’t in any position to make any direct moves. Since you were afraid that if your intervention went badly, then the ‘diagram’ itself might collapse, right? Which is why you couldn’t interfere, even when a corner of it was cut off. In this case too. ''Alas'', Guhl is dead, and the crown prince has survived. Even though the opposite was originally supposed to have happened at a much earlier stage, right? I was constantly manipulating pieces and stars in the background to create an opportunity for you to get impatient and personally take action.”

“Why?” the elder asked in a half-gasp. “Why are you standing in my way? Is it because of ''that'' blood flowing through you?”

“Father, it’s not like I don’t understand your ambition. After all, the ultimate goal of sorcery is to gain control of every phenomenon that occurs in this world, to take command of the fates of humans, and to take charge of this world. In your case, you held those ideals and goals before sorcery, when you devoted yourself entirely to the study of ‘science’. And then, when you stepped down onto this planet, you became entranced with sorcery, which displayed power that not even science could achieve; and with that power, you aimed to become greater even than the Dragon Gods. I get it. I get it, but…”

Among the faces that the illusion wore were those of Herman, the sorcerer who had served Fedom, as well as Hezel, who had once belonged to Ende’s Bureau of Sorcery and was supposed to be with the former first prince, Jeremie.

“That’s boring.”

“Boring?”

“I was born for your ambition. Despite that, or rather, because of that, I came to want to oppose it. When you created a sorceress from the data obtained, both from the dragon maiden you had taken from Barbaroi and from her son – me, in other words, when you created an artificial ‘barbarian’, I performed an experiment of my own.”

“…”

“O aloof king, first sorcerer of this world. O elder of Mephius, and Garda in the western lands. If you desire the ultimate sorcery, I will desire the same thing. If you wish to replace this world with your own, I will create a world that you do not want. If you declare that you will surpass the Dragon Gods, I will, without fail, carry out the Dragon God’s last wish, and inherit this planet.”

“Damn you...”

“Do not forget this. There, in that land, the Dragon Gods await the time of their revival. Most of the gods are dead, and have lost their intelligence through failed experiments; but in that place alone, they will certainly achieve results. What will happen to this world when they are reborn and raise their first cry? Humans have yet to achieve unification. And ether is dying out. Yet those who hold the key are neither you nor I… Right, I believe that it might be those insignificant humans who repeat their foolish wars and who still weave the same ‘history’ as during the Earth era. Against all expectations, it might be humans who hold it.”

At the same moment as those words ended, the illusion vanished abruptly.

It did not even leave an after image.

And the elder knew why.

The sound of loud footsteps drew closer.

“Your Majesty,” the soldier who had called out stared in shock for a moment at the scene that was spread out before him.

''There was no one else there.''

The only thing there was a corpse, lying in a pool of dark blood, and covered in more of its own gore. The soldier stared and drew in a sharp breath. The spear he had been holding clattered to the floor, the sound echoing ominously.

“Your Majesty… Your Imperial Majesty!”

The soldier rushed up to the corpse and was about to crouch beside it, but suddenly stopped, frozen in an unnatural posture. He had felt the presence of something behind him. Yet he was not able to turn around to check what it was.

A red line ran around his neck. Once it had finished drawing a perfect circle around it, the soldier’s head drooped down. From exactly where the line was, it fell from his neck and, with a thump, rolled across the floor, while his body remained standing. The next second, a spray of blood erupted.

“Can we not even stall for time?” so saying, the shadow hovering behind the soldier promptly vanished, and, the next moment, the elder of the Dragon Gods’ faith had moved elsewhere.

A room with a long crystal table. It was here that the elders and used to hold meetings every night. The elder was practically unconscious as he stretched out his fingers to touch the torches hanging against the wall.

A hazy flame leaped up.

For a moment, in the wavering shadow, the elder’s face looked like a skull. There was no trace of emotion within his sunken eye sockets. No regret, nor anger, nor sadness. He touched the top of the table with his bony fingers. If it had been before, then just as with the torches, as soon as his fingers had brushed against it, the sight of something like constellations would have floated up. However, that strange board on which each of those pale points of light recorded a person’s fate no longer projected anything.

“That… is to be expected,” the elder muttered in a voice as dry as bone. “I shaped that figure for Mephius. At its centre was the one who could exercise the greatest influence on the country – Guhl Mephius. Which means that if Guhl’s light went out, the lights of those he influenced directly would also vanish, and the light of the stars that those persons guided would also be snuffed out. Inevitably, no one’s fate is held at hand any longer. Such a long, a very long time, and those territories great and small were finally on the verge of being complete… Right, to borrow the emperor’s words, it’s similar to when a child's sandbox, after the castles and landscapes created by them from the mud and sand, have been trampled over by adults.”

The elder’s smile was terribly hollow. Lurking within was what might be exhaustion from a passage of time that would be unfathomable to others.

''Is it over?''
A voice that was not even a mutter escaped from him.

''After transferring bodies so many times, after weaving history… Is this where it ends? Is this where I will be defeated? I wished to escape from this absurd design, in which people govern and rule over other people. My wish, my dreams, my ideals to consign the hundreds of emperors, the thousands of kings, to relics of the past, to organise a new rule, to create a perfect ‘system of humanity’ – is this where they…''

Just then – from the corner of his eye, he saw a pale light burning.

The elder fiercely turned to look in that direction. But it was only the table. It was just a flash from the reflection of the torches’ flames on the crystal surface. The elder felt like scoffing at himself.

Nonetheless, at that time, his eyes had reflected a pale light. He was not mistaken. The elder, who had once guided Mephius from the shadows, forgot all about that power and dignity, and practically crawled on his belly to stare at that light.

It was small.

A faint, fleeting light, that looked as though it would disappear with a single puff of breath. Even so, it seemed to be clinging to this world, desperately calling attention to its existence.

“That’s…”

While the elder’s murky, yellowish-looking eyes continued to reflect that light, blue will-o-the-wisps seemed to light up within them.

=== Part 3 ===

As per Ineli’s words, a messenger left at noon for the temple.

There was no reply. Nor did the messenger return.

However, that night –

Because of the black clouds that had been enclosing the heavens since evening, the night was so dark that nothing could be seen, even at a short distance; it was only around the temple, where there were fires kindled by the soldiers, that it was light as day.

The messenger returned. Perhaps he had been kept waiting for a long time, or perhaps he had gone through a fierce and heated argument, but he was in a state of utter exhaustion when he arrived, tottering unsteadily, before the imperial princess.

“Empress Melissa appears to be willing to meet with Princess Vileena, who has come from Garbera. She stated that as things have reached this point, she will explain why she has justice on her side, and that she wishes to receive the support of our good neighbour, Garbera,” he quietly reported.

The soldiers were, of course, unaware of this exchange. However, what had been weighing on them the most was not knowing when this would all be over, and the siege war had been threatening to wear down their spirits; so at the hint of some kind of development, the orderly line of fires wavered and shook for a second, as though from a strong wind.

The empress had appointed the time before dawn for the meeting. An action that urged them to speed after having kept them waiting for so long. It was obviously a way of taking control of the pace of things.

Hearing the report, Ineli bit her lips, but she had no choice but to comply.

An hour or so passed by.

Ineli Mephius appeared once more on the open square before the temple. She was wearing a white cloak and informal armour, which she had made for ceremonial use. Perhaps because they had heard rumours, although it was late at night, people were gathering, forming a shadowy circle beyond the soldiers.

Amidst the faint commotion coming from them that was carried on the wind, the princess walked up to the doctors and ladies’ maids who had been summoned beforehand. Among the maids was the Garberan princess, her face concealed beneath a veil.

“Well then, Elder Sister…” Ineli surreptitiously called out to the royal princess. “I beg you to be careful. Your first concern needs to be for your own safety.”

“I’m much obliged to you, Your Imperial Highness. Not only for listening to my selfish request, but also for your kind words.”

Odyne, who was going also, was the target of their rather scripted conversation. He too had some grasp of the situation; or at the very least, of what they were aiming for.

''Still…'' Odyne, having been left in charge of Solon, had very little expectation that this would get the situation moving. At best, it might buy some time before Empress Melissa, who currently had limited means of action, did something drastic.

As the princesses had said, it was hard to imagine that the empress, who claimed righteousness, would harm royalty from an allied country. Nevertheless, as unlikely as the risk was, Odyne was aware that it existed.

Walt had also come running as soon as he heard about it. To be honest, he and Odyne had so far had little interaction, but facing the same situation like this made him hopeful in various ways.

“Keep a close watch on her Imperial Highness,” Odyne whispered in his ear. “Given the plans made, I don’t think that she’ll act rashly, but she’s still a very young lady. If, by any chance…”

“I’ll stop her whatever it takes,” was Walt’s immediate reply.

He had temporarily been placed in charged of a hundred of the general’s men.

A loud commotion arose from the townspeople. With Odyne in the lead, the doctors and the ladies’ maids, who were holding food aloft, headed towards the inside of the temple.

The stars that were twinkling overhead shone down with their faint light.

In a hall on the ground floor of the temple, Empress Melissa, Zaas Sidious, the former leader of the Spear of Flames Division, Oubary Bilan, similarly a former general, and Imperial Princess Flora Mephius were all aligned.

The number of soldiers that Zaas and Oubary led did not reach two hundred. There had been twice as many when they had first barricaded themselves in the temple, but after only a few days of siege, many had judged that the tides of war were unfavourable, and had escaped. It was clear that their numbers would only increase as the days went by.

They had mostly spent their time here in silence.

Zaas’ excitable young blood seemed to find it intolerable, and time and again he would summon the men to spar with him at sword fighting.

Oubary had already consumed eighty percent of the alcohol they had brought in. Although irritation occasionally flashed through his liquor-dulled eyes, he did not openly say anything.

It was then that the messenger had come from outside. Had he come to advise them to surrender, Zaas would probably have cut him up and tossed out in pieces, but he instead brought an unexpected offer.

“The Garberan princess want to meet with me?”

For Melissa, this was someone that she had tried to kill more than once. That was because, due to an elder’s prediction, she had been convinced that this Garberan princess would destroy her future, as well as that of the child in her womb. By this time, though, had the empress realised? That perhaps the ‘young girl who casts a dark shadow over the imperial throne promised to this future child’ from the prediction might not have been Vileena Owell, but Melissa’s own daughter instead. Whatever the case, the hatred and revulsion that had once dwelt in her heart would probably not disappear so easily, and a contemptuous smile appeared on the empress’ haggard face.

“It might be some kind of trap,” said Zaas, gripping the pommel of his sword.

Truth be told, he was gripped with the desire to send the messenger’s head flying. Melissa, however, assessed the situation a little longer.

“Let’s meet her,” she declared, after deliberately keeping the messenger waiting for a long time, “she will be the best person to amuse us in our boredom. What kind of tales will she entertain us with about the impostor crown prince, the very same one who tore Mephius in two? I look forward to it.”

As the empress laughed, it was impossible to tell from her expression how much hope, if any, she found in the future.

A short while elapsed.

The fires flickered in the iron braziers placed in advance along the hall wall. Their red colour reflecting on their armour, an armed group entered the room.

Odyne was at their head. To the right and left of him were some of Zaas’ soldiers, holding guns.

First, the ladies’ maids handed over the food, looking frightened.

The astonished soldiers with their somewhat grubby faces looked towards Zaas and Oubary. Zaas scowled, but Oubary gave a generous wave of his hand.

“Share it among the soldiers.”

Speechless delight appearing on their faces, the men grabbed at it, dividing each portion.

“Odyne.” Melissa glared viciously at the general in the lead. “How dare you show up here so shamelessly, despite owing such a huge debt to His Majesty?”

“It is true that I pledged my loyalty to His Majesty,” Odyne sketched a small bow. “That being so, where is His Majesty right now?”

“His health is poor and he is resting. And you, the treacherous retainer, are the one who injured him. You, and also…”

Melissa sent a glare as fierce as flames to the one lady’s maid who had yet to remove her veil. And who was, of course, Princess Vileena Owell.

“And also, the Garberan princess over there. Can you not even tell the difference between your own fiancé and an impostor?”

“Empress, I do not know what you mean,” Vileena also bowed.

With gun muzzles gleaming on either side of her, her manner was almost infuriatingly calm. Melissa apparently could not stand it.

“If you persist until the end in endangering our realm by supporting a rebel who plots to capture it, then for all that you may be the princess of an allied country, we will not simply send you back. Are you prepared for that, Princess?”

Her normally beautiful, girlish face, reputed for how it made her look like a sister to her daughter Ineli, twisted like a poisonous snake.

Her eyes slightly lowered, the princess replied to her.

“I came from Garbera to marry the crown prince. Nothing more, nothing less. It is terrible to hear talk of plotting to capture the realm.”

“Who can say what Garbera’s true intentions are.”

“Garbera, my native country, hopes for long-lasting peace with Mephius. That is why I punished that fool, Salamand. I do not know who has been propagating the story that Crown Prince Gil has joined hands with Garbera to overturn the country, but it is perfect nonsense. Who will rule the country in the next era is something that His Majesty, Emperor Guhl Mephius, will decide himself, is it not?”

Opposite her, Melissa did not hide how she ground her teeth.

“How dare you speak that way? Coming back from the dead? Anyone can tell you how, on the strength of a claim that anyone can tell is false, that man seized Mephius’ capital by brute force, and with brute force turned his blade against His Majesty the Emperor and seized the throne.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v12 253.jpg|thumb]]
“He did not come back from the dead. His Imperial Highness the crown prince had to feign his own death because he was worried about the country’s future. Do you believe that he would willingly raise a sword against the people of Mephius? Do you believe that he felt nothing at the sight of corpses piling up on the battlefield, and each of them Mephian? That it was not a bitter decision? He was always, constantly, forcing himself to follow through with his purpose.

Vileena’s tone was impassioned. It was as though, within this hall, only Melissa and Vileena had hot blood running through them. The soldiers were lined up like bronze statues put on display for the viewing pleasure of visitors, while as for Flora, who could only tremble violently, or Zaas, Oubary and Odyne – the princess’ companion – all three of them armed with swords, they remained as still as though their feet had been sewn together, and they did not utter a word.

“Empress, let’s go together from this gloomy shrine and out to where the sun shines. What has happened until now has been no more than the result of an accumulation of small misunderstandings. So that fellow Mephians no longer need shed their blood, please, take my hand and let us go before the people. His Highness the crown prince will soon return to Solon, after which, father and son can talk leisurely together, so that their differences will soon be solved and…”

“Don’t come any closer!” Melissa barked as Vileena, perhaps without even realising it, had taken a step towards her. The soldiers from both sides were surprised and shakily raised their weapons just as the Garberan princess stopped.

“Father and son? Are you talking about that crown prince?” Melissa’s expression was the same as though a snake or some other creature without emotion was imitating humans and fixing a smile on their face. And then –

“''Disgusting'',” she almost spat out the word. Or rather, saliva literally spewed from her lips. “Garberan princess, you don’t know. That man is not Gil Mephius. He isn’t royalty, he isn’t even nobility. The day His Majesty confronted that man face-to-face, he ordered him to ‘show his back’. That man made use of lies and refused to do so to the end. Do you happen to understand the meaning, O wise princess?”
“…”
“That man is a ''slave''.”

Melissa’s voice was like a sudden thunderclap reverberating on a clear day.

“With a slave brand seared into his back, he is part of the vilest class in this world. Did you not know it, Princess Vileena? Or no, did you deliberately call him the crown prince to use that to Garbera’s advantage?”

“Empress.”

“Talk together with the likes of a slave? Act as father and son to protect the country? Oh, horrible. Just thinking about it makes me shudder in disgust…” whereupon, the empress’ plump lips curved into a smile. “What about it, Garberan princess?”

“What do you mean by ‘what about it’?” Vileena asked carefully.

“Will you call ''that'' ‘Crown Prince’? Do you intend to marry ''that'' and have it sit on Mephius’ throne? Then, that slave from who knows where, who has rummaged through who knows what piles of garbage, who has been whipped by his master who knows how many times – do you intend to invite that slave to share your bed? Will a daughter of Garbera’s proud royal family allow a man who is no more than livestock to touch her skin?”

Vileena’s fair skin suddenly flushed red. For a moment, a feeling that was neither embarrassment nor anger seemed to seize hold of the girl who was only in her mid-teens.

“Oh, that’s right,” Melissa gave a loud, gloating laugh, “that would be the best way of proving that man’s origins, since he claims to be the crown prince. If you want to drag me out of here, summon ''that'' immediately. Then have sex in front of me. If you do so, I will acknowledge him as a perfectly genuine crown prince, and we can leave the temple together.”

With Melissa’s high-pitched laughter trailed along, coiling around Vileena like wind as she turned her back on the empress. The top of her neck was flushed red, and she bit her lips, her head bowed.

The soldiers who were on the empress’ side laughed coarsely.

There was no reasoned argument to be made.

''Humph'' – Watching the exchange, Zaas Sidious sneered inwardly.

He who had faced Gil Mephius first-hand on the battlefield had his own reasons for asserting that the current crown prince was an impostor. No matter what flowery words were used or how finely the figure was dressed up, his deep-rooted warrior’s instinct would not be deceived. When he had heard that the Garberan princess would pay a visit here, he had seen it as nothing but a farce.

''If you really want to earn my acceptance'' – then rather than a little girl from a foreign country, the Impostor Crown Prince should have come in person and crossed swords with him.

“If you say that person is an impostor,” Vileena spoke in voice so soft it seemed to crawl across the ground. Driven into a corner, unable to accept her defeat, the girl presented a foolish figure as she fought vainly and with empty hands. Yet the next second –

“Then as you say, I will share a pillow with an impostor. I will call a slave the emperor of Mephius.”

At her pointed, unflinching words, Zaas and Melissa’s scornful smiles froze

“What?”

“I am not a god, so, from the very start, I have never had a way of verifying a person’s lineage. I cannot see through all parts of a person’s past. For example, if some unknown young man were to appear here and claim that ‘I am from such-and-such royal family from such-and-such country’, how could I tell just from looking at him whether what he said was true or false?”

Vileena slowly raised her head and as she did so, her shining hair parted to either side, clearly revealing her expression.

''Right.''

She was smiling.

Vileena Owell was smiling faintly.

“If my ‘eyes’ can recognise anything, then that is the time that we spent together. Seeing a person with your own eyes, hearing them with your own ears, spending time next to them – does that not lead to ‘looking’ at them. By definition, I never knew His Imperial Highness Gil Mephius before meeting him. Which means that the Prince Gil that I know is the one that I spent time with.”

Her hair fluttered again, and Vileena once more stood face-to-face with Melissa.

“Having no way to verifying lineage, and no eyes to see the past, I, who am but a mere human, can only judge on the basis of that time spent together. And on that basis, I recognise him as a truly proud ruler, and with that belief, I will welcome him as my husband.”

''Right, that’s right.''

For every thousand questions that rose to her mind, ten thousand convictions drowned them out. Rather than being aimed at Melissa, these were probably words that she was more than half saying to herself.

Vileena was prouder than anyone of being part of Garbera’s royal family. She was prouder than anything of having inherited the blood of her great ancestors, of her grandfather and of her father, or in other words, of housing within her the royal family’s history; and because of that, she was stricter on herself than anyone.

So it was impossible for her to say that ''lineage has no importance.''

At the same time however, she could not assert that ''therefore, that person himself has no importance.''

''After all…''

''I know him.''

Vileena’s smile deepened. Melissa, Zaas and the soldiers who were watching speechlessly had the impression that a hole had opened in the ceiling, through shone a single shaft of light. That was how brightly the princess’ eyes were shining. Yet it was not at anyone in this room that she was looking.

''Well now, truly childish.''

The young man had loudly heaped similar abuse on himself.

''He looks like he’s only interested in his own concerns.''

The young man would sit through councils of war in silence, his arms crossed. Yet once he was on the battlefield, he moved with such violent force that it seemed that all hesitation had been wiped away.

''A person who can see all around the wide battlefield, yet still be tripped up by an unseen pebble at his feet.''

''Strong enough to remain calm and not shy away even from cruel means, yet with a part to him that is unspeakably fragile and weak.''

The young man had fallen to his knees in the dusk. He had drowned himself in alcohol and been rebuked by his subordinates.

''Pompous and smug, slippery, not allowing anyone into his heart.''

''Just as though he was hiding his real face behind an iron mask.''

The young man –

Had searched.

Has thirsted.

Had screamed.

Had cried.

Say one could see through that iron wall, then there would be far fewer irritating and winding paths than expected, as he was not one to directly speak about himself.

And now she was wondering why it had taken her so long to notice.

The iron mask had been transparent from the very start.

After all, he himself had torn half of it off with his own hands.

“I wish to be by his side.”

“…”

“At his side, I wish to see the future that he will build for Mephius. No… I wish to help build it. I, Vileena Owell, third princess of the Kingdom of Garbera, have that wish towards him. What does it matter that he may be a slave?”

''If'', she silently called out in her mind, ''if you really are a slave, then you should be proud of it.''

''You are a light to the future for a princess. Not just for me, but rather for the entire country of Mephius, and for the whole world that country is part of.''

“Empress Melissa. Won’t you please, with His Majesty the Emperor, behold that future with your own eyes? If he makes a mistake because of his youth, can you not help correct it? For all the people living in Mephius.”

Vileena Owell stretched out her fair white hand.

<noinclude>
===References and Translation Notes===
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| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin_no_Monshou:Volume12_Chapter7|Chapter 7]]
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter4

2018-01-23T17:52:38Z

Double Check: Duplicate sentence.

==Chapter 4: The Royal Princess and the Imperial Princess==

=== Part 1 ===

Around the time when Imperial Crown Prince Gil of Mephius managed to enter Ende, the disturbance which had divided Solon in two showed signs of growing even more heated than before.

It had all started with a tea party sponsored by the imperial princess, Ineli.

An armed group had suddenly burst in on it and had forcibly attempted to carry her off. It was said that they had acted on Empress Melissa’s orders. Now that her daughter had become the face of the crown prince’s faction, she could not afford to leave her be. Having barely managed to avoid being taken, Ineli flew into a rage. She too prepared to use armed force to counter-attack Melissa, her own mother.

Guessing what her actions would be, Melissa had swiftly taken soldiers with her and had barricaded herself inside the Dragon Gods’ temple along with her daughter Flora and a portion of the nobles who were recognised as belonging to the emperor’s faction. The situation was further complicated by the fact that Emperor Guhl Mephius had accompanied Melissa’s entourage to the temple.

The official story was that “His Majesty’s health is not favourable so he is visiting the elders at the temple in order to receive prayers and divine protection,” however, while it would have been usual for him to travel to the shrine with a considerable retinue, not a single person had seen the emperor’s procession. It seemed likely that Melissa and those connected to her had probably used rough methods to bring the emperor out of the palace.

The news had gotten tangled, and there were some false reports that it was the crown prince’s faction which had first used armed force. They had conquered the palace and forced the emperor into submission. The empress had opposed them and, in place of the emperor who had collapsed due to illness, she had gathered the loyal retainers and was bravely resisting from within the temple.

While the emperor’s and the crown prince’s factions faced off against one another, the emperor himself had not been seen or heard from once since entering the temple, while Crown Prince Gil was currently taking reinforcements to Ende.

As a result, the vague anxiety that everybody had been feeling soon boiled over and erupted in the form of violence. Starting with Solon, uprisings and disturbances broke out one after another throughout Mephius. In both the emperor’s and the crown prince’s faction, there were many who felt that – ''this is my chance to make a name for myself'' – and led their soldiers to take control of forts and villages, as well as those who moved their troops to stop them, reasoning that – ''suppressing them will earn me recognition''.

The emperor’s rule had been despotic, and there were a great many who were dissatisfied, such as those who did not have the emperor’s favour or those who felt that they had been pushed into an unfair position. Moreover, there was no shortage of younger sons of aristocratic and military houses who would not inherit as heads of their family, but who had distinguished themselves during the ten-year war with Garbera, yet Mephius was not a land suited to being divided amongst scores of people. Like a torrent breaking over the river bank, one after another they rose to action.

With the government having fallen into chaos, the influence of local authorities naturally came to the forefront. Thefts and assaults proliferated in the towns, and the number of bandits attacking along the highways multiplied. After the uprising in Kilro, the slaves’ excitement had started to cool down, but now flared back up again in the form of escapes and insurrections.

Of course, the capital did not just silently watch over all of this. General Odyne Lorgo, whom Gil had, so to speak, left in charge of the capital, dispatched troops to every area to suppress the disturbances.

Since the merchants of the port city of Birac had a strong sense of self-governance, that town was not caught up in the unrest, and the domain lord, Fedom, could instead take the initiative of mobilising Rogue Saian’s troops to assist Odyne.

Thus, it was largely the crown prince’s faction which was able to display leadership and the ability to take action.

The situation showed how much the emperor’s influence had declined, but those who were close to him were not about to let go of their vested interests, and formed a secret alliance. According to the rumours that drifted into the capital, they had been assembling troops centred around the governors of fortresses ever since the crown prince had left Mephian territory. They stirred up fervour by claiming that “the schemes of the crown prince’s faction are preventing His Majesty and the empress from moving. We will storm the capital and rescue them.”

Odyne, Folker, and the others had, of course, taken all measures to surround the Dragon Gods’ temple. Their encircling net allowed no one to pass inside nor to escape outwards; but since Emperor Guhl Mephius himself was within, they could not make use of violent means. Yet as long as ‘His Gracious Majesty’ remained safe, the emperor’s faction was not going to reign in its actions.

Ineli Mephius irritably took stock of this situation, in which Solon continued to be locked in a strange stalemate while sparks flew all around it. The angle of her eyebrows grew sharper by the day, as did the number of times she found fault with her ladies’ maids, the soldiers, and everyone around her.

Before long, she started suggesting that they should force their way into the temple.

“We should send soldiers in immediately. Even the ‘enemy’ couldn’t possibly use His Majesty as a shield. Isn’t this simply underestimating our ability to push forward?”

So saying, she repeatedly urged Odyne to use military force, but:

“If we use strong measures at this point, it might provide those inside and outside of the city with a just cause to turn their weapons against us. We would do better to await our chance,” he chided her each time.

Those who were causing disturbances all around were no different in thought than Ineli. ''I need to seize this opportunity to make a name for myself'' – all of them were bound with that almost obsessive thought.

And so it was that, in the end, Ineli used a portion of those who were likewise looking to curry favour with the imperial princess and, late one night, mobilised soldiers on nothing but her own judgement.

“We don’t need to destroy the temple. Once we’ve taught them a lesson, we’ll soon see how fragile the ‘enemy’s’ solidarity is. Defectors will start appearing one after another, and this ridiculous disturbance will come to an end.”

With those words, the cannons were placed into position and the temple was bombarded.
As the roar of cannonfire resounded, regardless of it being from the emperor’s or the crown prince’s faction, it sounded like Mephius’ death throes.

Fortunately, the aim was off and a unit under Odyne’s banner realised what was happening and was able to stop the bombardment after the second shot, so the episode had no effect other than to galvanise the emperor’s faction. The next day, a squad fired a volley of cannonballs at the capital’s ramparts in retaliation before being broken up by Solon’s guards as the townspeople huddled together and watched the thick, white smoke rising up.

It was while Solon was being shaken by chaos that a visitor arrived. A Garberan royal princess who had travelled by ship from Birac.

Needless to say, it was Vileena Owell.

The first to greet the princess was Theresia, who had formerly been her head lady’s maid in Garbera.

Vileena had previously left Solon after making a declaration, unbefitting of a princess, that “I am going to take some soldiers to subjugate Salamand.”

Theresia now bowed with a deliberately calm expression and asked, “Did you have a pleasant trip?”

The princess nodded with a smile.

“It was very pleasant. I unexpectedly got to see the skies of my hometown once more.”

“That is indeed very fortunate. However, it is rare for you to overturn the plans you have decided on, Princess. Even I was surprised that you had gone to relax in Garbera,” Theresia said with sarcastic admiration.

The old lady’s maid was, of course, given the details. That Salamand’s capture had gone well but thereupon, the princess had been shot at by someone and her life had suddenly been placed in danger; also that she had travelled to Phozon, the capital of their home country, but had remained inside the air carrier without setting a single foot beyond it.

But let us have no tedious repetitions. Looking at her mistress, whose hair concealed the tightly wound bandages, Theresia had the startling impression that she was looking at a wounded warrior who bore their injuries with pride rather than pain.

At the same time –

''Oh?'' – Theresia frowned slightly. The princess’ eyes were red. She must surely have been seized by homesickness after returning for a while to Garbera, thought Theresia, when…

“Fuwaaaah.”

“Princess…”

Vileena gave such a huge yawn that Theresia had no choice but to sharply reprove her.

“Have you not slept?”

“No, not for about three days.” Vileena rubbed her eyes.

Since Gowen had, of course, sent advance notice that the princess would be visiting Solon, Theresia was not the only one who had gone out to meet her, there had also been messengers from Ineli and the other nobles currently in the capital. Vileena merely exchanged formal greetings with them, however, and left afterwards with no one but Theresia, saying that “I’m going to my chambers.”

The chambers in question were the ones that had been allocated her when the crown prince had still been in Solon. Her manner indicated that she considered that nothing had changed from before and that this was her living space.

To their side, slaves going about their work at the port were about to pass by. They were carrying heavy loads on their backs. A man who looked like the port supervisor hurled abuse at them for being “slow”.

Vileena Owell cast them a vague sideward glance.

“Say, Theresia…”

“Hearing you say ‘say’ makes me feel uneasy.”

“What do you mean, ‘uneasy’,” for a second, Vileena puffed her cheeks, but her expression immediately went back to being serious. “My greatest source of pride is having been born into Garbera’s royal family.”

“I know.”

“However, if, for example, the townspeople here were to say, right in front of me, that that was nothing compared to their own pride and joy in being the sons or daughters of their own parents, I would not laugh at them.”

“Indeed.”

“Then what about slaves?” Vileena turned to look over her shoulder once again at the men moving every which way around the port. “Do they also feel proud of their origins and of their current selves?”

“…”

Theresia was about to answer something but instead remained silent. She understood that Vileena was not making a careless comment, and neither was she looking for Theresia to answer her.

“Lineage is a strange thing if you think about it. If you follow an unbroken line of births, you arrive at the same place for everyone. So what is it that makes me proud of being part of the royal family? Is it because I can see for myself the nobility of my grandfather, my father, and my brothers? Is it because of the examples, the honour, and also the nobility of my ancestors recorded in history books?”

Vileena turned to face forwards. The sky was faintly blue. Perhaps it was because of the disturbances that were breaking out all over, but messenger airships and air carriers were incessantly taking off and landing at the port.

“I am a royal princess of Garbera,” she quietly stated that obvious fact and continued walking. “I inherited that blood and carry that history. Both past and future. Right, my words aren’t mine alone, my body doesn’t belong only to me. If I go too far in prioritising my own wishes and values, and betray my lineage, I will be smearing mud over both the spirits of the past and the future of the royal family. Because...”

“…”

''Because I am a royal princess of Garbera''.

Vileena’s steps did not falter. Quite the opposite: she sped up, leaving Theresia to look at her advancing back. That was no doubt to not let her see the liveliness that was shinning brightly in her red and bloodshot eyes, but she had, literally, been a step too slow.

''Because… my blood and soul have to match that same integrity''.

=== Part 2 ===

Princess Ineli Mephius’ patience had once again exceeded its limits.

The chaos was continuing in Mephius. Gil was still on the way to Dairan, Folker had gone to put down a slave revolt that had occurred in a manor domain south of Nedain, Yuriah’s troops had flown off to suppress a group of mercenaries which was taking advantage of the chaos to pillage villages. In order to guard against the emperor’s faction amassing their forces, Rogue had divided his units and deployed them throughout the capital’s surroundings.

The crown prince had only just left Solon, yet the country’s internal situation was already collapsing.

What Ineli found hardest to bear was the thought that this might be due to her own mistakes. Originally, Odyne had been left in charge of the imperial capital, and, even though she had the title of princess, Ineli had little authority. For her, who was aiming for status even beyond that, this was both a matchless opportunity to increase her fame and a dangerous situation in which an error could block off her entire future.

However, since the incident of the forceful bombardment on the temple, the watch placed on her had grown stricter. Odyne had personally selected some of his trusted subordinates and had appointed them to the princess’ side.

One of their duties was to send away the officers and nobles who came to request a meeting with the princess, which led to malicious gossip – ''That damned Odyne. Plotting to take advantage of this situation so that he’ll be the only one to reap the benefits.'' Odyne Lorgo, however, was absolutely not going to bend his own policy. At this late stage, he was ill-suited to throwing his lot in with those who wished to curry favour with the imperial princess.

Ineli herself finally openly voiced her dissatisfaction with Odyne, and started criticising the general who was keeping her under house arrest in all but name.

At this point, the movements in their surroundings once again showed signs of changing. Although the current chaos did have a side to it which was a confrontation between the “Emperor faction” and “Crown Prince faction”, for a portion of the people involved this was no more than an empty slogan, and their actions were similar to those of looters at the scene of a fire.

While there were quite a few people who judged that this would develop into a large-scale civil war, there were many more who were focused on how they should act so as to ensure their own positions in the aftermath, when the disturbance had died down.

''Would it be better to refuse to cooperate with Odyne?''

''No, if we do that, things might get bad once the crown prince returns. Still, the relationship between Princess Ineli and His Highness is pretty good…''

''So if we’re following the princess’ orders, we shouldn’t be charged with any crimes in the future''.

Amidst the constant chaos within the capital, nobles and some of the military officers held these kinds of inappropriate meetings more than once.

It had not been ten days since Prince Gil had left and the emperor vanished from sight into the temple. In Mephius, where the emperor had formerly and arbitrarly dissolved the Council, there was no clear system in place to indicate where authority should be transferred to and converge. Simon Rodloom had always grieved about how much had been lost during the ten-year war with Garbera, and this had certainly not been needless anxiety on his part.

Then –

That day, Ineli Mephius had a visitor.

She was no longer staying in the inner palace, but had chosen a room reserved for the imperial family’s use in the main palace as her centre of operations, and was lodging there.

With guards following her at all times, Ineli was unable to meet as she pleased with influential nobles and officers, so she spent each day sending out letters to all quarters, or answering requests for audiences from city and neighbourhood representatives. Currently, she was the only representative of the imperial family who could actually be met with.

It was evening.

Informed by the chamberlain of the visitor’s name, Odyne’s soldiers were momentarily perplexed as to how to handle this. They were to thoroughly enforce the policy that – ''unless they have my permission, no one of standing is to be allowed to meet with Her Imperial Highness.''

This person, however, was not just anybody. With no other choice, one of them hurried off to communicate directly with Odyne. For a moment, the general himself looked as though he was hesitating over the decision.

“It’s fine. Permission to pass,” in the end, he gave his authorisation.

Similarly, Ineli Mephius frowned when she heard her visitor’s name. ''How vexing'' – was the thought which flitted through her mind.

At present, however, she was the ruling family’s representative within Solon, the imperial capital. It was unavoidable that she should be the one to receive foreign guests.

“By all means, please come in,” Ineli personally opened her door to the visitor.

The one who entered gracefully – or rather, whose posture had her chest thrown out a little too much – was Vileena Owell.

Vileena herself was fully aware that she was a “vexing guest”. And not only for Ineli but for Mephius itself, now that it was being shaken by chaos.

Actually, when she had alighted in Solon, the welcome reception for her had met with some unexpected delays. When they had heard that the princess had been taken into Garbera, most people’s reactions had been along the lines of:

''Doesn’t that make it unlikely that she’ll come back?''

''No, but until Mephius settles down again, you can be sure they’ll come up with some excuse or another to extend her stay over there.''

They certainly had not expected her to return to Solon, her head still wrapped in bandages. Nonetheless, it went without saying that the princess was the crown prince’s fiancée and, even more importantly, she had recently distinguished herself by repulsing Salamand, the scoundrel who had broken across the national border. The populace was inclined to see her as a hero, and neither Odyne nor Ineli had any choice but to welcome her.

Although she could guess what their feelings were, the princess deliberately avoided looking apologetic or making excuses. Still, as a matter of fact, she too had felt some hesitation when arriving in Solon.

She was apprehensive that, given the current state of unrest, her presence might invite more unnecessary trouble; plus there was the fact that very recently, an Imperial Guard had tried to take her life when they were by Garbera’s border, and the mystery of who had been backing him had yet to be elucidated. Going further back in time, the ruffian who had set fire to the western village which had been taking care of her had also unmistakably called her “Princess Vileena” before swinging a blade at her.

Although it was not clear whether those two people were connected, somebody seemed to be after her life.

Would the sound of a gunshot echo the moment she stepped from the ship at Solon’s port, or would someone lurking in the shadows of a building, an assassin’s blade concealed at their breast, come swooping in to attack her? She ''did'' worry about it.

“When is His Highness due to return?”

“Well… since his purpose is to discourage Allion during its earliest manoeuvres, I do not believe that his absence will be particularly prolonged.”

“Really? In that case, let’s quietly await his return,” she replied and, with her lady’s maid, Theresia, in tow, she entered the inner palace.

Whoever it was who was out to assassinate her, she did not expect them to have laid their traps in Solon. And if they had, then –

''I’ll fight.'' Once in bed, she quietly gripped the gun beneath her pillow. Her breathing was uneven, and it was a long time before she was able to fall asleep.

The princess was undeniably “quiet”.

But only for one day.

The very next, she requested a meeting with Ineli Mephius.

After hearing directly from Odyne about the situation in Solon, the princess learned what Ineli had been doing so far, and what her probable intentions were.

''She’s the same as me'' – Vileena thought, and somewhere at the back of her mind, she felt like smiling. She did not want to be a princess used only as a prize for a retainer or a tool for diplomacy, but wanted to be known as someone who was every bit as resourceful as a man, and who acted for the sake of the country.

Vileena herself felt that way. Nor did the royal princess want to consider that her wish to accumulate different experiences was merely a childish fantasy. Nevertheless, everything was subject to the trend of the times, and people themselves were suited or unsuited for different things, and so had to get along with others.

“It has been a long time, Princess.”

“Indeed it has, Your Royal Highness.”

The two of them exchanged greetings with unruffled composure, but, particularly in Ineli’s case, the mood could not be said to be at its best. This princess, who was almost excessively straightforward, whose manner was like a blade that might strike down at any moment, might very well interfere with the present situation in Solon.

Vileena herself was more aware than anyone that – ''the me from before would probably have acted that way.''

“For a time, Solon was humming with talk of how your military achievements are in no way inferior to those of any general, Your Highness.”

“I’m quite ashamed. Putting on armour and departing for the front is hardly ladylike. I truly hope that everyone in Mephius is aware that all Garberan women certainly do not act that way.”

Vileena turned her face down and Ineli laughed gaily as she sipped her tea. They discussed the matter with Salamand for a while longer.

“By the way, Princess. To what do I owe the honour of your visit today?”

“As a matter of fact, although I am a bit worried about doing so, there are some things that I would like to discuss about Empress Melissa.”

''Here it is'' – when Vileena broached the main topic, Ineli’s thoughts flashed across her face. She made the first move.

“The matter concerning Empress Melissa is…” Ineli’s tone of voice grew soft, but there was a sharp glint in her eyes. “I am sure that you, as a guest from a foreign country, must find it exceedingly foolish. As a member of the imperial family, I am utterly shame-faced about it, but, as I am sure you understand, this is our country’s problem. You could say that at this turning of the seasons, we must wash away the pus from the old era and settle matters with our own abilities. We will absolutely not allow it to disturb you, Princess. Please await my brother’s return here in Solon without worrying about anything.”

She gave her warning.

Opposite her, Vileena, looking as though she were suddenly pondering something, allowed a few seconds to pass.

“Naturally, this is Mephius’ problem. Nevertheless, I believe that I, who came from Garbera to marry into your country, could be of help.”

“What is it that you mean?” Ineli maintained her smile. Inwardly, however, she was cursing her opponent.

''Damned hot-headed show-off''.

This was one time when she absolutely could not borrow the princess’ help. As Ineli herself had previously stated, Vileena had become famous in Solon for repelling Salamand. Add that to Crown Prince Gil’s own reputation, and there were already voices loudly proclaiming that “they both are worthy of carrying Mephius into the next era.”

Ineli wanted a chance to demonstrate her own ability. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and, in a way, she felt like thanking her mother for having so hastily run away.

“It is not hard to imagine that when you look at Mephius in its current state, Princess, it must seem very unreliable. Naturally, it is our responsibility and…”

“I have heard that the empress is sending dispatches from within the temple in which she asserts even now that the crown prince is an impostor, and that the child in her belly is the legitimate successor to the throne.”

Vileena unexpectedly shifted the focus of conversation. Or rather, it gave the impression that she had parried Ineli, who had made a ''straightforward'' thrust.

The imperial princess unintentionally fell silent.

“The people who were formerly said to be part of the emperor’s faction are currently raising soldiers in all corners on the strength of those words in order to protect their own positions and vested interests, but their scale can actually be called very small. Since Mephius itself is falling into chaos, General Odyne Lorgo or General Rogue Saian are worrying about how to cope with the situation, but once His Highness Crown Prince Gil returns, this level of disorder should be settled in no time at all.”

“…”

“However, at that point” Vileena’s words were softly spoken. Her lips were formed into a faint smile, yet the contents of what she said abruptly turned stern. “Being driven into a corner and having lost her escape route, the empress will have no choice but to face ruin. Will she choose to fight until the last soldier, or will she choose suicide?”

“S-Suicide?”

“Or perhaps…” Vileena’s smile vanished. “Or perhaps, she might force His Majesty the emperor to accompany her. In which case…”

“In which case?”

“It would create a breeding ground for future problems. Very much… yes, very much so.”
In a way, her words came across as threatening. Or rather, Royal Princess Vileena was unmistakably threatening Imperial Princess Ineli. Hidden behind her words was intimidation: if your mother is driven into a corner and the emperor, father of the country, is lost because of it, then it is ''your'' ability which will be called into question.

Naturally, Vileena’s expression displayed nothing but the concern of a noble lady for the country’s future.

“The retainers will again have the appearance of being coerced into obeying. Even when His Highness Gil Mephius undergoes coronation, the impression that will take root is that he is a ruler who slayed the previous emperor and empress, his own parents, and who oppresses his subjects with no regard for them. The embers of dissent will continue to smoulder, and as soon as a strong wind blows on them once, they will flare up into an inferno that will once again divide the country in two.”

Those words were both ones that Vileena had prepared in advance with premeditated intent, and, at the same time, the reflection of her true feelings, and entirely free of lies.

''A simmering storm''.

''Garbera had Ryucown and Salamand. In Ende, there was Lord Jeremie, who lost the struggle for succession. And in Mephius…''

''Quarrels and strife are constantly lying, lurking, within a country''.

Vileena believed that it was a policymaker’s duty to prevent an opponent from fanning those sparks.

When Vileena Owell had arrived in Solon and had been informed of the situation there by Odyne, she had spent time at a loss in the room which had been allocated to her. It had not taken her a day to request a face-to-face meeting with Ineli, but that had been no snap decision, and during that day, she was plenty hesitant.

''Since the crown prince is currently absent…''

''Those who are left behind, who are left in charge, have a duty to keep things safe.''

“Theresia.”

The princess, who for some reason had been standing in front of a mirror since early in the morning, called out to the lady’s maid who had known her since she was born.

“Yes?”

“Am I a meddling princess?”

“I would not think it particularly strange if there were people who called you that behind your back.”

“Am I unsuitable for Mephius?”

“Not only Mephius but also our own Garbera and the neighbouring country of Ende. There isn’t a single land in which Princess Vileena would be called a model daughter of the royal family.”

Standing behind the princess, Theresia speech was perfectly blunt. Vileena didn’t even let slip a smile.

“Then I’m a heretic. If I’m not the product of Garbera’s history or Mephius’ culture, then neither needs to be ashamed of me, no matter what I do.”

“It sounds as though you are forcing a theory onto something, Princess. What is it that you are plotting now?”

“For the last times,” Vileena had closed her eyes for a moment, but then stared fixedly at Theresia’s face in the mirror. “This will be the last time. So… please forgive me, Theresia. As a princess of Garbera, as the fiancée to the crown prince of Mephius… this is the last time I’ll do something shameful.”

“I see.”

Even as she spoke – ''that’s a lie'' – was written all over Theresia’s face.

“Indeed, the princess is getting on in years. You have become slightly more mature. By telling me beforehand, you are ensuring that Theresia will not be scolding you later.”

“Theresia…”

“Do as you will, Princess.”

Theresia lowered her head, with its hair streaked with grey, just a little. Surprised, the young girl caught her breath.

“Princess Vileena is no longer simply the princess whom I serve. However words are played with, those who see you unmistakably see you as the one who bears the position of princess of Garbera, and fiancée to the crown prince of Mephius. It is because you know that better than anyone that you speak of ‘shame’, Princess.”

“…”

“However, Princess… Although the things you do and say have sometimes left me dumbfounded, and have sometimes made me feel like fainting from shock, not once have I thought of you as ‘shameful’. Princess, you are my pride. Even if some point fingers at you or talk behind your back, whether it is of you as a member of the royal family of Garbera or in the palace of Mephius that you marry into, that alone will never change in all of this lifetime. Therefore, do as you will, Princess. Follow your heart with honesty.”

“Thank you, Theresia.”

As Vileena expressed her gratitude, her throat was a little clogged up, and there was a glimmer at the corner of her eyes. Standing in front of the mirror, the princess stretched out a finger to wipe those tears away. For some reason, however, she allowed her shimmering tears to spill onto her cheek as her white finger pulled down the corner of her eye.

“Beeh!”

She stuck out her tongue.

Ineli was lost for words with which to retort.

“Surely the empress cannot want to lead Mephius to its complete destruction.”

Vileena’s manner remained perfectly calm.

“The key question is whether the empress’ actions stem from a righteous cause that can guide Mephius’ future. That point is essential. Now that, as I mentioned earlier, she had declared that His Highness the Crown Prince is an impostor and that the child in her belly is the legitimate heir to the throne, the empress is effectively saying that she is expecting to shoulder the burden of governing Mephius. In other words, her cause is her right to bear responsibility for the country. And, in that case…”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v12 165.jpg|thumb]]
Vileena Owell lowered her eyes for a moment. She was fully aware of her own personality. A critical moment needed the ‘critical’ expression. Which was why she deliberately hid her face.

“In that case, if I, Vileena Owell, a princess from an allied country, go to the temple in the capacity of ‘negotiator’, it will be impossible for her to either turn a blade against me, or to take me hostage while she makes her demands.”

“…”

“How about it, Your Imperial Highness, Princess Ineli? Would you agree to let me go to the temple?”

“W-What are you saying?” Ineli was trembling in agitation, but she still firmly shook her head. “We could not possibly allow a princess, who has been left in our care by an allied country, to do anything so dangerous. If anyone should take the initiative of going, it is only right that I, Ineli, should do so.”

“No, Your Highness. At present, you are the imperial family’s representative in Solon. If anything should happen to you, Lady Ineli, the people would be thrown into even greater confusion, and only the lawless would rejoice.”

Her tone held a note of sharpness. Faster than Ineli could reply to the implied criticism, Vileena continued her train of argument.

“Naturally, I am not suggesting that I should make a great show of visiting the shrine. That would agitate the populace and the other nobles, and would probably cause an unnecessary disturbance. Even if it may be necessary to send a messenger beforehand to inform the empress of my visit, we can use disguises in front of the people… right, for example, Princess Ineli, concerned for the emperor and empress’ state of health might send someone with meals for them, or dispatch a doctor to them, and when we send people in on that kind of pretext, I can pretend to be a lady’s maid and slip in among them.”

Her saying ‘when’ made it sound as though the whole thing was already settled, but her next words were even more startling.

“I will, without fail, communicate your words to the empress. For that, Lady Ineli, I would like you to support me in this.”

She even added ‘for that’… The way she was talking made it sound as though Vileena was responding to a request from the imperial princess.

Ineli Mephius looked as though she had suddenly been dumped into a rough and stormy night sea. As though she did not have time to gasp for breath before huge waves bore down on her one after another, and tossed her up and down.

Then, having come to that point, Princess Vileena added another outrageous suggestion.
“How about holding a council, tomorrow morning, to which all the commanders and people of influence currently residing in Solon will be summoned? At that point, we will reproduce the conversation that you and I have just had.”

“…”

In other words –

The two of them would repeat their current exchange in front of the assembled grandees, pretending to say and hear those things for the first time.

Realising the intention behind it, Ineli’s ears turned red. It wasn’t only to ensure that her request would be accepted – the princess was worried about Ineli.

If the details of their conversation was broadcast, Ineli would avoid the accusation of being a coward who had sent the royal princess into danger while she shut herself away. Not only that, but if any results were obtained, the merit would surely be seen as being partly hers.

''T-This, this brat!''

Ineli Mephius chewed on the edge of her lips.

Once, in far-off Apta, she had certainly cornered this ‘brat’. That girl had nothing but war and airships on the brain, and wasn’t even familiar with the culture of her own country, nor could even recite a single line of poetry. In front of that barbarian of a girl, Ineli had skilfully demonstrated her diplomatic finesse, and had magnificently entertained their foreign visitors.
Vileena herself had been nothing but nervous throughout, but in the end, she had looked at Ineli in admiration and had requested to shake her hand.

And that worthless ‘brat’ was worrying about her and was trying to break a deadlocked situation that Ineli herself had only been watching with her arms folded. On top of that, she was saying that – ''we’ll do it together, the two of us''.

Emotions welled up within her like a raging fire – or not. Their eyes happened to meet, and, contrary to what might have been expected, it was Vileena’s that were sparkling brightly. And it was Vileena who started in surprise. Although she had been planning to conceal her emotions and to talk with perfect detachment, in the end, here she was excitedly leaning forward and gazing ''straightforwardly'' at Ineli.

For a moment, the imperial princess of Mephius stared, dumbfounded, at the princess who was averting her gaze from her in embarrassment.

''This girl…''

She relaxed the strength on the teeth with which she had been biting her lip. She truly wasn’t a girl who was any good at wiles.

At that moment, if Ineli’s mental state had to be defined, it was that she recognised the Garberan princess as – ''a rival''.

Forced to compete directly with what should have been a worthless brat, she had been made to recognise her own lack of ability.

''One day, I’ll defeat you'' – she firmly decided.

Right, one day.

The next day, the royal princess of Garbera and the imperial princess of Mephius reproduced their exchange. Using the atmosphere there as a guide, they brushed over the inconvenient bits and padded some other parts, but the general idea remained the same.

They also emphasised the threat that if the empress was driven into a corner, she might choose to kill herself and to take the emperor with her, as well the supposition that Empress Melissa would not lightly harm a princess from a foreign country.

Before Odyne and the influential nobles assembled there could catch their breath –

“I am truly grateful for the princess of Garbera’s solicitude. Everyone agrees that in this situation, we cannot simply stand idly by and watch. I have also heard that there is an alarming rumour out on the streets that Empress Melissa’s claim that she has the Emperor is untrue. If that is true… indeed, I feel that as Empress Melissa claims to have righteousness on her side, we must verify whether there is any truth to that claim.”

Ineli put on an air of innocence. The royal princess bowed her head, pretending to be deeply moved.

With the atmosphere becoming that of everything having been decided, General Odyne Lorgo hurriedly started to stand.

“Naturally, we cannot possibly allow the princess of Garbera to undertake such a dangerous task all alone. Odyne, I order you to accompany her.”

“A-Aye,” the imperial princess had perfectly chosen her timing, and Odyne found himself replying unintentionally. His face immediately flushed red, however. “Y-Your Imperial Highness. This is simply… this is simply too dangerous. If you would give me an order, please tell me to wear my sword and armour, and march alone into the temple,” he said.

He was, of course, completely opposed to Vileena visiting the temple. However, with a gesture that was half a sneer, half a rebuke, Ineli replied –

“General Odyne, do you really think that if you go like that, Empress Melissa will unfasten the tightly shut gates and let you in?”

Odyne could find no words of retort. Ineli’s words were the equivalent of stating that, other than the Garberan princess, no one present there would be able to get the empress’ attention. And in the first place, if Odyne could have solved things by himself, the situation would not have evolved into the current deadlock.

“However, I commend your spirit. Protect the princess even at the cost of your own life.”

The two girls had arranged things to perfection. When Ineli stood up, it was in exactly the same manner as the emperor, his cloak flapping.

“We will send a messenger to the temple this very day. With that in mind, please lend me two hundred of the Imperial Guards who answer directly to the emperor. In accordance with the laws of Mephius, I, who have the right to exercise authority as the highest-ranking member of the imperial family currently in Solon, hereby take command.”

A certain sort of misgiving appeared on every face there, but the atmosphere was not one that encouraged anyone to speak. Ineli’s claim that she had “the right to exercise authority as the highest-ranking member of the imperial family” was patently untrue. Even if the blood had somewhat thinned over the course of history, there were, in Mephius, several boys who were distantly related to the imperial family. Moreover, since Ineli was Empress Melissa’s child from her previous marriage, she was not of imperial lineage.

However, no one, Odyne included, pointed this out. That was because they all recognised that at this point in time, with the entire country – starting with Solon – in chaos, somebody needed to clearly take on the role of leader. Although Imperial Princess Ineli had certainly been led to error because of her quick-temper, it was a fact that she was the only one attending to tasks as a representative of the imperial family. Ineli had been one of the causes of the disturbance, but she had also, so to speak, worked to extinguish the fire by preventing it from spreading further.

“If, by some unlikely chance, the ‘enemy’ was to take violent action,” Ineli Mephius’ expression turned grim, like that of a guardian deity to the country, “we will destroy that ‘enemy’,” she declared.

=== Part 3 ===

''It’s dark.''

The old man gazed at his surroundings with eyes that were as black as night.

He was in the deepest part of the underground of Solon’s Dragon Gods’ temple. Directly beneath the section of a mural that depicted the dragon god Mephius, a long staircase led down to this high-ceilinged room. The floor stretched out in white marble, while huge columns were aligned in orderly rows in the direction that the old man – that Guhl Mephius – was looking in.

The once snow-white silk cloth that he was wearing was slightly stained, exhaustion clung to Guhl’s face like dirt, giving it a slightly dark discolouration, and there was no spark of vitality in his eyes.

From the day that the audience with Crown Prince Gil Mephius had ended, Guhl had tended to stay in his own chambers. He had not shown himself in public, the reason given being that his health had deteriorated.

Then, one night, a short while after Crown Prince Gil had left Solon –

He had been resting in his room when people who claimed to be messengers from Empress Melissa had appeared. They had drawn their swords and, in no time at all, they had mowed down the sentries who were guarding his room. He learned later that Melissa had won over the officer in charge of stationing the guards.

With an attitude that was the very definition of mock courtesy, they had said –

“Please accompany us, Your Majesty. If you remain here, you will be in danger. In order to lead Mephius to its rightful future, please escape from here for now,” and, carrying him on their shoulders, they had borne him off to the Dragon Gods’ temple.

It had been more than ten days since then.

Guhl had been forced into the lowest level of the temple. A meal was brought to him once a day. Their manner was still ostensibly courteous, but it was clear that they had no intention of allowing him to take a single step out of here.

Melissa, the mastermind behind the plot – and the Emperor’s spouse – had not shown herself. He had merely received an oral message from her.

“Your Majesty is exhausted, so I pray that you will wait a while as I take it upon myself to open the path towards the rightful future of Mephius in your stead. Before long, I will, without fail, return you, Your Majesty, to the throne of Mephius, the likes of which has no equal in this world.”

Guhl did not tell her to do as she pleased.

Nor did he try to resist.

All day long, he simply remained within these shadows in which no light shone. When his meal was brought, he ate it mechanically.

During that time, what did he think about? What did he feel?

''Nothing.''

Guhl let out a voice that was not even a whisper.

''I don’t think about anything. I don’t feel anything.''

“That’s a lie,” a voice threw at him.

“What’s a lie?” Guhl glared at a corner of darkness. “A lie, is it? What do you understand about me?”

“I understand. You’re thinking. You never stop thinking. Where did you make a mistake? Or was this actually the correct path after all? Every moment that you are awake… no, even when you fall asleep you still keep questioning yourself over and over again in your dreams.”

“The correct path. A mistake. There are no such things. If you say that what I did was wrong, then ruling through military might cannot be right.”

“That might be so,” the voice’s owner showed no trace of mockery, and his tone was one of utmost sincerity. “If loosening the reins invites chaos, then drawing the reins too tight will cause the appearance of those people who cannot bear the suffocation. Humans cannot become gods, so perhaps they cannot govern over humans after all.”

“I’ve no time for such philosophical views,” Guhl narrowed his eyes, looking as though his gaze could penetrate through the darkness.

Barely any light shone in that underground chamber, but it was currently evening. The view from the highest floor of the palace in Solon, the imperial capital, would spread out far, and to the west, one could surely see the Domick Flats, shining a brilliant red. Lowering one’s gaze and bringing it a little closer, to the manors and granaries in Solon’s surroundings, one would see the specks of human beings who were wiping away the sweat from the last of the day’s toil.

Within the palace’s corridors, soldiers on duty would either be patrolling, or standing guard. Guhl had loved, above all else, looking down onto the valiant sight of armour gleaming in the light of the setting sun.

“You are strong. A strong human being. I know better than anyone that, at the very least, that is what you strove to be.”

“…”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v12 183.jpg|thumb]]
“No… rather than saying that you strove to be strong, maybe it would be better to say that you strove to remove any weakness from yourself. You tried to eradicate all weakness not only from the country or from other people, but especially from yourself. Because you were a strong ruler. Because you were strong, both admirable and imposing, a great ruler who could shoulder the responsibility for everything that happened within the country, and who could lead the way to peace. Because ''you had to be''.”

The shadowy figure remained at a fixed distance from Guhl, neither approaching nor stepping further away. Only the voice oscillated between strong and soft as it spoke, sometimes so fierce that it seemed to hemmer against the old man’s ears, sometimes so gentle that it seemed to tickle them like a breeze.

“But Guhl. It is just as I said before: you are not a god. For all that you claimed that authority, the fact will not change that you are a flesh-and-blood human born from your mother’s womb. Humans cannot incorporate all of the world’s phenomena into their living flesh. So what do you think a human aspiring to be great should do?”

“What should he do?”

“Isn’t that what you were thinking over, Guhl? After being ousted from the throne and brought like a captive from your own room to this cellar, isn’t that what you have constantly, solely, been thinking over?”

Guhl gave a low groan. It was the same, however, as the meaningless words that a child might threaten an opponent with just before getting into a fight.

“Yeah, it’s just as you said. I did ''something'' wrong, and the raised blade which should have protected the people, the blade whose edge should have been bathed in a light that illuminated the world, was smashed. But who can say what that ''something'' is? That’s something for future historians to debate as they sit at their round tables.”

“You are, after all, but one person. Even so. If you could make even a single inference about that ''something'', perhaps you could impart it to your son, Gil Mephius. Even if the life and value of a single human is infinitesimal, as generations pile up one on top of the other, by leaving our words for those who will come after, maybe humans will one day find a path that comes close to the truth. Guhl, don’t religion and history, the tales of legend, the very lives of humans, exist for that sake?”

“…”

At that person’s voice, Guhl no longer answered, no longer got angry, no longer got agitated. No, if it had to be said, he was as unmoving as a statue. Yet the owner of the voice continued, as though he could see through to the very bottom of Guhl’s heart,

“How long has it been since Lady Lana passed away?” He touched upon the part that Guhl least wanted touched, and the old emperor’s eyes, as dark as night itself, suddenly opened wide. “When you lost Lady Lana, you were far more distraught than you had been after the loss of your father and mother. It’s easy to imagine now how you rejected that weakness with all your being. You were different from your father, who had thrown the country into disorder… you were not a weak ruler – so as to convince yourself of that, you firmly shut the lid on your own heart and strove to become strong. One could say that you succeeded splendidly in that. But, at the same time, did you not demand too much strength from others, and from yourself? I think so.”

The instant that the old emperor turned his face away –

“Guhl.”

The shadowy figure, who up until then had maintained a fixed distance from him, was suddenly at Guhl’s side. Close enough to feel breath against his ear.

“You must have already noticed it yourself. The world over which you reigned craves its next era. It hopes and wishes for you to leave. Your eyes are blind. Your ears can barely hear a person’s voice. Be a strong ruler to the end. By willingly admitting your weakness, by accepting defeat, you will become an even stronger ruler, Guhl…”

“Is someone there, Guhl Mephius?”

Another figure approached from beyond the row of columns. One as skinny as a withered tree, yet its steps were firm.

Guhl, whose eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, was immediately able to make him out. Among the elders of the Dragon Gods’ faith, this old man was probably the one considered to be at the very top. Guhl took the time to slowly look around him.

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone here,” he answered in a voice that had gone hoarse. “Or are you saying that your eyes, which excel at discerning the supernatural, can see someone other than me here? Is their heart beating, and does their blood flow?”

“Such nonsense. Emperor Guhl, looking at you like this, you are no different from any other lonely old man. With no luxurious toga, no crystal staff, no crown upon your head, no gallant soldiers standing to protect you, spear in hand, you are just like an elderly man talking to himself because there is no one else around.”

“Did you come all the way here just to say that? I’d heard that you couldn’t even get up anymore, but now that you’ve managed to get better, you have a strange way of entertaining yourself.”

“That’s right, I came here to make a fool of you,” the elder approached Guhl one step at a time. “You who have abandoned your former ideals, dreams and ambitions are no more than the empty husk of ‘Emperor Guhl’. Just like every other human, with the passing of the years, the spirit which maintained your desires has eroded. I once watched the future for you, so seeing you like this is lonely for me too.”

Drawing closer, they were now face-to-face. Yet the elder did not stop.

Emperor Guhl’s eyes once again opened wide. He had felt something. Cold that seemed to pierce his body, heat like a fire that could boil the blood inside him – a strange atmosphere that seemed to have altered the very world around him.

As they faced each other, the elder’s eyes seemed to be emitting a pale light. With the light from beneath his heavy, drooping eyelids came shock great enough to oppress body and mind, and it certainly licked against Guhl’s pale face.

“You bastard,” Guhl’s voice came out hoarse. It was the voice of a man whose throat was being squeezed by someone’s hands, and his expression was twisted with pain.

The elder had finally arrived within a hair’s breadth of Guhl. At that point, he should finally have stopped, but –

“Stop,” howled Guhl. “Don’t come! Don’t come any closer!”

That was how it seemed to Guhl. Even though the elder’s steps had stopped, he was still drawing closer to Guhl. ''Something'', like a hazy flame imperceptible to the naked eye – yet at the same time, he could tell that it was the elder himself, that ''something'' that was like a soul, was being released from within that body that was like a withered tree. As though to prove that it had been released from the fetters of flesh, it continued to advance without stopping even as it came into contact with Guhl’s body.

“Guwaaaah!”

The emperor’s knees hit the floor.

''That'' fit itself perfectly over the emperor’s face, chest, arms and now started encroaching into the inside of him.

“I can no longer choose my means,” the voice seemed to ring from inside Guhl, striking directly against his brain. “I will be taking your body. At the very least, I will turn all of Mephius into my shrine. Every man, woman and child will become offerings to my sorcery. What, at most it will only be a matter of erasing a single country’s name from the map of the world. I have already witnessed such things so many times that I’m bored of it. I only need to do this once more…”

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12_Chapter3|Chapter 3]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin_no_Monshou:Volume12_Chapter5|Chapter 5]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter5

2018-01-22T15:11:55Z

Double Check: Undo revision 533686 by Double Check (talk)

==Chapter 5: Darkest Black==

=== Part 1 ===

At that same time –

Through what twist of fate was it that the two people who, in Solon’s palace, had once engaged in a battle without blades – Emperor Guhl Mephius and Orba, the former gladiator – had been forced into the same kind of predicament at the same time?

Orba’s consciousness was still within that pitch-black darkness. The lights which had made it look like a starry night sky were still gathered together to form an old man’s face, and those gigantic eyes seemed like they were enveloping Orba; when he opened his mouth wide, it was as though he were going to swallow Orba’s insubstantial body whole, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

''A sorcerer.''

That, he understood. The man could be nothing else. And on top of that, he had spoken about ‘Garda’. That was the name of a man that Orba himself had killed in the west, but, some time ago, when he had paid a brief visit to Taúlia, the famed strategist, Ravan Dol, had revealed that “Garda might be alive.”

Did Garda have two or even three lives? Was the one Orba had defeated an impostor? At any rate, it did seem true that the man, who appeared to be one of Garda’s subordinates, had set a magic trap and lain in wait for Orba.

''Shit''.

Orba tried to grind his teeth. But his physical sensations felt far away. As though his consciousness and his body had been separated and were dozens of kilometres apart, there was a considerable time lag between when his body showed a reaction, and when that reaction returned to him as a ‘sensation’.

By the time he realised it, a cold fear had risen in a corner of his heart. If just one single part of his body were able to move freely, he would not fear any enemy trying to hinder him. But now that even the sensation of having a body felt far away, he had no means to oppose the enemy.

As though reading his thoughts, the stars glittered distortedly, and a wicked smile formed on the old man’s face –

Just as he was thinking so, one after another, they turned into shooting stars and flew wildly about, drawing trails of light as they did so.

He had no time to follow them with his eyes.

“Guh!”

Did his voice actually escape from his lips, or was it only in his mind?

As sharp as arrows let loose by a mighty warrior, the light crawled inside of Orba’s body. Not just once, twice, or three times, the stars which should have been suspended in the air betrayed their own destiny, and overwhelmed him with their successive strikes.

No sooner had they wreaked white-hot havoc in his body that they reassembled and formed the old man’s figure again. A body should, by nature, only admit the existence of a single soul within it, but now, a second being was starting to assert its presence inside of him.

Orba screamed from the intense pain. Maybe it was because being in the same fleshy container meant that the agony was also shared, but he could feel the screams of the old man who had introduced himself as Zafar reverberating inside of him.

“Who are you – who are you? Who. The. Hell. Are. You!?”

The darkness that was drifting before Orba’s eyes now changed.

He could dimly make out Mephius’ throne room. On the other side of a flight of stairs, Emperor Guhl Mephius sat in state.

For a second, Orba forgot about the pain as he stared at him. It was none other than the scene that he had experienced just ten or so days earlier.

The Emperor’s figure seemed to flicker like a candleflame in the wind, and the pillars with their decorative carvings, the tapestries on the wall, and the courtiers lined up on either side, all scattered into a thousand points of light, drifted for a moment, then formed another scene.

The next thing he saw was the glare of the sun that seemed to be baking the ground white. A man stood opposite him. Studded shoulder pads, a belt made from hide, and a curved sword in his hands.

Orba caught his breath.

Even though he had long forgotten his face but, confronting each other like this, it came back as vividly as though it were yesterday.

This was the man that Orba had confronted when he had first stood, sword in hand, in the arena – in other words, the first gladiator that Orba had killed.

The aggregation of stars forming the gladiator’s shape soon changed and the lights once more scattered and dispersed.

It was like a mirror reflecting his memories. Scenes from what he experienced up until now were projected in no chronological order, with none of them being developed long.

Among those memories –

There was Ryucown, whom he had crossed swords with. There was Queen Marilène, walking forward even as the mob that surrounded her hurled abuse and threw things at her. There were many scenes in which he was leading soldiers on the battlefield. There was the instant in which he had leaped towards the sorcerer who had called himself Garda. There was the quiet night sky with its twinkling stars that he had looked up at with his brother, Roan, and their childhood friend, Alice. There was the evening hour in which heaven and earth seemed to blaze red as Orba held Shique’s cold corpse…

Orba could do nothing to stop them.

It felt as though the sorcerer who had crawled inside him was groping through his memories and letting them all out.

“Not a sorcerer? Not even a flunky to Barbaroi?” Zafar was gasping in pain, but there was a trace of doubt in his whispered voice. “Then, how? How could you, a lowly slave, a mere body-double set up by Fedom, have completely reshaped out diagram of Fate?”

While he spoke, Orba’s past continued to flickeringly appear and disappear.

“I don’t understand. It can’t be… Some ‘power’ must be interfering. If we’re talking about a hero, then the ''signs'' of a hero being born should have appeared beforehand. In which case, either amending the diagram of Fate or killing him in infancy would have been easy. Who is this bastard? It’s like he just appeared from some other world. So what…?”

Just as the old man’s voice suddenly died out, Orba’s past, which had been unfolding at dizzying speed, abruptly stopped dead.

It was a memory so vague that at first, Orba himself could not tell who was being projected in that scene.

The reflected scenery was that of Fedom’s town house in Solon. This he remembered. It had been a huge turning point in Orba’s life. Reclining back in a slovenly, arrogant manner, Fedom, the domain lord of Birac, had announced to him that:

“You’re going to become the Crown Prince of Mephius.”

Right, it was the moment when he went from being a gladiator to becoming Gil Mephius’ body-double. But the one who was holding Zafar’s attention was neither Fedom nor Orba. Next to the Lord of Birac was a person standing as still as a shadow. That man had left a uncanny impression on Orba. A strange man, who appeared young at first glance yet, depending on how the light hit him, who also seemed very old.

''He’s… a sorcerer?''

Orba suddenly realised. When he had been talking with Fedom, hadn’t he heard something about that man being responsible for putting the iron mask on him? Moreover, he was the one who, with just a touch of his fingers, had broken that mask – which had not budged in two years, no matter how much strength Orba had used on it – right in half.

What was his name?

''Right, Herman'' – Orba remembered as Fedom called him that. However –

''Impossible'' – a voice immediately rose in denial. Zafar’s.

The scene that remained frozen in time and space started to shake.

''Herman? That name… It can’t be. The face is different as well… That man… no, that ‘esteemed gentleman’ is – is, without a doubt, Lord Garda’s…''

Meanwhile, Orba’s body was still lying in the grass on the ground. Pashir was kneeling beside him and the Mephian soldiers formed a circle around them.

The Dairan soldiers had, by then, already found what was apparently the snipper who had taken aim at the prince. However, he had already died. He had apparently fired a desperate shot just before his flame of life had burned out. The bullet had missed however, immediately afterwards, there had been another soldier who had attempted to cut down the crown prince, but Gil had dealt with him himself.

On Kayness’ orders, they had thoroughly searched the surroundings to check that there were no other enemies lying hidden.

Gil Mephius’ chest was still heaving painfully, and his shoulders were violently rising up and down.
“Bring His Highness into the mansion,” suggested Kayness. “We were expecting a battle at dawn, so a number of doctors have already been summoned. They can treat him.”

Pashir nodded and was about to follow the suggestion, but Orba’s hand was still tightly gripping his arm. It bit into him with the strength of an iron band, and, after thinking for a moment, Pashir frowned.

“Orba,” he glanced behind him.

Kain, in the iron mask, stared blankly back for a moment, not realising that it was his name which was being called. “Orba!” when Pashir barked at him in rebuke however, he hastily stood to attention.

“I’m leaving you in charge of my unit. Take the horses and go provide reinforcement to Lord Eric.”

“M-Me?”

Pashir signalled that, yes, him. Fundamentally, he would have preferred to go himself, but he felt that, as someone who knew Orba’s real identity, he had to stay by the crown prince. He was afraid that, during the course of the medical treatment, it would be all too easy for him to be unclothed and for the slave brand to be exposed.

“Fly the flag of Mephius as obviously as you can. Loudly advertise that we’ve defended Dairan. That way, we’ll be able to unnerve the enemy while raising morale on Ende’s side.”

“It’s fine, Orba. I’ll go with you,” Gilliam stepped forward.

They still did not know what Eric’s situation was. The three hundred soldiers who would march forward would also serve as a large-scale reconnaissance party. Kayness Plutos would chose men from among the survivors of Darowkin’s unit, and send them with them.

“They’ll take you to the best place to cross the river with the horses.”

“Much appreciated. Right then, come on, Iron Tiger,” said Gilliam, leaping onto a horse as though in part to spur ‘Orba’ on.

“Aaaye,” Kain, disguised as ‘Orba’, answered in a despairing tone, having apparently resigned himself as he also clambered onto horseback. “Later, when His Highness the Crown Prince wakes up, I’m getting at least one sarcasm in.”

Kain positioned himself in the vanguard and, with Gilliam acting as his adjutant, they started off with their three hundred men with the Dairan soldiers serving as their guides.

The clouds of dust that they kicked up were carried away by the wind and vanished in the pitch-black darkness.

It was not yet dawn.

=== Part 2 ===

Lance Mazpotter galloped at the head of the cavalry unit.

Although he was past his prime as a warrior, he still cut a very dashing figure as he leaned forward and drove his horse onwards. With the light from the airship acting as a signpost, he was in the middle of chasing down Lord Eric of Ende.

Judging that they were closing in, Lance held a spear beneath one arm. He was managing the reins with one sturdy arm, and his single eye gleamed sharply at the signs that bloodshed was once more imminent.

But then, the unexpected occurred.

A messenger soldier caught up with Lance –

“What, His Highness?”

Hearing the report, Lance had no choice but to stop the horses. Kaseria Jamil’s attack force on Dairan had retreated.

When he looked back towards the south, faint flames and white smoke were rising under the starlight. The attack should have been a success. Once the enemy camp had been set alight, the blaze stocked Kaseria’s fighting spirit and lust for slaughter, and those would not be satisfied with such a short time to rampage.

The situation was unclear.

“Aaye,” Lance was a man who had experienced innumerable battle fronts. He was not so ambitious or impetuous that he would lose his judgement over the bait dangled enticingly in front of him.

“Messenger, lead us to His Highness. All of you, come!”

Coming to a snap decision, he forcefully hauled his horse’s head around and set off after the messenger.

Prince Kaseria Jamil of Allion, meanwhile, was also on horseback, riding hard as his body was jolted up and down.

He was nowhere near as calm as Lance. The sense of slaughter he had just experienced in Dairan and the reverberation of cannonfire were like a trail he drew behind him, his eyes were still hazy from the “bloodlust, his muscles demanded their next victim as soon as possible, and beneath his armour, his breathing was ragged and rough.

But above all else –

''That man…''

More than for the crimson blood, more than for the dying screams, more than for the pitiful trembling, which traveled through his sword to his muscles when the steel ran through his victims, that was what the prince of Allion was strongly crying out for in his mind.

That dark-skinned Mephian warrior who had fought with him on equal terms.

His form was constantly etched into the underside of Kaseria’s eyelids, the response to their clash of steel still lingered in his arm. Not only had he not been able to bring him down, he had been wretchedly driven away.

Looking behind him, he saw only the lingering trails of dust that they had kicked up, and there was no sign that the enemy had left Dairan in pursuit. Kaseria spat out spittle and curses.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

''If they’d gotten cocky and chased us, we could have ambushed them.''

He could not understand why they were not giving chase. But because of it, Kaseria thirsted for blood all the more. Only by immersing himself in battle as soon as possible would he be able to drive that swordsman, who he had not been able to defeat, from his mind.

And at that moment, Kaseria Jamil got lucky.

North of Dairan, soldiers were waiting by the river with lights to guide them across, but in order to shake off any enemy pursuit, he had deliberately taken a different and more tortuous route, which was when they unexpectedly came across another party.

It was Lord Eric’s unit, which had only just descended from the high ground with their comrades’ charge acting as their screen.

At first, Kaseria had not even imagined that the lord of Ende was among them. But when he saw the shadowy figures of what seemed to be enemies –

“Halt where you are!” he cried, and charged without letting them answer.

“Enemies!”

“Protect the Prince!”

It was the other party’s shouts that made him realise it. He did consider that it might have been a feint to lure them, but judging from the spirit with which they all steadfastly raised their swords, axes and spears, and took up defensive positions, he decided that it was not a lie.

Kaseria instantly broke into a smile. A smile that could almost be called innocent.

“Is Lord Eric there? My name is Kaseria Jamil, First Prince of Allion,” he roared, and from horseback, he struck out with the sharp tip of his blade.

His opponents loudly accepted the challenge.

“Woah, this is our chance to win.”

“Thanks be to the spirits for their divine grace. Slay Kaseria!”

As though echoing their fervour, Kaseria and his troops gained even greater impulse.

Shielded by his comrades, Eric Le Doria for a moment stared, dumbfounded, at the mounted warrior who seemed about to cleave his way straight to him.

''That’s Kaseria?''

Like a young branch shaken in a storm, even though he was on horseback, he was moving constantly, bending left and right, spurred on by his own recoil, and unleashing sword thrusts in rapid succession. He was unquestionably skilled, but –

''Isn’t he like any other hothead?''

Eric had let his comrades sacrifice themselves to allow him to leave the battlefield. His blood was boiling feverishly. He grabbed his own spear and raised it to eye level. The tip was pointed straight at Kaseria Jamil, who had just beheaded another Endean soldier.

By now the battle front had stretched out so wide that no single person could have been able to grasp a complete picture of it. All around, it had devolved into confused mêlées. Wherever a drawn blade gleamed, a sharp spear retaliated, armours clashed against each other in a crash of noise, and cries of every description echoed through the night.

Ende and Allion both originated from the same Magic Dynasty. Although the form and names differed somewhat, the same belief in spirits was handed down in both, and voices could be heard on all sides calling to the spirits for protection.

The horses’ hooves and the infantrymen’s feet sharply tilled the soil, and fresh blood watered it incessantly like red rain.

The ‘wind’ was blowing confusedly. Just when an allied unit seemed to be pushing forward overwhelmingly, carried from behind by the ‘winds’ of victory, the enemy, which should have been scattering, would unexpectedly met with allies, causing the ‘wind’ to suddenly shift and blow in the faces of the previous victors.

Even a man like Lance Mazpotter was toyed with by the chaos. He had been riding to join up with Kaseria’s forces, but the messenger, who had been serving as their guide, had lost sight of their destination. Which was only to be expected given that Kaseria had followed his instinct and changed his course this way and that, until he eventually ran into Lord Eric’s force, which Lance himself had originally been chasing. Even the prince’s messenger, who should have alerted his allies to this fact, was wandering hopelessly around the battlefield, looking for someone somewhere that he could notify.

Lance was made to feel that he was on a fool’s errand. Clicking his tongue, he was wondering whether he should call an airship and send out scouts when he spotted a group approaching from the south. He realised that they must be reinforcements sent out from Dairan.

Although naturally, he didn’t go so far as to grasp that this was a unit comprising Mephian soldiers, he could tell at once that – ''there’s not that many of them''.

He did not have eyesight that could see through the darkness, but he was a man who had spent most of his life at war. He understood instinctively from the sound of hooves, the clank of the harnesses, and the amount of wind they kicked up.

Which meant that Kaseria had not just recklessly gone charging in the dark. The enemy should have sent out reinforcements upon receiving the messenger from Lord Eric, and there should have been more of them. Was it thanks to Kaseria that the enemy numbers had been thus reduced?

Lance decided to go out and meet these newcomers from the south so as to prevent the frontlines from becoming even more chaotic. On the other side, they also noticed this group which had quickly moved into a line to block their way.

They were roughly equal in number.

Kain, who was leading the Mephian forces, could have chosen to step back at that point.

“Who goes there?”

“Orba the Iron Mask, spearhead to His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Gil of Mephius!” but the path of retreat was cut off the moment he answered Lance’s call.

“Mephius?”

A look of surprise swept over Lance’s face. He had not expected that not only Garbera, but also Mephius, which was supposed to have a tense relationship with it, would show up here.

“Turn back now,” Kain shouted as he drew his sword. “We proceed forward in honour of His Imperial Highness Gil. This cannot be what Allion expected. To retreat here will bring you no shame.”

Perhaps he unintentionally sounded so old-fashioned because he was aware that he was putting on a show.

“I’m much obliged for your concern,” Lance, however, remained perfectly calm.

The enemy’s numbers were about the same as their own and there was no sign of reinforcements coming to back them up, so he took a firm grip on his spear and put himself at the ready.

“In my ignorance, I do not know the name ‘Orba’, but you have all the appearance of being a brave known throughout the three countries. I, Lance Mazpotter, will personally keep you company,” Lance was all the more a gentleman when he was on the battlefield.

He had decided to take on this unit so that Mephius’ participation would not affect Kaseria’s main force. With that in mind, he should spread out his position and cut the enemy off from the north, then, if more reinforcements arrived, they could gradually pull back their line of defence.

Seeing that he had not been able to shake the enemy, Kain steeled himself. If the flag of Mephius was to fly undaunted, then he no longer had any other choice but to move forward.

“Kain,” Gilliam whispered in his ear. “This guy’s good. You’d do best to stare him down and hint that reinforcements are coming. Dairan is nearby. The enemy won’t want to be kept in one place for too long, so they’ll be quicker to get antsy.”

Before becoming a gladiator, Gilliam had seen active service as a soldier. He had a far better understanding of the subtleties of the battlefield than Kain did. Kain also knew what Gilliam was getting at, but –

“What it is? You’re the spearhead to the Crown Prince of Mephius, aren’t you? I said I’d keep you company. So aren’t you coming?”

When he heard himself being ridiculed, he could not stay silent. He was not the usual ‘Kain’. He was currently wearing the iron mask.

''It’s fiiine, I just need to prod them a little and the enemy will retreat, right'' – he answered Gilliam in a low voice then raised his sword high.

“Well then, here I come!” he shouted as he kicked his horse’s flanks.

Lance drove his horse forward at the same time. With the riders galloping from both sides, they soon collided.

Their weapons did not cross.

Kain’s sword never reached as Lance’s spear struck him in the chest.

He fell from his horse.

“Splendid.”

Lance said in a loud voice as he turned his horse around and returned to where Kain had hit the ground.

“Is what I’d like to say, but…” he smiled down from horseback, like a father looking a son who was not very bright, “let it be known throughout Mephius, famous for its might, what happened to the Crown Prince’s spearhead. I, Lance, have taken Orba’s head.”

Gilliam did not even have time to shout at him to stop.

After his spear, he now took his sword – a slender, crescent-shaped blade that he had often used when he served Atall – adjusted his grip on it, and dexterously slashed out.

As blood spurted, Kain’s head fell with a thump.

He did not cry out once before he died.

All the colour had drained from Gilliam’s face. Before his eyes, Lance snapped his fingers. An enemy soldier noiselessly drew up and crouched down, stretching his hand out towards the iron mask. He probably intended to pluck it off as a war trophy.

At that moment, as though erupting from the ground, voices resounded all around Gilliam. Pouring from the mouths of the Mephian soldiers were wordless roars, cries, noise, curses…

“W-Wait!” Gilliam turned back but, once again, he was not in time to stop what happened.

Orba, the swordsman in the iron mask, was the subordinate that Crown Prince Gil Mephius trusted the most. Whenever Prince Gil undertook some heroic activity, Orba would unfailingly take part in the fray. Even with his outstanding swordskills, he was often entrusted with undercover missions, never feeling the need to advertise his own achievements any more than necessary, and never voicing a word of complaint.

Among the Mephian soldiers, there were those held the belief that – ''he is the very ideal of a warrior''.

Orba had been defeated.

And mocked.

And now, they were about to strip him of his mask. That was showing contempt for every shred of dignity that he had in life.

It was hardly surprising that the Mephian soldiers let out a roar and started to charge. Leaving Gilliam behind, they hurled their horses past him.

Clicking his tongue as he did so, Gilliam spurred his own horse forward. He could feel the blood going to his head. Or, perhaps because he had known Kain for a long time, he might have been even more worked up than any other of the soldiers.

As a result, the front lines were extended to this point which vaguely coincided with the northern border.

=== Part 3 ===

When war approached, the people of Dairan went through orderly motions.

They closed the windows and bolted the doors. They blew out the candles. Holding their children, mothers went to hide in cellars or in granaries, while the men either took up weapons to protect their homes, or they assembled in one place and got ready in case a group of riders, their sheepskin cloaks flying in the wind, somehow managed to break in.

They were used to that kind of situation.

But this night, the people of Dairan were unusually frightened. And not only because of the assault that Kaseria had led.

The townspeople could not dispel their fear and unease even after Kaseria’s forces had been driven away by Mephius’ troops.

The cause, along with the ever increasing sounds of war and the news that Lord Eric stood isolated on the battlefield, was because of the roars of dragons, repeatedly reverberating.

Several kilometres south of Dairan, the dragons had suddenly grown unruly. The large-sized Houban, who had been pulling the cage, had toppled over while foaming at the mouth. The three hundred soldiers who were travelling thought at first that it had been shot by enemies lying in ambush somewhere.

However, inside the cage, which had toppled over at the same time, the dragons had all simultaneously started struggling and howling, and even the intrepid Mephian soldiers were getting ready to flee. A rampaging dragon made no distinction between friend or foe. No matter how outstanding a trainer was, calming dragons sent into a frenzy by blood, and especially several at the same time, was impossible.

Hou Ran was no exception.

Although her complexion had changed colour, she called out to the dragons, desperately trying to soothe them, but the scales that reflected the distorted light thrown on them by the soldiers’ torches continued to heave, and they opened their maws wide, drool trailing from their fangs, to howl in terror.

“Run!” Miguel, who had been left in charge of the unit, yelled, his face ashen. Losing the dragons would be a mark of his own ineptitude, but losing a full three hundred soldiers would be far worse.

“Hurry inside Dairan! Oi, Loire, galop on first and tell the gatekeepers to thrown open the gates. Have them assemble riflemen!”

A little further east from that point, which was almost as noisy as the battlefield, within the high grass was the sorceress, Tahī.

She was licking her moist lips.

From time to time, she parted them as though to emit her voice, but absolutely no sound escaped.

Only Tahī could hear the voiceless voice that she was exhaling, and not with her ears, but with her consciousness.

How many sorcerers would believe, if it were explained to them, that in doing so, she was manipulating the small amounts of ether that dwelt within the dragons? Most would probably be sneering before the explanation was even half over, having decided that was just the nonsense of a fool who was ignorant of the basics of sorcery.

This was anything but normal magic.

Sorcery existed solely thanks to ancient artefacts, and to be able to handle ether through one’s own living flesh was possible only for beings that far transcended humanity. Such as, for example, the Dragon Gods that were said to have ruled this world in the far distant past.

Tahī had been born with this extraordinary talent and had received the teachings of the elders of the Dragon Gods’ faith, allowing her to polish her skills and her power. They called her: “A rarely-seen success.”

To be accurate, they said that she was ‘the second’.

Take, for example, how Jeremie, the former First Prince of Ende, had once used the power of magic tools that were handed down within the country to incite wild dragons into attacking Dairan. If it had been Tahī, she would only have needed to approach within a fixed distance and ‘talk’ to the ether within the dragons.

In order to manipulate several dozens of them at will, she would of course need to rely on the help of magical tools and to make preparations beforehand, but if it was simply to make them agitated, then it was just a matter of awakening the wild nature that slept within them.

In all honesty, this task was so boring that she couldn’t help but yawn.

Zafar’s instructions were to keep Hou Ran in check. Apparently, she had gotten in the way when he had previously tried to assassinate the crown prince. In order to prevent that from happening again, he seemed to want Tahī to use her sorcery to lure her away. Still –

''How stupid, Zafar. Are you getting scared, at your age?''

Tahī found it strange. Keeping someone occupied was so half-hearted. Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill her?

Collecting the thoughts that were flying from her, she concentrated them into a single image around her forehead. The crimson ‘wave’ that Zafar had observed in the city of Idoro gradually intensified before being released, as sharp as a spear.

Her aim was unerring, and it struck a Baian who was struggling as though to break out of the cage.

It was just as Hou Ran had stretched out her hand through the gap between the bars. The Baian gave a start, its scales heaving, then, as though in response to Hou Ran’s action, it nudged its head closer to her. As Ran approached it with her own face, it opened its jaws wide, and bit down towards her with fangs that could crunch through the bones of a horse or an ox.

Hou Ran looked up in shock, and reflected in her eyes was the shape of a crimson ‘wave’, coiling around the Baian’s forehead.

The next second, a spray of fresh blood drenched the surroundings and the dragons who were hit by it, driven to crave more flesh, and more blood, rushed to attack the Mephian soldiers…

– was what was supposed to happen.

In that instant, however, it was Tahī herself who was struck hard and staggered back.

There was no visible injury. For a moment, she was stunned, not understanding what had happened. And then she realised: in the space of a breath, the ‘wave’ had flown backwards and had come crashing against her.

A single word had ridden along with the wave. One which made no sense to Tahī.

It sounded something like: “Milbak.”

And as she came back to her senses, she noticed a figure approaching, eyes fixed straight at her.

Hou Ran.

Perhaps she had followed Tahī’s thoughts and detected her presence, for now she was pushing her way through the waist-tall grass, unfalteringly closing the distance between them, one step at a time.

She did not ask who Tahī was. Or rather, there was something strange about her. Her gaze held no trace of emotion as she stared at Tahī. No hostility, no hatred, no suspicion, no friendly feelings either, of course. There was something about them that had the vastness of a dream, as she simply approached in silence.

Even Tahī found it uncanny.

At the same time, realising that what she was feeling was probably fear, she was furious at herself.

As though that emotion was manifesting itself, a burning red flame was at Tahī’s raised arm. It coiled around it like a live dragon, and with a flourish of her supple limb, she hurled it free.

With an ominous roar, it charged towards Hou Ran.

Yet Ran did not halt her steps.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v12 215.jpg|thumb]]

She looked as though she had not even noticed it, but just before the flames would engulf and kill her, she too raised her slender arm to above shoulder-level, and waved it once.

It was the same gesture as though she was swatting away an insect, and the dragon of flames vanished entirely.

“Whaat!” Tahī was utterly dumbfounded.

At the same time, something that was like clear wind seemed to surge up from Hou Ran then change into a spiral ‘wave’ that attacked Tahī.

With no time and no way to escape it, she was struck straight in the forehead by the ‘wave’.

She collapsed.

''That…''

Just before she lost consciousness, she heard what sounded like another person’s voice.

''That woman, she definitely…''

With the sound of the sorceress sinking into the meadow, Ran’s eyes suddenly opened wide.

From her manner, it was as though she had just woken up. She stared restlessly about her. After which, without taking the slightest notice of the inert Tahī, she hastily returned to the cage where the dragons were still showing lingering signs of excitement, and, sometimes gently, sometimes in stricter tones, addressed each one in turn.

Seeing the dragons gradually calm down, Miguel Tes was left speechless. In all honesty, when this dragon handler had left the cage, he had believed that even she was running away and abandoning her duties.

At Miguel’s command, the soldiers, who had likewise dispersed, timidly returned. Ran left them in charge of hauling the cage while she jumped onto a Baian. She used neither saddle nor reins. Riding with the back of the dragon’s neck between her knees, Ran emitted a sound and, as though being controlled by an invisible bridle, the Baian started forward.

“W-Wait!” Miguel hurriedly spurred on his horse and chased after her. “Where are you going?”

Ran did not answer. He could tell from her profile however that she was frantic.

''Eei'' – having been left in charge of the dragons and the ‘dragon girl’, Miguel lamented that this time as well, there might be no opportunity to render distinguished service. Realising that she apparently intended to ride into town, he called out,

“Loire, one of my men, is supposed to have gotten the gates opened. I’ll go ahead and explain the situation to the soldiers. Got it, dragon girl? Tell His Highness how Miguel Tes took command of things. Hey, do you hear me?” Miguel yelled, the wind blowing straight at him as he increased his horse’s speed.

Just as he had said, he arrived at Dairan first, and requested of the Dairan and Mephian riflemen that had been assembled thanks to Loire’s message that they allow the dragon rider following after him to pass into the city.

“That’s one eccentric rider, you know? You might be surprised at first glance, but she’s carrying out a secret mission for His Highness.”

Ran, riding as one with the dragon, swept like the wind through the gates of Dairan.

The ones who saw this, for all that they were the self-proclaimed fearless soldiers of Dairan, could not repress their dread at the sight. Yet, that night, a seven-year-old boy happened to peep down from the window he had opened on the third floor.

During Kaseria’s attack, he had been evacuated to the roof with his mother, but since things were considered to have finally settled down, he had gone back to his room. And no sooner had he done so, than he saw a woman galloping on a dragon right beneath him. He thought that the sight of her, rushing headlong in the silent night, riding on everything that was wild and untamed, was –

''So pretty.''

Hou Ran finally arrived near the Plutos’ fortified mansion. This was just as Orba was about to be carried inside.

“What’s wrong?” while Pashir, who was at his side, called out in surprise, she leaped down from the dragon and raced as fast as she could towards Orba.

Orba, his face pale, was still muttering incoherently. For a second, Ran raised her hand as though she was about to slap him.

Before the soldiers had time to stop her, however, she seemed to think better of it and did something which astounded everyone there.

She leaned in and sealed Orba’s lips with her own.

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| Forward to [[Rakuin_no_Monshou:Volume12_Chapter6|Chapter 6]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter5

2018-01-22T15:10:11Z

Double Check: typo mistake.

==Chapter 5: Darkest Black==

=== Part 1 ===

At that same time –

Through what twist of fate was it that the two people who, in Solon’s palace, had once engaged in a battle without blades – Emperor Guhl Mephius and Orba, the former gladiator – had been forced into the same kind of predicament at the same time?

Orba’s consciousness was still within that pitch-black darkness. The lights which had made it look like a starry night sky were still gathered together to form an old man’s face, and those gigantic eyes seemed like they were enveloping Orba; when he opened his mouth wide, it was as though he were going to swallow Orba’s insubstantial body whole, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

''A sorcerer.''

That, he understood. The man could be nothing else. And on top of that, he had spoken about ‘Garda’. That was the name of a man that Orba himself had killed in the west, but, some time ago, when he had paid a brief visit to Taúlia, the famed strategist, Ravan Dol, had revealed that “Garda might be alive.”

Did Garda have two or even three lives? Was the one Orba had defeated an impostor? At any rate, it did seem true that the man, who appeared to be one of Garda’s subordinates, had set a magic trap and lain in wait for Orba.

''Shit''.

Orba tried to grind his teeth. But his physical sensations felt far away. As though his consciousness and his body had been separated and were dozens of kilometres apart, there was a considerable time lag between when his body showed a reaction, and when that reaction returned to him as a ‘sensation’.

By the time he realised it, a cold fear had risen in a corner of his heart. If just one single part of his body were able to move freely, he would not fear any enemy trying to hinder him. But now that even the sensation of having a body felt far away, he had no means to oppose the enemy.

As though reading his thoughts, the stars glittered distortedly, and a wicked smile formed on the old man’s face –

Just as he was thinking so, one after another, they turned into shooting stars and flew wildly about, drawing trails of light as they did so.

He had no time to follow them with his eyes.

“Guh!”

Did his voice actually escape from his lips, or was it only in his mind?

As sharp as arrows let loose by a mighty warrior, the light crawled inside of Orba’s body. Not just once, twice, or three times, the stars which should have been suspended in the air betrayed their own destiny, and overwhelmed him with their successive strikes.

No sooner had they wreaked white-hot havoc in his body that they reassembled and formed the old man’s figure again. A body should, by nature, only admit the existence of a single soul within it, but now, a second being was starting to assert its presence inside of him.

Orba screamed from the intense pain. Maybe it was because being in the same fleshy container meant that the agony was also shared, but he could feel the screams of the old man who had introduced himself as Zafar reverberating inside of him.

“Who are you – who are you? Who. The. Hell. Are. You!?”

The darkness that was drifting before Orba’s eyes now changed.

He could dimly make out Mephius’ throne room. On the other side of a flight of stairs, Emperor Guhl Mephius sat in state.

For a second, Orba forgot about the pain as he stared at him. It was none other than the scene that he had experienced just ten or so days earlier.

The Emperor’s figure seemed to flicker like a candleflame in the wind, and the pillars with their decorative carvings, the tapestries on the wall, and the courtiers lined up on either side, all scattered into a thousand points of light, drifted for a moment, then formed another scene.

The next thing he saw was the glare of the sun that seemed to be baking the ground white. A man stood opposite him. Studded shoulder pads, a belt made from hide, and a curved sword in his hands.

Orba caught his breath.

Even though he had long forgotten his face but, confronting each other like this, it came back as vividly as though it were yesterday.

This was the man that Orba had confronted when he had first stood, sword in hand, in the arena – in other words, the first gladiator that Orba had killed.

The aggregation of stars forming the gladiator’s shape soon changed and the lights once more scattered and dispersed.

It was like a mirror reflecting his memories. Scenes from what he experienced up until now were projected in no chronological order, with none of them being developed long.

Among those memories –

There was Ryucown, whom he had crossed swords with. There was Queen Marilène, walking forward even as the mob that surrounded her hurled abuse and threw things at her. There were many scenes in which he was leading soldiers on the battlefield. There was the instant in which he had leaped towards the sorcerer who had called himself Garda. There was the quiet night sky with its twinkling stars that he had looked up at with his brother, Roan, and their childhood friend, Alice. There was the evening hour in which heaven and earth seemed to blaze red as Orba held Shique’s cold corpse…

Orba could do nothing to stop them.

It felt as though the sorcerer who had crawled inside him was groping through his memories and letting them all out.

“Not a sorcerer? Not even a flunky to Barbaroi?” Zafar was gasping in pain, but there was a trace of doubt in his whispered voice. “Then, how? How could you, a lowly slave, a mere body-double set up by Fedom, have completely reshaped out diagram of Fate?”

While he spoke, Orba’s past continued to flickeringly appear and disappear.

“I don’t understand. It can’t be… Some ‘power’ must be interfering. If we’re talking about a hero, then the ''signs'' of a hero being born should have appeared beforehand. In which case, either amending the diagram of Fate or killing him in infancy would have been easy. Who is this bastard? It’s like he just appeared from some other world. So what…?”

Just as the old man’s voice suddenly died out, Orba’s past, which had been unfolding at dizzying speed, abruptly stopped dead.

It was a memory so vague that at first, Orba himself could not tell who was being projected in that scene.

The reflected scenery was that of Fedom’s town house in Solon. This he remembered. It had been a huge turning point in Orba’s life. Reclining back in a slovenly, arrogant manner, Fedom, the domain lord of Birac, had announced to him that:

“You’re going to become the Crown Prince of Mephius.”

Right, it was the moment when he went from being a gladiator to becoming Gil Mephius’ body-double. But the one who was holding Zafar’s attention was neither Fedom nor Orba. Next to the Lord of Birac was a person standing as still as a shadow. That man had left a uncanny impression on Orba. A strange man, who appeared young at first glance yet, depending on how the light hit him, who also seemed very old.

''He’s… a sorcerer?''

Orba suddenly realised. When he had been talking with Fedom, hadn’t he heard something about that man being responsible for putting the iron mask on him? Moreover, he was the one who, with just a touch of his fingers, had broken that mask – which had not budged in two years, no matter how much strength Orba had used on it – right in half.

What was his name?

''Right, Herman'' – Orba remembered as Fedom called him that. However –

''Impossible'' – a voice immediately rose in denial. Zafar’s.

The scene that remained frozen in time and space started to shake.

''Herman? That name… It can’t be. The face is different as well… That man… no, that ‘esteemed gentleman’ is – is, without a doubt, Lord Garda’s…''

Meanwhile, Orba’s body was still lying in the grass on the ground. Pashir was kneeling beside him and the Mephian soldiers formed a circle around them.

The Dairan soldiers had, by then, already found what was apparently the snipper who had taken aim at the prince. However, he had already died. He had apparently fired a desperate shot just before his flame of life had burned out. The bullet had missed however, immediately afterwards, there had been another soldier who had attempted to cut down the crown prince, but Gil had dealt with him himself.

On Kayness’ orders, they had thoroughly searched the surroundings to check that there were no other enemies lying hidden.

Gil Mephius’ chest was still heaving painfully, and his shoulders were violently rising up and down.
“Bring His Highness into the mansion,” suggested Kayness. “We were expecting a battle at dawn, so a number of doctors have already been summoned. They can treat him.”

Pashir nodded and was about to follow the suggestion, but Orba’s hand was still tightly gripping his arm. It bit into him with the strength of an iron band, and, after thinking for a moment, Pashir frowned.

“Orba,” he glanced behind him.

Kain, in the iron mask, stared blankly back for a moment, not realising that it was his name which was being called. “Orba!” when Pashir barked at him in rebuke however, he hastily stood to attention.

“I’m leaving you in charge of my unit. Take the horses and go provide reinforcement to Lord Eric.”

“M-Me?”

Pashir signalled that, yes, him. Fundamentally, he would have preferred to go himself, but he felt that, as someone who knew Orba’s real identity, he had to stay by the crown prince. He was afraid that, during the course of the medical treatment, it would be all too easy for him to be unclothed and for the slave brand to be exposed.

“Fly the flag of Mephius as obviously as you can. Loudly advertise that we’ve defended Dairan. That way, we’ll be able to unnerve the enemy while raising morale on Ende’s side.”

“It’s fine, Orba. I’ll go with you,” Gilliam stepped forward.

They still did not know what Eric’s situation was. The three hundred soldiers who would march forward would also serve as a large-scale reconnaissance party. Kayness Plutos would chose men from among the survivors of Darowkin’s unit, and send them with them.

“They’ll take you to the best place to cross the river with the horses.”

“Much appreciated. Right then, come on, Iron Tiger,” said Gilliam, leaping onto a horse as though in part to spur ‘Orba’ on.

“Aaaye,” Kain, disguised as ‘Orba’, answered in a despairing tone, having apparently resigned himself as he also clambered onto horseback. “Later, when His Highness the Crown Prince wakes up, I’m getting at least one sarcasm in.”

Kain positioned himself in the vanguard and, with Gilliam acting as his adjutant, they started off with their three hundred men with the Dairan soldiers serving as their guides.

The clouds of dust that they kicked up were carried away by the wind and vanished in the pitch-black darkness.

It was not yet dawn.

=== Part 2 ===

Lance Mazpotter galloped at the head of the cavalry unit.

Although he was past his prime as a warrior, he still cut a very dashing figure as he leaned forward and drove his horse onwards. With the light from the airship acting as a signpost, he was in the middle of chasing down Lord Eric of Ende.

Judging that they were closing in, Lance held a spear beneath one arm. He was managing the reins with one sturdy arm, and his single eye gleamed sharply at the signs that bloodshed was once more imminent.

But then, the unexpected occurred.

A messenger soldier caught up with Lance –

“What, His Highness?”

Hearing the report, Lance had no choice but to stop the horses. Kaseria Jamil’s attack force on Dairan had retreated.

When he looked back towards the south, faint flames and white smoke were rising under the starlight. The attack should have been a success. Once the enemy camp had been set alight, the blaze stocked Kaseria’s fighting spirit and lust for slaughter, and those would not be satisfied with such a short time to rampage.

The situation was unclear.

“Aaye,” Lance was a man who had experienced innumerable battle fronts. He was not so ambitious or impetuous that he would lose his judgement over the bait dangled enticingly in front of him.

“Messenger, lead us to His Highness. All of you, come!”

Coming to a snap decision, he forcefully hauled his horse’s head around and set off after the messenger.

Prince Kaseria Jamil of Allion, meanwhile, was also on horseback, riding hard as his body was jolted up and down.

He was nowhere near as calm as Lance. The sense of slaughter he had just experienced in Dairan and the reverberation of cannonfire were like a trail he drew behind him, his eyes were still hazy from the “bloodlust, his muscles demanded their next victim as soon as possible, and beneath his armour, his breathing was ragged and rough.

But above all else –

''That man…''

More than for the crimson blood, more than for the dying screams, more than for the pitiful trembling, which traveled through his sword to his muscles when the steel ran through his victims, that was what the prince of Allion was strongly crying out for in his mind.

That dark-skinned Mephian warrior who had fought with him on equal terms.

His form was constantly etched into the underside of Kaseria’s eyelids, the response to their clash of steel still lingered in his arm. Not only had he not been able to bring him down, he had been wretchedly driven away.

Looking behind him, he saw only the lingering trails of dust that they had kicked up, and there was no sign that the enemy had left Dairan in pursuit. Kaseria spat out spittle and curses.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

''If they’d gotten cocky and chased us, we could have ambushed them.''

He could not understand why they were not giving chase. But because of it, Kaseria thirsted for blood all the more. Only by immersing himself in battle as soon as possible would he be able to drive that swordsman, who he had not been able to defeat, from his mind.

And at that moment, Kaseria Jamil got lucky.

North of Dairan, soldiers were waiting by the river with lights to guide them across, but in order to shake off any enemy pursuit, he had deliberately taken a different and more tortuous route, which was when they unexpectedly came across another party.

It was Lord Eric’s unit, which had only just descended from the high ground with their comrades’ charge acting as their screen.

At first, Kaseria had not even imagined that the lord of Ende was among them. But when he saw the shadowy figures of what seemed to be enemies –

“Halt where you are!” he cried, and charged without letting them answer.

“Enemies!”

“Protect the Prince!”

It was the other party’s shouts that made him realise it. He did consider that it might have been a feint to lure them, but judging from the spirit with which they all steadfastly raised their swords, axes and spears, and took up defensive positions, he decided that it was not a lie.

Kaseria instantly broke into a smile. A smile that could almost be called innocent.

“Is Lord Eric there? My name is Kaseria Jamil, First Prince of Allion,” he roared, and from horseback, he struck out with the sharp tip of his blade.

His opponents loudly accepted the challenge.

“Woah, this is our chance to win.”

“Thanks be to the spirits for their divine grace. Slay Kaseria!”

As though echoing their fervour, Kaseria and his troops gained even greater impulse.

Shielded by his comrades, Eric Le Doria for a moment stared, dumbfounded, at the mounted warrior who seemed about to cleave his way straight to him.

''That’s Kaseria?''

Like a young branch shaken in a storm, even though he was on horseback, he was moving constantly, bending left and right, spurred on by his own recoil, and unleashing sword thrusts in rapid succession. He was unquestionably skilled, but –

''Isn’t he like any other hothead?''

Eric had let his comrades sacrifice themselves to allow him to leave the battlefield. His blood was boiling feverishly. He grabbed his own spear and raised it to eye level. The tip was pointed straight at Kaseria Jamil, who had just beheaded another Endean soldier.

By now the battle front had stretched out so wide that no single person could have been able to grasp a complete picture of it. All around, it had devolved into confused mêlées. Wherever a drawn blade gleamed, a sharp spear retaliated, armours clashed against each other in a crash of noise, and cries of every description echoed through the night.

Ende and Allion both originated from the same Magic Dynasty. Although the form and names differed somewhat, the same belief in spirits was handed down in both, and voices could be heard on all sides calling to the spirits for protection.

The horses’ hooves and the infantrymen’s feet sharply tilled the soil, and fresh blood watered it incessantly like red rain.

The ‘wind’ was blowing confusedly. Just when an allied unit seemed to be pushing forward overwhelmingly, carried from behind by the ‘winds’ of victory, the enemy, which should have been scattering, would unexpectedly met with allies, causing the ‘wind’ to suddenly shift and blow in the faces of the previous victors.

Even a man like Lance Mazpotter was toyed with by the chaos. He had been riding to join up with Kaseria’s forces, but the messenger, who had been serving as their guide, had lost sight of their destination. Which was only to be expected given that Kaseria had followed his instinct and changed his course this way and that, until he eventually ran into Lord Eric’s force, which Lance himself had originally been chasing. Even the prince’s messenger, who should have alerted his allies to this fact, was wandering hopelessly around the battlefield, looking for someone somewhere that he could notify.

Lance was made to feel that he was on a fool’s errand. Clicking his tongue, he was wondering whether he should call an airship and send out scouts when he spotted a group approaching from the south. He realised that they must be reinforcements sent out from Dairan.

Although naturally, he didn’t go so far as to grasp that this was a unit comprising Mephian soldiers, he could tell at once that – ''there’s not that many of them''.

He did not have eyesight that could see through the darkness, but he was a man who had spent most of his life at war. He understood instinctively from the sound of hooves, the clank of the harnesses, and the amount of wind they kicked up.

Which meant that Kaseria had not just recklessly gone charging in the dark. The enemy should have sent out reinforcements upon receiving the messenger from Lord Eric, and there should have been more of them. Was it thanks to Kaseria that the enemy numbers had been thus reduced?

Lance decided to go out and meet these newcomers from the south so as to prevent the frontlines from becoming even more chaotic. On the other side, they also noticed this group which had quickly moved into a line to block their way.

They were roughly equal in number.

Kain, who was leading the Mephian forces, could have chosen to step back at that point.

“Who goes there?”

“Orba the Iron Mask, spearhead to His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Gil of Mephius!” but the path of retreat was cut off the moment he answered Lance’s call.

“Mephius?”

A look of surprise swept over Lance’s face. He had not expected that not only Garbera, but also Mephius, which was supposed to have a tense relationship with it, would show up here.

“Turn back now,” Kain shouted as he drew his sword. “We proceed forward in honour of His Imperial Highness Gil. This cannot be what Allion expected. To retreat here will bring you no shame.”

Perhaps he unintentionally sounded so old-fashioned because he was aware that he was putting on a show.

“I’m much obliged for your concern,” Lance, however, remained perfectly calm.

The enemy’s numbers were about the same as their own and there was no sign of reinforcements coming to back them up, so he took a firm grip on his spear and put himself at the ready.

“In my ignorance, I do not know the name ‘Orba’, but you have all the appearance of being a brave known throughout the three countries. I, Lance Mazpotter, will personally keep you company,” Lance was all the more a gentleman when he was on the battlefield.

He had decided to take on this unit so that Mephius’ participation would not affect Kaseria’s main force. With that in mind, he should spread out his position and cut the enemy off from the north, then, if more reinforcements arrived, they could gradually pull back their line of defence.

Seeing that he had not been able to shake the enemy, Kain steeled himself. If the flag of Mephius was to fly undaunted, then he no longer had any other choice but to move forward.

“Kain,” Gilliam whispered in his ear. “This guy’s good. You’d do best to stare him down and hint that reinforcements are coming. Dairan is nearby. The enemy won’t want to be kept in one place for too long, so they’ll be quicker to get antsy.”

Before becoming a gladiator, Gilliam had seen active service as a soldier. He had a far better understanding of the subtleties of the battlefield than Kain did. Kain also knew what Gilliam was getting at, but –

“What it is? You’re the spearhead to the Crown Prince of Mephius, aren’t you? I said I’d keep you company. So aren’t you coming?”

When he heard himself being ridiculed, he could not stay silent. He was not the usual ‘Kain’. He was currently wearing the iron mask.

''It’s fiiine, I just need to prod them a little and the enemy will retreat, right'' – he answered Gilliam in a low voice then raised his sword high.

“Well then, here I come!” he shouted as he kicked his horse’s flanks.

Lance drove his horse forward at the same time. With the riders galloping from both sides, they soon collided.

Their weapons did not cross.

Kain’s sword never reached as Lance’s spear struck him in the chest.

He fell from his horse.

“Splendid.”

Lance said in a loud voice as he turned his horse around and returned to where Kain had hit the ground.

“Is what I’d like to say, but…” he smiled down from horseback, like a father looking a son who was not very bright, “let it be known throughout Mephius, famous for its might, what happened to the Crown Prince’s spearhead. I, Lance, have taken Orba’s head.”

Gilliam did not even have time to shout at him to stop.

After his spear, he now took his sword – a slender, crescent-shaped blade that he had often used when he served Atall – adjusted his grip on it, and dexterously slashed out.

As blood spurted, Kain’s head fell with a thump.

He did not cry out once before he died.

All the colour had drained from Gilliam’s face. Before his eyes, Lance snapped his fingers. An enemy soldier noiselessly drew up and crouched down, stretching his hand out towards the iron mask. He probably intended to pluck it off as a war trophy.

At that moment, as though erupting from the ground, voices resounded all around Gilliam. Pouring from the mouths of the Mephian soldiers were wordless roars, cries, noise, curses…

“W-Wait!” Gilliam turned back but, once again, he was not in time to stop what happened.

Orba, the swordsman in the iron mask, was the subordinate that Crown Prince Gil Mephius trusted the most. Whenever Prince Gil undertook some heroic activity, Orba would unfailingly take part in the fray. Even with his outstanding swordskills, he was often entrusted with undercover missions, never feeling the need to advertise his own achievements any more than necessary, and never voicing a word of complaint.

Among the Mephian soldiers, there were those held the belief that – ''he is the very ideal of a warrior''.

Orba had been defeated.

And mocked.

And now, they were about to strip him of his mask. That was showing contempt for every shred of dignity that he had in life.

It was hardly surprising that the Mephian soldiers let out a roar and started to charge. Leaving Gilliam behind, they hurled their horses past him.

Clicking his tongue as he did so, Gilliam spurred his own horse forward. He could feel the blood going to his head. Or, perhaps because he had known Kain for a long time, he might have been even more worked up than any other of the soldiers.

As a result, the front lines were extended to this point which vaguely coincided with the northern border.

=== Part 3 ===

When war approached, the people of Dairan went through orderly motions.

They closed the windows and bolted the doors. They blew out the candles. Holding their children, mothers went to hide in cellars or in granaries, while the men either took up weapons to protect their homes, or they assembled in one place and got ready in case a group of riders, their sheepskin cloaks flying in the wind, somehow managed to break in.

They were used to that kind of situation.

But this night, the people of Dairan were unusually frightened. And not only because of the assault that Kaseria had led.

The townspeople could not dispel their fear and unease even after Kaseria’s forces had been driven away by Mephius’ troops.

The cause, along with the ever increasing sounds of war and the news that Lord Eric stood isolated on the battlefield, was because of the roars of dragons, repeatedly reverberating.

Several kilometres south of Dairan, the dragons had suddenly grown unruly. The large-sized Houban, who had been pulling the cage, had toppled over while foaming at the mouth. The three hundred soldiers who were travelling thought at first that it had been shot by enemies lying in ambush somewhere.

However, inside the cage, which had toppled over at the same time, the dragons had all simultaneously started struggling and howling, and even the intrepid Mephian soldiers were getting ready to flee. A rampaging dragon made no distinction between friend or foe. No matter how outstanding a trainer was, calming dragons sent into a frenzy by blood, and especially several at the same time, was impossible.

Hou Ran was no exception.

Although her complexion had changed colour, she called out to the dragons, desperately trying to soothe them, but the scales that reflected the distorted light thrown on them by the soldiers’ torches continued to heave, and they opened their maws wide, drool trailing from their fangs, to howl in terror.

“Run!” Miguel, who had been left in charge of the unit, yelled, his face ashen. Losing the dragons would be a mark of his own ineptitude, but losing a full three hundred soldiers would be far worse.

“Hurry inside Dairan! Oi, Loire, galop on first and tell the gatekeepers to thrown open the gates. Have them assemble riflemen!”

A little further east from that point, which was almost as noisy as the battlefield, within the high grass was the sorceress, Tahī.

She was licking her moist lips.

From time to time, she parted them as though to emit her voice, but absolutely no sound escaped.

Only Tahī could hear the voiceless voice that she was exhaling, and not with her ears, but with her consciousness.

How many sorcerers would believe, if it were explained to them, that in doing so, she was manipulating the small amounts of ether that dwelt within the dragons? Most would probably be sneering before the explanation was even half over, having decided that was just the nonsense of a fool who was ignorant of the basics of sorcery.

This was anything but normal magic.

Sorcery existed solely thanks to ancient artefacts, and to be able to handle ether through one’s own living flesh was possible only for beings that far transcended humanity. Such as, for example, the Dragon Gods that were said to have ruled this world in the far distant past.

Tahī had been born with this extraordinary talent and had received the teachings of the elders of the Dragon Gods’ faith, allowing her to polish her skills and her power. They called her: “A rarely-seen success.”

To be accurate, they said that she was ‘the second’.

Take, for example, how Jeremie, the former First Prince of Ende, had once used the power of magic tools that were handed down within the country to incite wild dragons into attacking Dairan. If it had been Tahī, she would only have needed to approach within a fixed distance and ‘talk’ to the ether within the dragons.

In order to manipulate several dozens of them at will, she would of course need to rely on the help of magical tools and to make preparations beforehand, but if it was simply to make them agitated, then it was just a matter of awakening the wild nature that slept within them.

In all honesty, this task was so boring that she couldn’t help but yawn.

Zafar’s instructions were to keep Hou Ran in check. Apparently, she had gotten in the way when he had previously tried to assassinate the crown prince. In order to prevent that from happening again, he seemed to want Tahī to use her sorcery to lure her away. Still –

''How stupid, Zafar. Are you getting scared, at your age?''

Tahī found it strange. Keeping someone occupied was so half-hearted. Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill her?

Collecting the thoughts that were flying from her, she concentrated them into a single image around her forehead. The crimson ‘wave’ that Zafar had observed in the city of Idoro gradually intensified before being released, as sharp as a spear.

Her aim was unerring, and it struck a Baian who was struggling as though to break out of the cage.

It was just as Hou Ran had stretched out her hand through the gap between the bars. The Baian gave a start, its scales heaving, then, as though in response to Hou Ran’s action, it nudged its head closer to her. As Ran approached it with her own face, it opened its jaws wide, and bit down towards her with fangs that could crunch through the bones of a horse or an ox.

Hou Ran looked up in shock, and reflected in her eyes was the shape of a crimson ‘wave’, coiling around the Baian’s forehead.

The next second, a spray of fresh blood drenched the surroundings and the dragons who were hit by it, driven to crave more flesh, and more blood, rushed to attack the Mephian soldiers…

– was what supposed to happen.

In that instant, however, it was Tahī herself who was struck hard and staggered back.

There was no visible injury. For a moment, she was stunned, not understanding what had happened. And then she realised: in the space of a breath, the ‘wave’ had flown backwards and had come crashing against her.

A single word had ridden along with the wave. One which made no sense to Tahī.

It sounded something like: “Milbak.”

And as she came back to her senses, she noticed a figure approaching, eyes fixed straight at her.

Hou Ran.

Perhaps she had followed Tahī’s thoughts and detected her presence, for now she was pushing her way through the waist-tall grass, unfalteringly closing the distance between them, one step at a time.

She did not ask who Tahī was. Or rather, there was something strange about her. Her gaze held no trace of emotion as she stared at Tahī. No hostility, no hatred, no suspicion, no friendly feelings either, of course. There was something about them that had the vastness of a dream, as she simply approached in silence.

Even Tahī found it uncanny.

At the same time, realising that what she was feeling was probably fear, she was furious at herself.

As though that emotion was manifesting itself, a burning red flame was at Tahī’s raised arm. It coiled around it like a live dragon, and with a flourish of her supple limb, she hurled it free.

With an ominous roar, it charged towards Hou Ran.

Yet Ran did not halt her steps.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v12 215.jpg|thumb]]

She looked as though she had not even noticed it, but just before the flames would engulf and kill her, she too raised her slender arm to above shoulder-level, and waved it once.

It was the same gesture as though she was swatting away an insect, and the dragon of flames vanished entirely.

“Whaat!” Tahī was utterly dumbfounded.

At the same time, something that was like clear wind seemed to surge up from Hou Ran then change into a spiral ‘wave’ that attacked Tahī.

With no time and no way to escape it, she was struck straight in the forehead by the ‘wave’.

She collapsed.

''That…''

Just before she lost consciousness, she heard what sounded like another person’s voice.

''That woman, she definitely…''

With the sound of the sorceress sinking into the meadow, Ran’s eyes suddenly opened wide.

From her manner, it was as though she had just woken up. She stared restlessly about her. After which, without taking the slightest notice of the inert Tahī, she hastily returned to the cage where the dragons were still showing lingering signs of excitement, and, sometimes gently, sometimes in stricter tones, addressed each one in turn.

Seeing the dragons gradually calm down, Miguel Tes was left speechless. In all honesty, when this dragon handler had left the cage, he had believed that even she was running away and abandoning her duties.

At Miguel’s command, the soldiers, who had likewise dispersed, timidly returned. Ran left them in charge of hauling the cage while she jumped onto a Baian. She used neither saddle nor reins. Riding with the back of the dragon’s neck between her knees, Ran emitted a sound and, as though being controlled by an invisible bridle, the Baian started forward.

“W-Wait!” Miguel hurriedly spurred on his horse and chased after her. “Where are you going?”

Ran did not answer. He could tell from her profile however that she was frantic.

''Eei'' – having been left in charge of the dragons and the ‘dragon girl’, Miguel lamented that this time as well, there might be no opportunity to render distinguished service. Realising that she apparently intended to ride into town, he called out,

“Loire, one of my men, is supposed to have gotten the gates opened. I’ll go ahead and explain the situation to the soldiers. Got it, dragon girl? Tell His Highness how Miguel Tes took command of things. Hey, do you hear me?” Miguel yelled, the wind blowing straight at him as he increased his horse’s speed.

Just as he had said, he arrived at Dairan first, and requested of the Dairan and Mephian riflemen that had been assembled thanks to Loire’s message that they allow the dragon rider following after him to pass into the city.

“That’s one eccentric rider, you know? You might be surprised at first glance, but she’s carrying out a secret mission for His Highness.”

Ran, riding as one with the dragon, swept like the wind through the gates of Dairan.

The ones who saw this, for all that they were the self-proclaimed fearless soldiers of Dairan, could not repress their dread at the sight. Yet, that night, a seven-year-old boy happened to peep down from the window he had opened on the third floor.

During Kaseria’s attack, he had been evacuated to the roof with his mother, but since things were considered to have finally settled down, he had gone back to his room. And no sooner had he done so, than he saw a woman galloping on a dragon right beneath him. He thought that the sight of her, rushing headlong in the silent night, riding on everything that was wild and untamed, was –

''So pretty.''

Hou Ran finally arrived near the Plutos’ fortified mansion. This was just as Orba was about to be carried inside.

“What’s wrong?” while Pashir, who was at his side, called out in surprise, she leaped down from the dragon and raced as fast as she could towards Orba.

Orba, his face pale, was still muttering incoherently. For a second, Ran raised her hand as though she was about to slap him.

Before the soldiers had time to stop her, however, she seemed to think better of it and did something which astounded everyone there.

She leaned in and sealed Orba’s lips with her own.

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12_Chapter4|Chapter 4]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin_no_Monshou:Volume12_Chapter6|Chapter 6]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter5

2018-01-22T15:02:54Z

Double Check: Duplicate sentence.

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter4

2018-01-22T13:43:34Z

Double Check:

==Chapter 4: The Royal Princess and the Imperial Princess==

=== Part 1 ===

Around the time when Imperial Crown Prince Gil of Mephius managed to enter Ende, the disturbance which had divided Solon in two showed signs of growing even more heated than before.

It had all started with a tea party sponsored by the imperial princess, Ineli.

An armed group had suddenly burst in on it and had forcibly attempted to carry her off. It was said that they had acted on Empress Melissa’s orders. Now that her daughter had become the face of the crown prince’s faction, she could not afford to leave her be. Having barely managed to avoid being taken, Ineli flew into a rage. She too prepared to use armed force to counter-attack Melissa, her own mother.

Guessing what her actions would be, Melissa had swiftly taken soldiers with her and had barricaded herself inside the Dragon Gods’ temple along with her daughter Flora and a portion of the nobles who were recognised as belonging to the emperor’s faction. The situation was further complicated by the fact that Emperor Guhl Mephius had accompanied Melissa’s entourage to the temple.

The official story was that “His Majesty’s health is not favourable so he is visiting the elders at the temple in order to receive prayers and divine protection,” however, while it would have been usual for him to travel to the shrine with a considerable retinue, not a single person had seen the emperor’s procession. It seemed likely that Melissa and those connected to her had probably used rough methods to bring the emperor out of the palace.

The news had gotten tangled, and there were some false reports that it was the crown prince’s faction which had first used armed force. They had conquered the palace and forced the emperor into submission. The empress had opposed them and, in place of the emperor who had collapsed due to illness, she had gathered the loyal retainers and was bravely resisting from within the temple.

While the emperor’s and the crown prince’s factions faced off against one another, the emperor himself had not been seen or heard from once since entering the temple, while Crown Prince Gil was currently taking reinforcements to Ende.

As a result, the vague anxiety that everybody had been feeling soon boiled over and erupted in the form of violence. Starting with Solon, uprisings and disturbances broke out one after another throughout Mephius. In both the emperor’s and the crown prince’s faction, there were many who felt that – ''this is my chance to make a name for myself'' – and led their soldiers to take control of forts and villages, as well as those who moved their troops to stop them, reasoning that – ''suppressing them will earn me recognition''.

The emperor’s rule had been despotic, and there were a great many who were dissatisfied, such as those who did not have the emperor’s favour or those who felt that they had been pushed into an unfair position. Moreover, there was no shortage of younger sons of aristocratic and military houses who would not inherit as heads of their family, but who had distinguished themselves during the ten-year war with Garbera, yet Mephius was not a land suited to being divided amongst scores of people. Like a torrent breaking over the river bank, one after another they rose to action.

With the government having fallen into chaos, the influence of local authorities naturally came to the forefront. Thefts and assaults proliferated in the towns, and the number of bandits attacking along the highways multiplied. After the uprising in Kilro, the slaves’ excitement had started to cool down, but now flared back up again in the form of escapes and insurrections.

Of course, the capital did not just silently watch over all of this. General Odyne Lorgo, whom Gil had, so to speak, left in charge of the capital, dispatched troops to every area to suppress the disturbances.

Since the merchants of the port city of Birac had a strong sense of self-governance, that town was not caught up in the unrest, and the domain lord, Fedom, could instead take the initiative of mobilising Rogue Saian’s troops to assist Odyne.

Thus, it was largely the crown prince’s faction which was able to display leadership and the ability to take action.

The situation showed how much the emperor’s influence had declined, but those who were close to him were not about to let go of their vested interests, and formed a secret alliance. According to the rumours that drifted into the capital, they had been assembling troops centred around the governors of fortresses ever since the crown prince had left Mephian territory. They stirred up fervour by claiming that “the schemes of the crown prince’s faction are preventing His Majesty and the empress from moving. We will storm the capital and rescue them.”

Odyne, Folker, and the others had, of course, taken all measures to surround the Dragon Gods’ temple. Their encircling net allowed no one to pass inside nor to escape outwards; but since Emperor Guhl Mephius himself was within, they could not make use of violent means. Yet as long as ‘His Gracious Majesty’ remained safe, the emperor’s faction was not going to reign in its actions.

Ineli Mephius irritably took stock of this situation, in which Solon continued to be locked in a strange stalemate while sparks flew all around it. The angle of her eyebrows grew sharper by the day, as did the number of times she found fault with her ladies’ maids, the soldiers, and everyone around her.

Before long, she started suggesting that they should force their way into the temple.

“We should send soldiers in immediately. Even the ‘enemy’ couldn’t possibly use His Majesty as a shield. Isn’t this simply underestimating our ability to push forward?”

So saying, she repeatedly urged Odyne to use military force, but:

“If we use strong measures at this point, it might provide those inside and outside of the city with a just cause to turn their weapons against us. We would do better to await our chance,” he chided her each time.

Those who were causing disturbances all around were no different in thought than Ineli. ''I need to seize this opportunity to make a name for myself'' – all of them were bound with that almost obsessive thought.

And so it was that, in the end, Ineli used a portion of those who were likewise looking to curry favour with the imperial princess and, late one night, mobilised soldiers on nothing but her own judgement.

“We don’t need to destroy the temple. Once we’ve taught them a lesson, we’ll soon see how fragile the ‘enemy’s’ solidarity is. Defectors will start appearing one after another, and this ridiculous disturbance will come to an end.”

With those words, the cannons were placed into position and the temple was bombarded.
As the roar of cannonfire resounded, regardless of it being from the emperor’s or the crown prince’s faction, it sounded like Mephius’ death throes.

Fortunately, the aim was off and a unit under Odyne’s banner realised what was happening and was able to stop the bombardment after the second shot, so the episode had no effect other than to galvanise the emperor’s faction. The next day, a squad fired a volley of cannonballs at the capital’s ramparts in retaliation before being broken up by Solon’s guards as the townspeople huddled together and watched the thick, white smoke rising up.

It was while Solon was being shaken by chaos that a visitor arrived. A Garberan royal princess who had travelled by ship from Birac.

Needless to say, it was Vileena Owell.

The first to greet the princess was Theresia, who had formerly been her head lady’s maid in Garbera.

Vileena had previously left Solon after making a declaration, unbefitting of a princess, that “I am going to take some soldiers to subjugate Salamand.”

Theresia now bowed with a deliberately calm expression and asked, “Did you have a pleasant trip?”

The princess nodded with a smile.

“It was very pleasant. I unexpectedly got to see the skies of my hometown once more.”

“That is indeed very fortunate. However, it is rare for you to overturn the plans you have decided on, Princess. Even I was surprised that you had gone to relax in Garbera,” Theresia said with sarcastic admiration.

The old lady’s maid was, of course, given the details. That Salamand’s capture had gone well but thereupon, the princess had been shot at by someone and her life had suddenly been placed in danger; also that she had travelled to Phozon, the capital of their home country, but had remained inside the air carrier without setting a single foot beyond it.

But let us have no tedious repetitions. Looking at her mistress, whose hair concealed the tightly wound bandages, Theresia had the startling impression that she was looking at a wounded warrior who bore their injuries with pride rather than pain.

At the same time –

''Oh?'' – Theresia frowned slightly. The princess’ eyes were red. She must surely have been seized by homesickness after returning for a while to Garbera, thought Theresia, when…

“Fuwaaaah.”

“Princess…”

Vileena gave such a huge yawn that Theresia had no choice but to sharply reprove her.

“Have you not slept?”

“No, not for about three days.” Vileena rubbed her eyes.

Since Gowen had, of course, sent advance notice that the princess would be visiting Solon, Theresia was not the only one who had gone out to meet her, there had also been messengers from Ineli and the other nobles currently in the capital. Vileena merely exchanged formal greetings with them, however, and left afterwards with no one but Theresia, saying that “I’m going to my chambers.”

The chambers in question were the ones that had been allocated her when the crown prince had still been in Solon. Her manner indicated that she considered that nothing had changed from before and that this was her living space.

To their side, slaves going about their work at the port were about to pass by. They were carrying heavy loads on their backs. A man who looked like the port supervisor hurled abuse at them for being “slow”.

Vileena Owell cast them a vague sideward glance.

“Say, Theresia…”

“Hearing you say ‘say’ makes me feel uneasy.”

“What do you mean, ‘uneasy’,” for a second, Vileena puffed her cheeks, but her expression immediately went back to being serious. “My greatest source of pride is having been born into Garbera’s royal family.”

“I know.”

“However, if, for example, the townspeople here were to say, right in front of me, that that was nothing compared to their own pride and joy in being the sons or daughters of their own parents, I would not laugh at them.”

“Indeed.”

“Then what about slaves?” Vileena turned to look over her shoulder once again at the men moving every which way around the port. “Do they also feel proud of their origins and of their current selves?”

“…”

Theresia was about to answer something but instead remained silent. She understood that Vileena was not making a careless comment, and neither was she looking for Theresia to answer her.

“Lineage is a strange thing if you think about it. If you follow an unbroken line of births, you arrive at the same place for everyone. So what is it that makes me proud of being part of the royal family? Is it because I can see for myself the nobility of my grandfather, my father, and my brothers? Is it because of the examples, the honour, and also the nobility of my ancestors recorded in history books?”

Vileena turned to face forwards. The sky was faintly blue. Perhaps it was because of the disturbances that were breaking out all over, but messenger airships and air carriers were incessantly taking off and landing at the port.

“I am a royal princess of Garbera,” she quietly stated that obvious fact and continued walking. “I inherited that blood and carry that history. Both past and future. Right, my words aren’t mine alone, my body doesn’t belong only to me. If I go too far in prioritising my own wishes and values, and betray my lineage, I will be smearing mud over both the spirits of the past and the future of the royal family. Because...”

“…”

''Because I am a royal princess of Garbera''.

Vileena’s steps did not falter. Quite the opposite: she sped up, leaving Theresia to look at her advancing back. That was no doubt to not let her see the liveliness that was shinning brightly in her red and bloodshot eyes, but she had, literally, been a step too slow.

''Because… my blood and soul have to match that same integrity''.

=== Part 2 ===

Princess Ineli Mephius’ patience had once again exceeded its limits.

The chaos was continuing in Mephius. Gil was still on the way to Dairan, Folker had gone to put down a slave revolt that had occurred in a manor domain south of Nedain, Yuriah’s troops had flown off to suppress a group of mercenaries which was taking advantage of the chaos to pillage villages. In order to guard against the emperor’s faction amassing their forces, Rogue had divided his units and deployed them throughout the capital’s surroundings.

The crown prince had only just left Solon, yet the country’s internal situation was already collapsing.

What Ineli found hardest to bear was the thought that this might be due to her own mistakes. Originally, Odyne had been left in charge of the imperial capital, and, even though she had the title of princess, Ineli had little authority. For her, who was aiming for status even beyond that, this was both a matchless opportunity to increase her fame and a dangerous situation in which an error could block off her entire future.

However, since the incident of the forceful bombardment on the temple, the watch placed on her had grown stricter. Odyne had personally selected some of his trusted subordinates and had appointed them to the princess’ side.

One of their duties was to send away the officers and nobles who came to request a meeting with the princess, which led to malicious gossip – ''That damned Odyne. Plotting to take advantage of this situation so that he’ll be the only one to reap the benefits.'' Odyne Lorgo, however, was absolutely not going to bend his own policy. At this late stage, he was ill-suited to throwing his lot in with those who wished to curry favour with the imperial princess.

Ineli herself finally openly voiced her dissatisfaction with Odyne, and started criticising the general who was keeping her under house arrest in all but name.

At this point, the movements in their surroundings once again showed signs of changing. Although the current chaos did have a side to it which was a confrontation between the “Emperor faction” and “Crown Prince faction”, for a portion of the people involved this was no more than an empty slogan, and their actions were similar to those of looters at the scene of a fire.

While there were quite a few people who judged that this would develop into a large-scale civil war, there were many more who were focused on how they should act so as to ensure their own positions in the aftermath, when the disturbance had died down.

''Would it be better to refuse to cooperate with Odyne?''

''No, if we do that, things might get bad once the crown prince returns. Still, the relationship between Princess Ineli and His Highness is pretty good…''

''So if we’re following the princess’ orders, we shouldn’t be charged with any crimes in the future''.

Amidst the constant chaos within the capital, nobles and some of the military officers held these kinds of inappropriate meetings more than once.

It had not been ten days since Prince Gil had left and the emperor vanished from sight into the temple. In Mephius, where the emperor had formerly and arbitrarly dissolved the Council, there was no clear system in place to indicate where authority should be transferred to and converge. Simon Rodloom had always grieved about how much had been lost during the ten-year war with Garbera, and this had certainly not been needless anxiety on his part.

Then –

That day, Ineli Mephius had a visitor.

She was no longer staying in the inner palace, but had chosen a room reserved for the imperial family’s use in the main palace as her centre of operations, and was lodging there.

With guards following her at all times, Ineli was unable to meet as she pleased with influential nobles and officers, so she spent each day sending out letters to all quarters, or answering requests for audiences from city and neighbourhood representatives. Currently, she was the only representative of the imperial family who could actually be met with.

It was evening.

Informed by the chamberlain of the visitor’s name, Odyne’s soldiers were momentarily perplexed as to how to handle this. They were to thoroughly enforce the policy that – ''unless they have my permission, no one of standing is to be allowed to meet with Her Imperial Highness.''

This person, however, was not just anybody. With no other choice, one of them hurried off to communicate directly with Odyne. For a moment, the general himself looked as though he was hesitating over the decision.

“It’s fine. Permission to pass,” in the end, he gave his authorisation.

Similarly, Ineli Mephius frowned when she heard her visitor’s name. ''How vexing'' – was the thought which flitted through her mind.

At present, however, she was the ruling family’s representative within Solon, the imperial capital. It was unavoidable that she should be the one to receive foreign guests.

“By all means, please come in,” Ineli personally opened her door to the visitor.

The one who entered gracefully – or rather, whose posture had her chest thrown out a little too much – was Vileena Owell.

Vileena herself was fully aware that she was a “vexing guest”. And not only for Ineli but for Mephius itself, now that it was being shaken by chaos.

Actually, when she had alighted in Solon, the welcome reception for her had met with some unexpected delays. When they had heard that the princess had been taken into Garbera, most people’s reactions had been along the lines of:

''Doesn’t that make it unlikely that she’ll come back?''

''No, but until Mephius settles down again, you can be sure they’ll come up with some excuse or another to extend her stay over there.''

They certainly had not expected her to return to Solon, her head still wrapped in bandages. Nonetheless, it went without saying that the princess was the crown prince’s fiancée and, even more importantly, she had recently distinguished herself by repulsing Salamand, the scoundrel who had broken across the national border. The populace was inclined to see her as a hero, and neither Odyne nor Ineli had any choice but to welcome her.

Although she could guess what their feelings were, the princess deliberately avoided looking apologetic or making excuses. Still, as a matter of fact, she too had felt some hesitation when arriving in Solon.

She was apprehensive that, given the current state of unrest, her presence might invite more unnecessary trouble; plus there was the fact that very recently, an Imperial Guard had tried to take her life when they were by Garbera’s border, and the mystery of who had been backing him had yet to be elucidated. Going further back in time, the ruffian who had set fire to the western village which had been taking care of her had also unmistakably called her “Princess Vileena” before swinging a blade at her.

Although it was not clear whether those two people were connected, somebody seemed to be after her life.

Would the sound of a gunshot echo the moment she stepped from the ship at Solon’s port, or would someone lurking in the shadows of a building, an assassin’s blade concealed at their breast, come swooping in to attack her? She ''did'' worry about it.

“When is His Highness due to return?”

“Well… since his purpose is to discourage Allion during its earliest manoeuvres, I do not believe that his absence will be particularly prolonged.”

“Really? In that case, let’s quietly await his return,” she replied and, with her lady’s maid, Theresia, in tow, she entered the inner palace.

Whoever it was who was out to assassinate her, she did not expect them to have laid their traps in Solon. And if they had, then –

''I’ll fight.'' Once in bed, she quietly gripped the gun beneath her pillow. Her breathing was uneven, and it was a long time before she was able to fall asleep.

The princess was undeniably “quiet”.

But only for one day.

The very next, she requested a meeting with Ineli Mephius.

After hearing directly from Odyne about the situation in Solon, the princess learned what Ineli had been doing so far, and what her probable intentions were.

''She’s the same as me'' – Vileena thought, and somewhere at the back of her mind, she felt like smiling. She did not want to be a princess used only as a prize for a retainer or a tool for diplomacy, but wanted to be known as someone who was every bit as resourceful as a man, and who acted for the sake of the country.

Vileena herself felt that way. Nor did the royal princess want to consider that her wish to accumulate different experiences was merely a childish fantasy. Nevertheless, everything was subject to the trend of the times, and people themselves were suited or unsuited for different things, and so had to get along with others.

“It has been a long time, Princess.”

“Indeed it has, Your Royal Highness.”

The two of them exchanged greetings with unruffled composure, but, particularly in Ineli’s case, the mood could not be said to be at its best. This princess, who was almost excessively straightforward, whose manner was like a blade that might strike down at any moment, might very well interfere with the present situation in Solon.

Vileena herself was more aware than anyone that – ''the me from before would probably have acted that way.''

“For a time, Solon was humming with talk of how your military achievements are in no way inferior to those of any general, Your Highness.”

“I’m quite ashamed. Putting on armour and departing for the front is hardly ladylike. I truly hope that everyone in Mephius is aware that all Garberan women certainly do not act that way.”

Vileena turned her face down and Ineli laughed gaily as she sipped her tea. They discussed the matter with Salamand for a while longer.

“By the way, Princess. To what do I owe the honour of your visit today?”

“As a matter of fact, although I am a bit worried about doing so, there are some things that I would like to discuss about Empress Melissa.”

''Here it is'' – when Vileena broached the main topic, Ineli’s thoughts flashed across her face. She made the first move.

“The matter concerning Empress Melissa is…” Ineli’s tone of voice grew soft, but there was a sharp glint in her eyes. “I am sure that you, as a guest from a foreign country, must find it exceedingly foolish. As a member of the imperial family, I am utterly shame-faced about it, but, as I am sure you understand, this is our country’s problem. You could say that at this turning of the seasons, we must wash away the pus from the old era and settle matters with our own abilities. We will absolutely not allow it to disturb you, Princess. Please await my brother’s return here in Solon without worrying about anything.”

She gave her warning.

Opposite her, Vileena, looking as though she were suddenly pondering something, allowed a few seconds to pass.

“Naturally, this is Mephius’ problem. Nevertheless, I believe that I, who came from Garbera to marry into your country, could be of help.”

“What is it that you mean?” Ineli maintained her smile. Inwardly, however, she was cursing her opponent.

''Damned hot-headed show-off''.

This was one time when she absolutely could not borrow the princess’ help. As Ineli herself had previously stated, Vileena had become famous in Solon for repelling Salamand. Add that to Crown Prince Gil’s own reputation, and there were already voices loudly proclaiming that “they both are worthy of carrying Mephius into the next era.”

Ineli wanted a chance to demonstrate her own ability. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and, in a way, she felt like thanking her mother for having so hastily run away.

“It is not hard to imagine that when you look at Mephius in its current state, Princess, it must seem very unreliable. Naturally, it is our responsibility and…”

“I have heard that the empress is sending dispatches from within the temple in which she asserts even now that the crown prince is an impostor, and that the child in her belly is the legitimate successor to the throne.”

Vileena unexpectedly shifted the focus of conversation. Or rather, it gave the impression that she had parried Ineli, who had made a ''straightforward'' thrust.

The imperial princess unintentionally fell silent.

“The people who were formerly said to be part of the emperor’s faction are currently raising soldiers in all corners on the strength of those words in order to protect their own positions and vested interests, but their scale can actually be called very small. Since Mephius itself is falling into chaos, General Odyne Lorgo or General Rogue Saian are worrying about how to cope with the situation, but once His Highness Crown Prince Gil returns, this level of disorder should be settled in no time at all.”

“…”

“However, at that point” Vileena’s words were softly spoken. Her lips were formed into a faint smile, yet the contents of what she said abruptly turned stern. “Being driven into a corner and having lost her escape route, the empress will have no choice but to face ruin. Will she choose to fight until the last soldier, or will she choose suicide?”

“S-Suicide?”

“Or perhaps…” Vileena’s smile vanished. “Or perhaps, she might force His Majesty the emperor to accompany her. In which case…”

“In which case?”

“It would create a breeding ground for future problems. Very much… yes, very much so.”
In a way, her words came across as threatening. Or rather, Royal Princess Vileena was unmistakably threatening Imperial Princess Ineli. Hidden behind her words was intimidation: if your mother is driven into a corner and the emperor, father of the country, is lost because of it, then it is ''your'' ability which will be called into question.

Naturally, Vileena’s expression displayed nothing but the concern of a noble lady for the country’s future.

“The retainers will again have the appearance of being coerced into obeying. Even when His Highness Gil Mephius undergoes coronation, the impression that will take root is that he is a ruler who slayed the previous emperor and empress, his own parents, and who oppresses his subjects with no regard for them. The embers of dissent will continue to smoulder, and as soon as a strong wind blows on them once, they will flare up into an inferno that will once again divide the country in two.”

Those words were both ones that Vileena had prepared in advance with premeditated intent, and, at the same time, the reflection of her true feelings, and entirely free of lies.

''A simmering storm''.

''Garbera had Ryucown and Salamand. In Ende, there was Lord Jeremie, who lost the struggle for succession. And in Mephius…''

''Quarrels and strife are constantly lying, lurking, within a country''.

Vileena believed that it was a policymaker’s duty to prevent an opponent from fanning those sparks.

When Vileena Owell had arrived in Solon and had been informed of the situation there by Odyne, she had spent time at a loss in the room which had been allocated to her. It had not taken her a day to request a face-to-face meeting with Ineli, but that had been no snap decision, and during that day, she was plenty hesitant.

''Since the crown prince is currently absent…''

''Those who are left behind, who are left in charge, have a duty to keep things safe.''

“Theresia.”

The princess, who for some reason had been standing in front of a mirror since early in the morning, called out to the lady’s maid who had known her since she was born.

“Yes?”

“Am I a meddling princess?”

“I would not think it particularly strange if there were people who called you that behind your back.”

“Am I unsuitable for Mephius?”

“Not only Mephius but also our own Garbera and the neighbouring country of Ende. There isn’t a single land in which Princess Vileena would be called a model daughter of the royal family.”

Standing behind the princess, Theresia speech was perfectly blunt. Vileena didn’t even let slip a smile.

“Then I’m a heretic. If I’m not the product of Garbera’s history or Mephius’ culture, then neither needs to be ashamed of me, no matter what I do.”

“It sounds as though you are forcing a theory onto something, Princess. What is it that you are plotting now?”

“For the last times,” Vileena had closed her eyes for a moment, but then stared fixedly at Theresia’s face in the mirror. “This will be the last time. So… please forgive me, Theresia. As a princess of Garbera, as the fiancée to the crown prince of Mephius… this is the last time I’ll do something shameful.”

“I see.”

Even as she spoke – ''that’s a lie'' – was written all over Theresia’s face.

“Indeed, the princess is getting on in years. You have become slightly more mature. By telling me beforehand, you are ensuring that Theresia will not be scolding you later.”

“Theresia…”

“Do as you will, Princess.”

Theresia lowered her head, with its hair streaked with grey, just a little. Surprised, the young girl caught her breath.

“Princess Vileena is no longer simply the princess whom I serve. However words are played with, those who see you unmistakably see you as the one who bears the position of princess of Garbera, and fiancée to the crown prince of Mephius. It is because you know that better than anyone that you speak of ‘shame’, Princess.”

“…”

“However, Princess… Although the things you do and say have sometimes left me dumbfounded, and have sometimes made me feel like fainting from shock, not once have I thought of you as ‘shameful’. Princess, you are my pride. Even if some point fingers at you or talk behind your back, whether it is of you as a member of the royal family of Garbera or in the palace of Mephius that you marry into, that alone will never change in all of this lifetime. Therefore, do as you will, Princess. Follow your heart with honesty.”

“Thank you, Theresia.”

As Vileena expressed her gratitude, her throat was a little clogged up, and there was a glimmer at the corner of her eyes. Standing in front of the mirror, the princess stretched out a finger to wipe those tears away. For some reason, however, she allowed her shimmering tears to spill onto her cheek as her white finger pulled down the corner of her eye.

“Beeh!”

She stuck out her tongue.

Ineli was lost for words with which to retort.

“Surely the empress cannot want to lead Mephius to its complete destruction.”

Vileena’s manner remained perfectly calm.

“The key question is whether the empress’ actions stem from a righteous cause that can guide Mephius’ future. That point is essential. Now that, as I mentioned earlier, she had declared that His Highness the Crown Prince is an impostor and that the child in her belly is the legitimate heir to the throne, the empress is effectively saying that she is expecting to shoulder the burden of governing Mephius. In other words, her cause is her right to bear responsibility for the country. And, in that case…”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v12 165.jpg|thumb]]
Vileena Owell lowered her eyes for a moment. She was fully aware of her own personality. A critical moment needed the ‘critical’ expression. Which was why she deliberately hid her face.

“In that case, if I, Vileena Owell, a princess from an allied country, go to the temple in the capacity of ‘negotiator’, it will be impossible for her to either turn a blade against me, or to take me hostage while she makes her demands.”

“…”

“How about it, Your Imperial Highness, Princess Ineli? Would you agree to let me go to the temple?”

“W-What are you saying?” Ineli was trembling in agitation, but she still firmly shook her head. “We could not possibly allow a princess, who has been left in our care by an allied country, to do anything so dangerous. If anyone should take the initiative of going, it is only right that I, Ineli, should do so.”

“No, Your Highness. At present, you are the imperial family’s representative in Solon. If anything should happen to you, Lady Ineli, the people would be thrown into even greater confusion, and only the lawless would rejoice.”

Her tone held a note of sharpness. Faster than Ineli could reply to the implied criticism, Vileena continued her train of argument.

“Naturally, I am not suggesting that I should make a great show of visiting the shrine. That would agitate the populace and the other nobles, and would probably cause an unnecessary disturbance. Even if it may be necessary to send a messenger beforehand to inform the empress of my visit, we can use disguises in front of the people… right, for example, Princess Ineli, concerned for the emperor and empress’ state of health might send someone with meals for them, or dispatch a doctor to them, and when we send people in on that kind of pretext, I can pretend to be a lady’s maid and slip in among them.”

Her saying ‘when’ made it sound as though the whole thing was already settled, but her next words were even more startling.

“I will, without fail, communicate your words to the empress. For that, Lady Ineli, I would like you to support me in this.”

She even added ‘for that’… The way she was talking made it sound as though Vileena was responding to a request from the imperial princess.

Ineli Mephius looked as though she had suddenly been dumped into a rough and stormy night sea. As though she did not have time to gasp for breath before huge waves bore down on her one after another, and tossed her up and down.

Then, having come to that point, Princess Vileena added another outrageous suggestion.
“How about holding a council, tomorrow morning, to which all the commanders and people of influence currently residing in Solon will be summoned? At that point, we will reproduce the conversation that you and I have just had.”

“…”

In other words –

The two of them would repeat their current exchange in front of the assembled grandees, pretending to say and hear those things for the first time.

Realising the intention behind it, Ineli’s ears turned red. It wasn’t only to ensure that her request would be accepted – the princess was worried about Ineli.

If the details of their conversation was broadcast, Ineli would avoid the accusation of being a coward who had sent the royal princess into danger while she shut herself away. Not only that, but if any results were obtained, the merit would surely be seen as being partly hers.

''T-This, this brat!''

Ineli Mephius chewed on the edge of her lips.

Once, in far-off Apta, she had certainly cornered this ‘brat’. That girl had nothing but war and airships on the brain, and wasn’t even familiar with the culture of her own country, nor could even recite a single line of poetry. In front of that barbarian of a girl, Ineli had skilfully demonstrated her diplomatic finesse, and had magnificently entertained their foreign visitors.
Vileena herself had been nothing but nervous throughout, but in the end, she had looked at Ineli in admiration and had requested to shake her hand.

And that worthless ‘brat’ was worrying about her and was trying to break a deadlocked situation that Ineli herself had only been watching with her arms folded. On top of that, she was saying that – ''we’ll do it together, the two of us''.

Emotions welled up within her like a raging fire – or not. Their eyes happened to meet, and, contrary to what might have been expected, it was Vileena’s that were sparkling brightly. And it was Vileena who started in surprise. Although she had been planning to conceal her emotions and to talk with perfect detachment, in the end, here she was excitedly leaning forward and gazing ''straightforwardly'' at Ineli.

For a moment, the imperial princess of Mephius stared, dumbfounded, at the princess who was averting her gaze from her in embarrassment.

''This girl…''

She relaxed the strength on the teeth with which she had been biting her lip. She truly wasn’t a girl who was any good at wiles.

At that moment, if Ineli’s mental state had to be defined, it was that she recognised the Garberan princess as – ''a rival''.

Forced to compete directly with what should have been a worthless brat, she had been made to recognise her own lack of ability.

''One day, I’ll defeat you'' – she firmly decided.

Right, one day.

The next day, the royal princess of Garbera and the imperial princess of Mephius reproduced their exchange. Using the atmosphere there as a guide, they brushed over the inconvenient bits and padded some other parts, but the general idea remained the same.

They also emphasised the threat that if the empress was driven into a corner, she might choose to kill herself and to take the emperor with her, as well the supposition that Empress Melissa would not lightly harm a princess from a foreign country.

Before Odyne and the influential nobles assembled there could catch their breath –

“I am truly grateful for the princess of Garbera’s solicitude. Everyone agrees that in this situation, we cannot simply stand idly by and watch. I have also heard that there is an alarming rumour out on the streets that Empress Melissa’s claim that she has the Emperor is untrue. If that is true… indeed, I feel that as Empress Melissa claims to have righteousness on her side, we must verify whether there is any truth to that claim.”

Ineli put on an air of innocence. The royal princess bowed her head, pretending to be deeply moved.

With the atmosphere becoming that of everything having been decided, General Odyne Lorgo hurriedly started to stand.

“Naturally, we cannot possibly allow the princess of Garbera to undertake such a dangerous task all alone. Odyne, I order you to accompany her.”

“A-Aye,” the imperial princess had perfectly chosen her timing, and Odyne found himself replying unintentionally. His face immediately flushed red, however. “Y-Your Imperial Highness. This is simply… this is simply too dangerous. If you would give me an order, please tell me to wear my sword and armour, and march alone into the temple,” he said.

He was, of course, completely opposed to Vileena visiting the temple. However, with a gesture that was half a sneer, half a rebuke, Ineli replied –

“General Odyne, do you really think that if you go like that, Empress Melissa will unfasten the tightly shut gates and let you in?”

Odyne could find no words of retort. Ineli’s words were the equivalent of stating that, other than the Garberan princess, no one present there would be able to get the empress’ attention. And in the first place, if Odyne could have solved things by himself, the situation would not have evolved into the current deadlock.

“However, I commend your spirit. Protect the princess even at the cost of your own life.”

The two girls had arranged things to perfection. When Ineli stood up, it was in exactly the same manner as the emperor, his cloak flapping.

“We will send a messenger to the temple this very day. With that in mind, please lend me two hundred of the Imperial Guards who answer directly to the emperor. In accordance with the laws of Mephius, I, who have the right to exercise authority as the highest-ranking member of the imperial family currently in Solon, hereby take command.”

A certain sort of misgiving appeared on every face there, but the atmosphere was not one that encouraged anyone to speak. Ineli’s claim that she had “the right to exercise authority as the highest-ranking member of the imperial family” was patently untrue. Even if the blood had somewhat thinned over the course of history, there were, in Mephius, several boys who were distantly related to the imperial family. Moreover, since Ineli was Empress Melissa’s child from her previous marriage, she was not of imperial lineage.

However, no one, Odyne included, pointed this out. That was because they all recognised that at this point in time, with the entire country – starting with Solon – in chaos, somebody needed to clearly take on the role of leader. Although Imperial Princess Ineli had certainly been led to error because of her quick-temper, it was a fact that she was the only one attending to tasks as a representative of the imperial family. Ineli had been one of the causes of the disturbance, but she had also, so to speak, worked to extinguish the fire by preventing it from spreading further.

“If, by some unlikely chance, the ‘enemy’ was to take violent action,” Ineli Mephius’ expression turned grim, like that of a guardian deity to the country, “we will destroy that ‘enemy’,” she declared.

=== Part 3 ===

''It’s dark.''

The old man gazed at his surroundings with eyes that were as black as night.

He was in the deepest part of the underground of Solon’s Dragon Gods’ temple. Directly beneath the section of a mural that depicted the dragon god Mephius, a long staircase led down to this high-ceilinged room. The floor stretched out in white marble, while huge columns were aligned in orderly rows in the direction that the old man – that Guhl Mephius – was looking in.

The once snow-white silk cloth that he was wearing was slightly stained, exhaustion clung to Guhl’s face like dirt, giving it a slightly dark discolouration, and there was no spark of vitality in his eyes.

From the day that the audience with Crown Prince Gil Mephius had ended, Guhl had tended to stay in his own chambers. He had not shown himself in public, the reason given being that his health had deteriorated.

Then, one night, a short while after Crown Prince Gil had left Solon –

He had been resting in his room when people who claimed to be messengers from Empress Melissa had appeared. They had drawn their swords and, in no time at all, they had mowed down the sentries who were guarding his room. He learned later that Melissa had won over the officer in charge of stationing the guards.

With an attitude that was the very definition of mock courtesy, they had said –

“Please accompany us, Your Majesty. If you remain here, you will be in danger. In order to lead Mephius to its rightful future, please escape from here for now,” and, carrying him on their shoulders, they had borne him off to the Dragon Gods’ temple.

It had been more than ten days since then.

Guhl had been forced into the lowest level of the temple. A meal was brought to him once a day. Their manner was still ostensibly courteous, but it was clear that they had no intention of allowing him to take a single step out of here.

Melissa, the mastermind behind the plot – and the Emperor’s spouse – had not shown herself. He had merely received an oral message from her.

“Your Majesty is exhausted, so I pray that you will wait a while as I take it upon myself to open the path towards the rightful future of Mephius in your stead. Before long, I will, without fail, return you, Your Majesty, to the throne of Mephius, the likes of which has no equal in this world.”

Guhl did not tell her to do as she pleased.

Nor did he try to resist.

All day long, he simply remained within these shadows in which no light shone. When his meal was brought, he ate it mechanically.

During that time, what did he think about? What did he feel?

''Nothing.''

Guhl let out a voice that was not even a whisper.

''I don’t think about anything. I don’t feel anything.''

“That’s a lie,” a voice threw at him.

“What’s a lie?” Guhl glared at a corner of darkness. “A lie, is it? What do you understand about me?”

“I understand. You’re thinking. You never stop thinking. Where did you make a mistake? Or was this actually the correct path after all? Every moment that you are awake… no, even when you fall asleep you still keep questioning yourself over and over again in your dreams.”

“The correct path. A mistake. There are no such things. If you say that what I did was wrong, then ruling through military might cannot be right.”

“That might be so,” the voice’s owner showed no trace of mockery, and his tone was one of utmost sincerity. “If loosening the reins invites chaos, then drawing the reins too tight will cause the appearance of those people who cannot bear the suffocation. Humans cannot become gods, so perhaps they cannot govern over humans after all.”

“I’ve no time for such philosophical views,” Guhl narrowed his eyes, looking as though his gaze could penetrate through the darkness.

Barely any light shone in that underground chamber, but it was currently evening. The view from the highest floor of the palace in Solon, the imperial capital, would spread out far, and to the west, one could surely see the Domick Flats, shining a brilliant red. Lowering one’s gaze and bringing it a little closer, to the manors and granaries in Solon’s surroundings, one would see the specks of human beings who were wiping away the sweat from the last of the day’s toil.

Within the palace’s corridors, soldiers on duty would either be patrolling, or standing guard. Guhl had loved, above all else, looking down onto the valiant sight of armour gleaming in the light of the setting sun.

“You are strong. A strong human being. I know better than anyone that, at the very least, that is what you strove to be.”

“…”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v12 183.jpg|thumb]]
“No… rather than saying that you strove to be strong, maybe it would be better to say that you strove to remove any weakness from yourself. You tried to eradicate all weakness not only from the country or from other people, but especially from yourself. Because you were a strong ruler. Because you were strong, both admirable and imposing, a great ruler who could shoulder the responsibility for everything that happened within the country, and who could lead the way to peace, and who could lead the way to peace. Because ''you had to be''.”

The shadowy figure remained at a fixed distance from Guhl, neither approaching nor stepping further away. Only the voice oscillated between strong and soft as it spoke, sometimes so fierce that it seemed to hemmer against the old man’s ears, sometimes so gentle that it seemed to tickle them like a breeze.

“But Guhl. It is just as I said before: you are not a god. For all that you claimed that authority, the fact will not change that you are a flesh-and-blood human born from your mother’s womb. Humans cannot incorporate all of the world’s phenomena into their living flesh. So what do you think a human aspiring to be great should do?”

“What should he do?”

“Isn’t that what you were thinking over, Guhl? After being ousted from the throne and brought like a captive from your own room to this cellar, isn’t that what you have constantly, solely, been thinking over?”

Guhl gave a low groan. It was the same, however, as the meaningless words that a child might threaten an opponent with just before getting into a fight.

“Yeah, it’s just as you said. I did ''something'' wrong, and the raised blade which should have protected the people, the blade whose edge should have been bathed in a light that illuminated the world, was smashed. But who can say what that ''something'' is? That’s something for future historians to debate as they sit at their round tables.”

“You are, after all, but one person. Even so. If you could make even a single inference about that ''something'', perhaps you could impart it to your son, Gil Mephius. Even if the life and value of a single human is infinitesimal, as generations pile up one on top of the other, by leaving our words for those who will come after, maybe humans will one day find a path that comes close to the truth. Guhl, don’t religion and history, the tales of legend, the very lives of humans, exist for that sake?”

“…”

At that person’s voice, Guhl no longer answered, no longer got angry, no longer got agitated. No, if it had to be said, he was as unmoving as a statue. Yet the owner of the voice continued, as though he could see through to the very bottom of Guhl’s heart,

“How long has it been since Lady Lana passed away?” He touched upon the part that Guhl least wanted touched, and the old emperor’s eyes, as dark as night itself, suddenly opened wide. “When you lost Lady Lana, you were far more distraught than you had been after the loss of your father and mother. It’s easy to imagine now how you rejected that weakness with all your being. You were different from your father, who had thrown the country into disorder… you were not a weak ruler – so as to convince yourself of that, you firmly shut the lid on your own heart and strove to become strong. One could say that you succeeded splendidly in that. But, at the same time, did you not demand too much strength from others, and from yourself? I think so.”

The instant that the old emperor turned his face away –

“Guhl.”

The shadowy figure, who up until then had maintained a fixed distance from him, was suddenly at Guhl’s side. Close enough to feel breath against his ear.

“You must have already noticed it yourself. The world over which you reigned craves its next era. It hopes and wishes for you to leave. Your eyes are blind. Your ears can barely hear a person’s voice. Be a strong ruler to the end. By willingly admitting your weakness, by accepting defeat, you will become an even stronger ruler, Guhl…”

“Is someone there, Guhl Mephius?”

Another figure approached from beyond the row of columns. One as skinny as a withered tree, yet its steps were firm.

Guhl, whose eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, was immediately able to make him out. Among the elders of the Dragon Gods’ faith, this old man was probably the one considered to be at the very top. Guhl took the time to slowly look around him.

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone here,” he answered in a voice that had gone hoarse. “Or are you saying that your eyes, which excel at discerning the supernatural, can see someone other than me here? Is their heart beating, and does their blood flow?”

“Such nonsense. Emperor Guhl, looking at you like this, you are no different from any other lonely old man. With no luxurious toga, no crystal staff, no crown upon your head, no gallant soldiers standing to protect you, spear in hand, you are just like an elderly man talking to himself because there is no one else around.”

“Did you come all the way here just to say that? I’d heard that you couldn’t even get up anymore, but now that you’ve managed to get better, you have a strange way of entertaining yourself.”

“That’s right, I came here to make a fool of you,” the elder approached Guhl one step at a time. “You who have abandoned your former ideals, dreams and ambitions are no more than the empty husk of ‘Emperor Guhl’. Just like every other human, with the passing of the years, the spirit which maintained your desires has eroded. I once watched the future for you, so seeing you like this is lonely for me too.”

Drawing closer, they were now face-to-face. Yet the elder did not stop.

Emperor Guhl’s eyes once again opened wide. He had felt something. Cold that seemed to pierce his body, heat like a fire that could boil the blood inside him – a strange atmosphere that seemed to have altered the very world around him.

As they faced each other, the elder’s eyes seemed to be emitting a pale light. With the light from beneath his heavy, drooping eyelids came shock great enough to oppress body and mind, and it certainly licked against Guhl’s pale face.

“You bastard,” Guhl’s voice came out hoarse. It was the voice of a man whose throat was being squeezed by someone’s hands, and his expression was twisted with pain.

The elder had finally arrived within a hair’s breadth of Guhl. At that point, he should finally have stopped, but –

“Stop,” howled Guhl. “Don’t come! Don’t come any closer!”

That was how it seemed to Guhl. Even though the elder’s steps had stopped, he was still drawing closer to Guhl. ''Something'', like a hazy flame imperceptible to the naked eye – yet at the same time, he could tell that it was the elder himself, that ''something'' that was like a soul, was being released from within that body that was like a withered tree. As though to prove that it had been released from the fetters of flesh, it continued to advance without stopping even as it came into contact with Guhl’s body.

“Guwaaaah!”

The emperor’s knees hit the floor.

''That'' fit itself perfectly over the emperor’s face, chest, arms and now started encroaching into the inside of him.

“I can no longer choose my means,” the voice seemed to ring from inside Guhl, striking directly against his brain. “I will be taking your body. At the very least, I will turn all of Mephius into my shrine. Every man, woman and child will become offerings to my sorcery. What, at most it will only be a matter of erasing a single country’s name from the map of the world. I have already witnessed such things so many times that I’m bored of it. I only need to do this once more…”

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| Forward to [[Rakuin_no_Monshou:Volume12_Chapter5|Chapter 5]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter3

2017-12-26T14:46:20Z

Double Check: Duplicate sentence.

==Chapter 3: Dairan in Flames==

=== Part 1 ===

Although isolated within the enemy’s formation, Eric naturally did not just stand by with his arms crossed. While sending a messenger to Dairan, he picked the uninjured soldiers and the best out of those who were injured but still sufficiently mobile, and explored ways to descend from the higher ground to the enemy lines.

They were preparing to retaliate against the enemy once reinforcements had arrived from Dairan. As Eric himself had said, if things went well, they would be able to attack the enemy from both sides. If there was a way to climb down behind the besieging enemy soldiers, they would use it to attack from the rear. If that was impossible, then their tactic would be for every platoon to charge down the hill.

It was around then that their camp suddenly erupted with noise.

“Ah!’

“My lord!”

Flames were rising up in the far distance.

From Dairan’s direction.

It was obvious that Allion’s army had launched an assault on it. For a second, Eric and the soldiers accompanying him were stunned. This situation was impossible. Dairan, against whose solid walls the nomadic riders seemed to bounce back off every time they attacked – Dairan was burning.

''Because of my incompetence…'' Eric’s shaking hands clenched into tight fists that trembled even harder.

For the prince, Dairan was far more his home than the capital, Safia. And while his home was being attacked, he found himself in a position where he could no longer hope for reinforcements from Dairan. Since things had come to this, there was only one path open to Eric’s troops.

To prepare to die without surrendering.

Like the tip of a single spear, all they could do was to concentrate their forces on ripping into a single point of the enemy lines. Nothing else.

Naturally, Prince Eric himself had to return alive either to Dairan or to Safia. If the worst happened and Dairan fell, if its people and soldiers were slaughtered to the last, as long as Eric survived, even if he was the only one, there would still be a chance for revenge. If Eric died here, however, that would mean the annihilation of the Grand Duchy of Ende itself.

Therefore, while they would be pouring most of their force into their surprise attack, it could be no more than a decoy. The decoy corps would fight with the all the power of desperation until it was utterly destroyed, during which time, the prince, accompanied by a few guards, would withdraw from the frontlines.

“My lord, please give us your orders.”

“Please allow me to demonstrate my prowess in the vanguard.”

“Ha, ha, ha, what’re you saying, you greenhorn who was living easy in the capital? I’m sure the prince will be kind enough to let this old croak show off my skill as a Dairan warrior one last time.”

Every last one of them volunteered to be part of the decoy unit.

Even Belmor, covered in injuries and unable to walk unaided, stood before the prince, using a spear in place of a cane.

“May the spirits of Heaven and Earth manifest their power and forever protect you, Lord Eric, next Grand Duke of Ende,” he said, his eyes clear and bright.

Eric wept.

There was nothing he could do but shed tears as he accepted their desperate resolve. Things were different from when he had fought in Dairan as an individual warrior. Eric now represented Ende itself, and his life was no longer his alone.

A few dozen minutes after flames had broken out in Dairan, four hundred soldiers descended the hill, calling upon the names of the spirits, spears, swords and guns in hand.

Less than half of them were still fit to wield steel. Some dragged one of their legs behind them, others had to lean on horses, and others still had to advance by crawling along the ground.

They soon collided with those of Allion’s troops that were stationed to the south side. The sound of gunfire immediately filled the surroundings.

Meanwhile, Lord Eric and the fifty soldiers protecting him attempted to break out on the west side.

Lance Mazpotter, who was in command of the encircling troops, reacted swiftly as well.

“It worked.”

Lance had predicted that once Dairan was set ablaze, the enemy would definitely descend from the high ground. And furthermore, that it would be as a decoy to allow Lord Eric to escape alone. Therefore, when he heard battle cries resound overhead, Lance gave the first instructions to shoot even as he promptly sent a signal to the airship unit.

Many of Allion’s airships, and especially those that seated two people, imitated the form of giant birds of prey. The motif was apparently that of the giant birds that appeared in myths from the Ancient Magic Dynasty. The soldiers on the back seats held up lights. While maintaining a distance between each other, several ships revolved in the sky.

Lance’s raised eye watched each of the twinkling lights. Before long, a light flying to the west drew an ‘8’ with its trail.

“There!” Lance cried out, and broke into a run towards it, accompanied by a hundred riders. With a force like the wind, he easily left the bloody battlefield behind.

His target was obvious. Lord Eric’s head.

Meanwhile, eight kilometres east of Dairan and at around midnight, a commotion also broke out all at once at the mountain pass where the allied Garberan and western forces were confronting Allion’s army. The reason was the same as for Eric’s troops: brilliant flames had risen from the direction of Dairan.

Hearing the uproar, Zenon Owell almost came tumbling out his pavilion and, for a moment, he also stared in shock in that direction.

Lord Eric had not notified Prince Zenon of his intention to lead a raid that night. This had been to prevent information from leaking as much as possible, but now that they were caught in an enemy trap, nothing could have been more harmful than that decision.

“Rouse the soldiers! Ready weapons!”

Waking up from his momentary trance, Zenon started yelling so hard that his mouth seemed to take up his entire face. With the help of the squires who accompanied him as knight apprentices, the prince donned his armour.

Just as Zenon had predicted, cries of “Enemy attack, enemy attack!” soon rose as Phard Chryseum drove his warhorses from the east. The assault on Dairan had clearly been his signal.
He moved with all the ferocity of a raging bull, with such terrifying force that it was hard to believe he had patiently been sitting still up until now. He rushed madly ahead, looking as though he would smash through anything that stood in his way, be it man, horse, or boulder.

Zenon was forced to make a decision. If they remained idly to one side, Dairan would be caught in a two-pronged attack between the forces currently assaulting it and the troops led by Phard. If the city fell, it would, of course, spell defeat for the allied forces.

“Prince Zenon!”

Gunshots, shouts of encouragement, and simple screams reverberated throughout the mountain pass, so that it was already impossible to hear what the person next to you was saying. Yet among it all, yelling in particularly loud voices, spurring on their huge horses, were the two commanders, Moldorf and Nilgif.

“Leave the rear to us.”

Both displayed their teeth as they laughed, spears in hand. Zenon Owell nodded immediately. The brothers’ smiles broadened.

“Pull back, pull back!” Zenon cried. He swiftly reorganised the first unit, centred around the riflemen. “First unit, take up position at entrance of the pass. Cover the retreat of the following troops.”

He called together each of the platoon commanders that he could see, and ordered them to stay in position until the first unit had completed its escape.

“Afterwards, each captain is to withdraw according to their own judgement. The western heroes are serving as the rear guard. Knights of Garbera, you have to repay their brave actions at all cost!”

The clouds of dust kicked up by the battle were already wafting towards Zenon’s face.

On the opposing Allion side, General Phard Chryseum was part of the vanguard at the centre of those dust clouds. The many and heavy-looking iron balls hanging from his battle staff hummed as he whirled it around. Usually, when that kind of weapon was used from horseback, the grip was shortened to make it easier to use with one hand; but Phard merrily swung what an ordinary man would be hard-pressed to use even two-handed. Around him, the heads of western soldiers were blown away.

In battle, he raged like a storm. As Phard ferociously pressed closer, painting a whirlpool of blood above his head, even the western warriors, renowned for their bravery, and the Garberan soldiers, imbued in the spirit of chivalry, flinched and prepared to flee.

“Boring, Boooring,” Phard laughed, and his breathing wasn’t even uneven.

The woman’s profile on the underside of his cloak flapped in and out of sight. Was there even a single enemy that survived after having seen it?

“So Garberan knights only amount to this much? You’re not worthy of holding a spear. Hurry on back to town to write poetry for the ladies.”

“Huh?” Phard’s narrow eyes, smouldering from the feast of blood and slaughter, opened wide.

An enemy was hurtling his horses right at him. The rider’s figure cut straight through the dust raised by Allion’s army, and with each sweep of his spears, he mowed down several of Allion’s iron-clad cavalry that were galloping in front of Phard.

“Oooh!” he roared in admiration at the enemy’s strength, seeing someone approach right before him without slowing their movements in the slightest.

Phard swept his war staff diagonally upwards. At that same moment, his opponent’s spear cleaved through the air. Spear repelled staff then jabbed a further two, three times to knock back the iron balls that were about to smash directly into the opponent’s face.

Both horses stopped abruptly, their forelegs suspended in the air. For just a second, Phard and the western cavalryman’s faces came close to one another.

“Tell me your name.”

“Moldorf, Kadyne’s commander of the Tauran army.”

“Got iiit!” Phard howled and kicked at his horse’s flank.

He was not trying to escape, but to put some distance between them since he had realised that his own weapon was not suitable for close combat.

Aware of what he was trying to do, Moldorf was of course in hot pursuit. He thrust his spear forward repeatedly. Phard, however, shortened his grip on his staff and the iron balls repelled the spear.

Allion’s army, meanwhile, continued to advance forward, but met with resistance from Nilgif’s elite cavalrymen. They rode freely through the narrow mountain pass, sometimes charging, sometimes scattering left and right, fighting hard and constantly impeding the larger army’s progress.

Nevertheless, the allied Garbera-western forces were compelled to retreat, whereas Allion’s troops simply needed to continuously attack and advance. Inevitably, there was a difference in their energy and momentum.

The clouds of dust sent flying under the feet of the horses and infantrymen gradually moved west, and the position in which the allied forces had established their camp was violently trampled underfoot by Allion’s army, along with all the flags from the various countries.

At the same time, in Dairan, the city’s soldiers were concentrating their gunfire on Kaseria’s forces which were drawing up to the front of the fortified mansion.

Although Kaseria was currently sheltered behind a building, waiting for the onslaught to subside, he had the curious impression that – ''bullets can’t even graze me when I’m winning''. Perhaps holding those kinds of beliefs was a type of strength in this kind of mêlée combat.

While Kaseria was giving his riflemen orders to counterattack, the cannon was successfully set up. Before long, the gun barrel roared and belched out vast quantities of black smoke.

“Guah!”

Dairan soldiers were blown away by the explosion, and the gate to the mansion collapsed.

Kaseria allowed his men to rest for a moment, then gave the order of assault. Naturally, he was running in the vanguard. His horse soared over the rubble that had once been the gate then, for a second, Kaseria tilted his head to the right.

From the other side of the whirling dust, a spear came hurtling, humming through the air. Aiming for the instant when the spear was fully extended towards him, Kaseria stretched out his hand and calmly took hold of it.

The first prince of Allion did not often get to play like this. On the battlefield, where even the tiniest miscalculation could prove fatal, he deliberately placed himself in unnecessary danger to confirm for himself just how much he transcended and overwhelmed his surroundings.

In the case of this spear, if he had not waited for the very instant when it had lost its momentum, his wrist would have been blown flying into the air. He succeeded magnificently, however, smoothly grabbing the spear then swiftly turning its tip around to thrust it through the chest of an enemy on the ground.

The soldier died without uttering a sound, and Kaseria’s horse tramped over the corpse. It was then that, sensing someone’s gaze on him, Kaseria once again turned his neck.

The place was something like the mansion’s front garden. Ever since the era of the Ancient Magic Dynasty, this land was known to have a unique sense of aesthetics; so even though Kaseria was royalty from Allion, which had originated from that same dynasty, the arrangement of the rocks inserted into the landscape of the Ende-style garden looked strange to him.

A small figure stood amidst the light tendrils of smoke that were still drifting about.

Thil.

She had been running indoors searching for her little sister, when it occurred to her that Reen might have gone rushing out of the mansion, and so she had gone to look in the front garden. It was at that moment that gate had been bombarded.

She was almost blown away by the blast, but she somehow managed to not be swept away by crouching down and clinging to a rock. It was as she was standing, coughing violently, that her and Kaseria’s eyes met.

Kaseria Jamil’s lips curved into a smile that could only be called gentle.

He was a man who certainly did not dislike children, perhaps because, at heart, he had a childlike personality. Whenever there was an event at which his youngest relatives gathered, he even took the initiative to organise games like hide-and-seek in the palace.

The little girl who appeared within the clearing smoke looked clever but also, as youthful as she was, her appearance held a promise of one day being able to excite a man’s instincts.

''Oh, she’ll grow up to be a beauty'' – thought Kaseria. Even as he thought so, he pulled the spear out of the Dairan soldier that he had stabbed just a moment ago. The sensation of flesh and gore felt good to the hand.

''No, she would have grown up to be a beauty. If she hadn’t met me''.

''It’s too bad''.

''But it can’t be helped. Since, unfortunately for her, she met me''.

He was curious.

He wanted to see how red this little child’s blood would be.

She had been fated, in the future, to be loved and raised like a princess, but he would be tearing that fate down –

On the battlefield, the shackles that held back desires of every kind fell loose. Thoughts that flashed through his mind as nothing more than mere curiosity instantly connected to instinctive desires that could not be suppressed.

Kaseria Jamil feared that part of himself. At the same time, whenever he stood on the battlefield, he felt a joy that could not be compared to that moment of fear.

Kaseria brandished the spear.

Thil could only stare at the sight in shock. Her thoughts were frozen, and she could neither run nor scream. Her trembling lips emitted a sound that was not quite a voice. She could not form her sister’s name, or call for her mother and father.

In the next second, the spear thrown by the first prince of Allion drew an arc in the air.

=== Part 2 ===

At the whistling sound it made as it cut through the wind, Thil came back to her senses. Her bare feet struck the ground, but since her muscles had not kept up with her sudden awakening, she toppled backwards.

Which was actually fortunate for her. The spear lost its target and pierced the ground right in front of her. Thil gazed at the fiercely quivering spear handle as though it was something out of a nightmare.

“Gah,” Allion’s prince growled, spittle flying from his lips. “Gah!”

He was annoyed at having missed. It felt as though the self-confidence and pride from having earlier taken the enemy’s spear as he pleased had been almost entirely used up. At the same time, however, there was a certain pleasure to be had in putting off enjoyment.

Kaseria spurred his horse forward. The beautiful sound that his sword made as it slid out of its scabbard was especially pleasing to the prince’s ear.

Thil tried to stand up, but she couldn’t put any strength into her legs and hips. She stared wide-eyed as ‘death’ spread its black wings before her. Unable to protest against this irrational violence, her fate, or even against the person who was visiting them upon her, Thil could only fix her gaze on its approach.

Kaseria chuckled unintentionally.

''Don’t worry''.

''I’m not clumsy, so you won’t suffer. I’ll take your head in one strike''.

He raised his sword above his shoulder. As though its tip had reached the night sky, the dark clouds parted at that moment, and the moonlight shone down.

Thil unconsciously closed her eyes.

What should have come next was an arc of pale, reflected light drawing towards her neck.
At that moment, a wave a of screams crashed against Kaseria from behind.

To Thil, they sounded like the very embodiment of the land’s – of Dairan’s – fury at being trampled over. For a moment, it was as though the myriad spirits who resided in every last grain of sand, and who had protected Ende for so long, had flung aside the spell that had momentarily bound them and exploded from the earth to the sky.

Kaseria sharply halted his horse as his subordinate came galloping up.

“Your Highness!”

“What?” he asked. His expression was just as annoyed as if he had been interrupted while dallying with a woman.

“E-Enemies.”

At the soldier’s words however, he drew his fine eyebrows together.

“What enemies? Enemies from where? Did Ende still have troops hidden somewhere?”

“N-No,” the soldier vehemently shook his head. “It’s Mephius. Mephius’ army has appeared south of Dairan and is attacking us!”

In fact, at that moment, Dairan’s south gate burst open and the one thousand soldiers led by Gil Mephius plunged into its streets.

“Squadrons, spread out,” Orba shouted from horseback, acting the part of Crown Prince Gil. On top of his leather armour, he was wearing metal covering on his chest, arms and on part of his legs. “Drive Allion’s troops out of Dairan!”

Raising his voice so that it could be heard over the clatter of the horses’ hooves, Orba also swiftly grasped his spear and jabbed it through the neck of an Allion soldier who was staring up at him in blank shock.

This would be Mephius’ first military exploit during this war.

A few hours earlier –

Orba had been approaching Dairan by the air route. The plan had been to spend the night at the relay base, but he could not hide his irritation – ''Time is precious''.

Even though Dairan was just a stone’s throw away, they still knew nothing of what Lord Eric was doing. Even the soldiers at the fort did not seem to have received any detailed information. And more than anything, it was unnatural that not a single messenger had come from Eric to greet the foreign reinforcements who had come from afar.

Orba had a strong sense that something was wrong. Nor was he a man who could peacefully fall asleep when there was something that worried him or he wasn’t satisfied with.

Still, they could not set out at night with the ships, and there was no concrete reason to have the horses gallop through the dark. Orba had just about resigned himself to waiting until dawn, his irritation like a sharp pain within him.

“What are you going to do about the dragons?”

Hou Ran called out to him out of nowhere.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to have the Houbans go overland in pulley-cages? For the small and medium-sized ones, I can ride a horse alongside them and look out for trouble.”

For a moment, Orba didn’t know what the girl with dark brown skin was talking about. The dragons, whose cages were still in the hold, were simply supposed to be carried to Dairan by ship the next day. The two of them faced each other in silence for a while.

The men from Ende, who were watching from a distance, stared at the unusual sight of a woman from the west. While glancing inadvertently at them, Orba had a sudden realisation. Is she saying to hurry? He turned back towards the young dragon handler.

“Is there something going on in Dairan?”

“Something? Hmm, I don’t know if anything’s going on. I just thought that you wanted to go, Orba.”

In a way, her answer was a complete let-down but, separate from the embarrassment of being seen through and the disappointment that Ran had not received any supernatural premonition, one thought reocurred to him.

''No, there is something. There must be''.

Even after arriving here, they did not know what Lord Eric was doing, which made it very likely that he had already started covert manoeuvres.

“Right, since you say so, Ran, we’ll go.”

“I don’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did. It’s fine, so choose the dragons to be moved.”

His mind made up, regardless of what anyone had to say, Orba immediately summoned Pashir and the other commanding officers to inform them of their departure. There was a mad rush to get ready to depart within half an hour. Soldiers who had only just untied their armour had to scramble to obey the prince’s whim.

When Dairan finally came into sight, the sky above its high ramparts glowed a brilliant red.

''It’s burning'' – Orba momentarily halted his army corps, which had been thrown into uproar, and quickly had the men form into squadrons.

“We’ll be fighting immediately. Have your weapons ready and put some back into it!”

Just a while earlier, the soldiers had been grumbling about this forced march at night, but at that sharp cry, tired faces instantly gave way to clear eyes.

Since they obviously could not use the dragons inside the city, three hundred soldiers were left in the rear with them. The command of these was given to the former gladiator, Miguel Tes.

At around that same time, distress beacons were belatedly lit on Dairan’s south side and riders on swift horses were sent out to call for reinforcements. They ran into Orba, who asked that they turn back and get the gates opened. The messengers obeyed, almost weeping with emotion at finding these unexpected reinforcements.

Thus, with Prince Gil in the lead, a thousand soldiers charged shouting through the gate.

Allion’s soldiers, who had been deployed throughout the city and who were busy wrecking it, were utterly taken aback by the sudden assault. Until just the moment before, they had been riding a wave of one-sided slaughter, swords and spears finding their prey one after another, then trampling them beneath their horses’ hooves.

Leaving a platoon with Pashir and Kain, who was wearing the iron mask and pretending to be ‘Orba’, the real Orba took a few soldiers and hurried to the Plutos mansion, guided by the messenger from earlier. He had only gone there because he needed to meet the head of the house, Kayness, but this led him to an unexpected encounter.

Kaseria Jamil.

The first prince of Allion was silently and ferociously cursing while turning his horse around.

Gil Mephius.

Orba, the former gladiator who had falsely take that name, had his sword raised from where he had just beheaded an Allion soldier who was near the cannon.

Who would first become aware of the other?

Once Kaseria realised that the enemy was already drawing near, he spurred his horse into a gallop faster than it took him to think about it. His plan was to force his way right through the enemy’s centre. If he struck swiftly, it would be a faster and easier way of escaping than hiding and stealthily sneaking away.

He grabbed his spear and hurled it at an enemy who had just noticed his approach.

Orba struck it down with his bloodied sword.

Startled by the sudden impact, his horse, however, reared upwards, its two forelegs in the air. Just as though he had been expecting that reaction, Kaseria quickly had his own horse lunge in to fill the empty space that it left. He swept forward as though he had turned into the wind itself.

Maintaining the momentum from striking down the spear, Orba’s sword slashed sideways. His horse’s posture was still uneven. Yet from that unexpected angle, he drove a blow into Prince Kaseria’s helmet.

“Guah!”

For a second, Kaseria was almost thrown from the horse’s back. It felt as though dark blood was dripping from the upper edge of his vision, and that darkness was engulfing both the vivid flames and the rows of Dairan’s houses. He hurriedly shook his head and sent his dizziness flying along with the half-smashed steel helmet.

Once he had come back to himself, he bellowed a war cry and once again turned his horse around. Orba had not expected this defeated enemy would come charging at him again.

Obeying his instincts, Kaseria swiftly drew the sword at his waist, galloped in the straight line that was the shortest way to close the distance with his enemy, and thrust fiercely.

Orba intercepted it from horseback.

Once… Twice…

''Strong''.

The same word flitted through both their minds.

On the third strike, however, Orba’s entire frame staggered.

Kaseria’s fourth jab came at unbelievable speed.

Now that battle had begun, he had simply abandoned his consciousness to the primeval desire for ever more blood and flesh. Honed through innumerable battles and backed by the experience from them, that instinct had grown sharper and surer; and now the ferocity of his attacks could knock back any enemy and leave them grovelling at his feet. Therefore, just as though he had the gift of prophecy, Kaseria could see everything he needed to know about this foolish enemy who stood directly before him a second before he needed it.

He could see the scene in which a straight line would cut right through his enemy’s neck, followed by an eruption of blood and him falling from his horse.

Kaseria’s lips curved into a crescent-shape and parted slightly.

Orba also looked towards him at that moment.

The stars were sparsely scattered across the sky. Against that backdrop, the enemy sword swung over his head.

The wind only rose afterwards.

There was the smell of steel.

Orba, his posture still unsteady, avoided his opponent’s blow by practically sprawling flat across his horse’s back.

“Bastard!” the blood thundered around in Kaseria’s head. He was so angry at having his foresight be off the mark here, on the battlefield, that he did not even feel hatred.

It was at that moment, however, that the soldiers accompanying Gil leapt forward to restrain him from either side with their spears. If he stayed where he was, he would be entirely surrounded. Kaseria ground his teeth.

“Remember this well, you bastard,” he shouted, as he pulled his horse’s reins up to his chest. “You should feel honoured to know that I’ve deigned to remember your face. But it won’t be for long. I immediately forget the faces of those whose heads’ I cut off!”

Orba finally managed to right his riding posture while Kaseria was yelling his provocations and hurrying his horse away. One of the soldiers rode towards him to try and block his path, but in the next second, the head above his neck vanished and spurts of blood gushed up.

''He's like a bolt of lightning'' – Orba thought as he gasped for breath. That man’s speed while attacking from horseback and at switching positions was comparable to Moldorf or Pashir. If he had not had experience against those skilled veterans, Orba would have quickly succumbed against that strength and would probably have been a cooling corpse by now.

“You alright?” he called out to the little girl who had collapsed with a thud in the front garden – Thil.

The girl looked up at the foreign young warrior with a dumbfounded expression, but after a moment, she started nodding her head repeatedly. It would probably take a while before she could speak again.

“Ah, would you be the Lord Crown Prince of Mephius?” Kayness Plutos appeared at that point, surrounded by a group armed with spears. It looked like the messenger had been quick to inform him.

Orba realised that the one talking to him must be the current lord of Dairan. He had a spear in hand and was wearing armour, and had probably been resolved to fight the enemy to the death if they had penetrated into the mansion; but his expression showed relief that – ''We’re saved''.

Orba dismounted and answered Kayness’ bow. These were times of war and there was no time for long, elaborate greetings.

“Where is Lord Eric currently?” he asked.

With a bitter expression, Kayness explained the situation. They had been suppose to perform a night attack based on information extracted from spies sent by Allion, but instead, it was Dairan which was attacked and he feared that Lord Eric was isolated and surrounded by enemies. Judging from the fact that a messenger had arrived to request reinforcements, however, the worst had probably not happened.

The sounds of battle were gradually dying down within Dairan.

At about that time, the remnants of Kayness’ troop of reinforcements were also returning. They had gone for a surprise attack on Kaseria, but had ended up taking severe damage, and Thil’s father, Darowkin, barely escaped with his life. Although his shoulder and foot had been pierced with bullets, he apologised in tears to his own father, Kayness, for his lack of foresight.

“The enemy ran rings around us. I was the one who gave orders to send reinforcements. You are not responsible,” Kayness consoled his son, looking as pained as though he too had been seriously wounded.

Thil clung to her father, weeping, then later, when the ladies’ maids who had been looking for her found Reen, the two sisters rejoiced together that each was safe.

Meanwhile, Orba gathered the troops that had been deployed throughout Dairan. Pashir, whose armour was patchily coloured in blood, came hurrying.

“We can leave any time,” he announced. Shortly after, Kain returned, leading the platoon.

Reports indicated that they had taken very few losses. A messenger was sent to the three hundred soldiers who had been left at the rear with instructions for them to assume defensive positions around Dairan. This was to prepare for the unlikely event of another emergency, but airships sent to fly around the surroundings found no evidence of any further ambush.

“Good…” Orba was about to set off once more to bring reinforcements to Lord Eric.

It was just about then that a gunshot resounded.

=== Part 3 ===

At around that time, a lone Allian soldier had been hiding in the corner of a shed. Up until a moment ago, his breathing had been ragged, but now it was closer to wheezing. He had been shot through the abdomen and the bleeding wouldn’t stop.

He had somehow managed to take refuge here, but he could sense what his fate would be. He could no longer be saved. Even the words of the prayers that he was inwardly reciting to the spirits were losing their meaning, each individual sound scattering as his consciousness was almost swallowed up by a sea of white.

He was only in his twenties. Just before leaving for war, he had exchanged a promise to get married with his sweetheart. One after another, he thought back to the faces of the girl who would have become his wife, of his parents, and of his kid brother. His strong sense of shame and his attachment to life were already fading, and a strange sense of appeasement, like being wrapped up in a warm blanket on a winter’s night, was slowly permeating his body.

He should have peacefully breathed his last.

''Get up''.

The whisper only barely reached him.

''Get up. You have an important task to accomplish with your dying breath''.

It sounded like his father scolding him, like his mother gently advising him. Even by mustering all of his strength, he had barely been able to force his eyes open more than a crack, yet now, as if by miracle, they opened wide.

Guided by some inexplicable impulse, he rose unsteadily to his feet. There was a window nearby. The world seemed to have been painted black but he could see a group of flaming points of light.

At their centre was a young man who was about to mount his horse. Or no, perhaps he was still at an age where he could be called a boy.

''That’s Gil Mephius''.

A whisper.

''Crown prince of the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius. Do you know? It’s because he led reinforcements here that Prince Kaseria was forced to withdraw and that you are here, dying from your wounds.''

The young man seemed about to say something, but all that escaped from his faintly parted lips were weak gasps. It felt as though the bleeding from his stomach had stopped. That was not, of course, because he was cured, but simply because every last drop of blood seemed to have already spilled out from his body.

''Do it.''

Someone whispered. In his father’s voice.

''You have to do it''.

His mother’s voice.

''If you don’t, that man will eventually destroy Allion.''

His little brother’s voice. And following it –

''The places you’ve known since childhood will vanish in flames, the home you yearn to return to will be trampled by dragons. The severed heads of your father and mother will be displayed at the tips of spears, the woman you love will be made a slave in Mephius…''

The young man took the gun that had been at his side the whole time. With trembling hands, he placed the barrel on the window sash. Straining his eyes to the utmost, he could just make out Gil Mephius’ form, no larger than a child’s finger. At that distance, he didn’t know if he would be able to hit him.

''Do it''.

Even so, someone’s voice – the voices of the young man’s loved ones spoke in unison.

''Do it for Allion. Before your life burns out, do what only you can do.''

His vision was dark and blurry. From time to time, Prince Gil’s form, or rather, the entire visible world, seemed to flicker like a flame in the wind. Even the sensation of his finger on the trigger felt far away.

''Now…''

He felt arms hugging him from behind. Mischievous fingers crawled over his neck and chest, just like his fiancée’s. When he glanced sideways, it was unmistakably her smile that he could see. Her lips were slightly protruding, and he knew that his friends were divided in their evaluation of them. But as for the young man himself, it was almost painful how much he loved them.

Those lips parted. Her breath, as hot as flames, as sweetly-scented as flowers, brushed softly against his face.

''Do it!''

The young man pulled the trigger.

Was he able to see for himself if his aim had hit? No, had he even been able to hear the gunshot in the first place?

The young man slumped against the window frame and no longer moved a single muscle. Naturally, there was no one else in the shed.

Yet the voice which had been whispering to the young man the whole time left behind an enigmatic murmur.

''Eleven.''

A second after the gunshot rang out, blood spurted right in front of Gil Mephius, who had his foot in the stirrup and who had been about to swing himself up.

Not far from the prince, a soldier was crouching, cradling his arm.

A shooting – or so it seemed, and the entire surroundings erupted into instant uproar.

“Enemies!”

The nearby Pashir quickly placed his horse in the direction that the bullet had come from and put himself in position to act as the prince’s shield.

It was not only the Mephian soldiers, but also the ones from Ende, who had been gathering there, who were thrown into confusion, and the place became a jumble of those who threw themselves to the ground with a cry, those who ran off to look for the snipper, and those who positioned themselves to shield the prince.

The soldier who had taken the shot was not fatally injured. Perhaps because of the distance, the bullet had only penetrated as far as the muscles of his arm, from which darkish blood was flowing.

“Prince, please withdraw,” said Pashir, urging Gil to get into the saddle.

''Twelve.''

When he heard that enigmatic whisper, Orba sensed a fierce presence coming from behind him.
He turned around.

The piles of gravel left after the bombardment were as tall as a child’s’ height. Another gravely wounded Allion soldier was lying hidden among them. He was a middle-aged man, and while he had been hovering between life and death, he had heard the same kind of voice as the young soldier hiding in the shed, and now held the same determination. That, of course, was something that Orba had no way of knowing.

The man aimed his longsword at Orba.

The sword was not one issued by the army. He had been raised in poverty, but when he been incorporated into Kaseria’s unit, his wife had used up their meagre savings to buy a good blade. “To protect you,” she had said.

Mustering his remaining strength, he put his all into that one blow.

Orba swung around, simultaneously drawing his sword, and intercepted the strike with the blade he was unsheathing.

He was able to kill the momentum, but despite the sudden hit, he could not alter the longsword’s trajectory. His chest received the same impact as it would from a blow struck with all of an adult man’s strength. Atop his horse, Orba staggered, but with his next swing, he unerringly took the enemy soldier’s head.

“Prince!”

By the time Pashir had noticed the struggle going on behind him and turned around, Orba, unable to recover his balance, was falling from the horse. Pashir leapt down from his own mount to try to catch and support Gil Mephius, but he did not make it in time before the prince was flung to the ground.

“Your Highness.”

“Your Highness Gil!”

The other Imperial Guards had also realised what was happening and rushed over. Pashir ordered them to form a circle around the prince. After this succession of surprise attacks, the soldiers’ faces were, unsurprisingly, tense.

Gil Mephius lay face down on the ground, his shoulders heaving. Pashir grasped hold of his shoulders as though to restrain their movements and turned the prince face upwards, propping him against one of his knees.

Part of his breastplate was badly dented. It was where he had been hit with the sword, however, when Pashir saw it, the grim look vanished from his face. The other Imperial Guards, Kain – wearing the iron mask – included, were all peering over from their nearby positions and also heaved sighs of relief. The armour had stopped the blow. At the very least, there should be no serious injury.

Pashir’s expression, however, changed once more. Orba was sweating profusely and was breathing raggedly through his mouth. Although the sword hadn’t pierced him, perhaps he had bones broken from the impact, or maybe he had hit his head badly when he had fallen from the horse.

“His Highness has been injured,” Pashir cried, reaching a snap conclusion. “Someone, take His Highness to safety and…”

A hand gripped Pashir’s arm. Orba’s. As Pashir stopped talking, he heard Orba’s voice asking, “Who are you?”

He was surrounded by soldiers who were carrying flame torches. As Orba’s eyelids flickered incessantly, the light from the flames was intermittently reflected in his eyes.

His gaze, however, was directed at no one.

“Who are you?” he shouted again.

In the few moments between being caught by a surprise attack and hitting the ground after falling from horseback, Orba had a strange experience. The instant that he was thrown into the air, he had the sensation that someone had caught him by the arm.

At first, Orba thought that Pashir was supporting him to prevent him from falling off his horse. When he looked up, however, the arm that had caught his was pale and lifeless. He did not know whose it was.

Black ripples were running through a point in mid-air, and a single arm was stretching out from it. With terrifying strength, it was pulling Orba upwards. Opposing that strength was the force of gravity, which was pulling Orba downwards, and the agonising pain made it feel as though his body was being torn in two.

That he even had time to scream was because he was, in fact, being separated in two.

One of him bounced against the ground with a thud, while the other him was drawn upwards towards the black ripples. Orba was helpless to resist as his arms and shoulders, head and chest were swallowed in.

Before he even realised it, he was drifting in a black space.

“Welcome to my castle,” a voice seemed to rain relentlessly down on him from all directions. Orba thought he must be having a nightmare. That he had been badly injured, and that between the confusion and the dizziness, he was having a strange dream.

“This is no dream, Crown Prince of Mephius,” as though it had read his thoughts, the voice laughed scornfully at him. “This space was built in exchange for twelve lives. Or saying it otherwise, it is a castle constructed from the resentment, and from the blood and rotting flesh of twelve people. This place neither exists nor does it not exist. Just as I am not present, but neither am I gone. I prepared it as a suitable place in which to meet you.”

“Who are you?” Orba screamed. Within this entirely black space, he could barely feel even his own body, and only voices reverberated clearly. “You, who are you? What are you…”

“There is no point in introducing myself to you.”

A pale point of light lit up in front of Orba. For a second, it seemed about to emit a dazzling light, then it scattered, and something that looked like a starry night sky emerged.

No sooner had it done so than the light from the stars startled to wriggle, as though each had a will of its own, some tracing straight lines, others drawing curves, creating complicated and mysterious patterns. Finally, the patterns all came together as one, forming the image of a human face. The face of an elderly man with an imposing beard.

“However, as your pitiful life is drawing to a close, I will do you the favour of giving you my name. I am Zafar. Mine is an insignificant body, fated to obey the rules of sorcery, themselves born hundreds of years ago, and no more than a single fragment of the diagram of Fate that I would risk my life to form. Nor do I believe that my name has much worth.”

He paused, then his luminous mouth opened wide, revealing the pitch-black expanse stretching behind it as he laughed.

“Ending your life is easy to do in a place like this. Which is why I staged an ‘attack’. But even though you are, in the end, little more than a doll bound to obey the diagram of Fate, there is reason to fear that you might suddenly upset Lord Garda’s plans. Your ‘fate’ should already have run its course, so why have you been getting so much in the way? How can the dead alter the diagram of Fate? Now then, reveal all to me. Are you one of Barbaroi’s flunkies or the emissary of some other power? I will carefully uncover the truth.”

“Uwah!”

When he heard the sound of gigantic footsteps approaching from behind, Miguel Tes, who was leading the unit, pulled his horse to one side in astonishment. No sooner had he done so than a large-sized dragon – a Houban – passed by him, making the ground tremble as it went. It was so close that he could even see how the flesh on its flat flanks was twitching and undulating.

It was pulling a cage containing other dragons. Riding a horse at the Houban’s side and guiding it was the dragon tamer, Hou Ran.

“You cretin, I almost got killed!” Miguel cursed.

The crown prince had left him in charge of three hundred soldiers and the dragons. Since the dragons could not be used to fight inside the city, they had been ordered to wait on standby outside the walls as back-up troops, but just a few moments ago, a messenger had come from Dairan with new instructions to defend the city. Arrangements were currently being made for the beasts to be transported to Dairan’s dragon pens.

Miguel clicked his tongue in open dissatisfaction.

“Even though we’re finally at war, I’ve missed the chance to collect achievements again,” and on top of that, he had been appointed to babysit dragons. Right now, the ambitious young man found even Hou Ran, who was leading the dragons, to be loathsome. Because of that, his attitude was acrimonious.

“Oi, even if you hurry, nothing good’s going to come out of it, you know. It’s totally too late for any chance at glory,” he tossed out, but Hou Ran had her horse pick up more and more speed, urging on the Houban.

Miguel did not know it, but Ran could perceive an unpleasant ‘stench’ coming from the direction ahead. Which was why she was hurrying onwards. However –

“…?”

Just as suddenly as she had urged it to go faster, she abruptly had her horse slow down. The Houban also gradually lost speed until its huge body came to a stop.

Miguel’s horse soon caught up.

“Well aren’t you being awfully obedient?”

Hou Ran did not move. In itself, that was still something within the realm of Miguel’s comprehension, but the atmosphere surrounding the dragons had suddenly changed.

They were making absolutely no noise.

Instead, they were huddling together on one side of the cage, as though something had frightened them. Ran had stopped to find out the reason for their strange behaviour.

“Oi, do your job more…” Miguel started to raise his voice.

Just then, there was another change.

The strange phenomenon had not come to an end, but it was, so to speak, as though the ‘direction that the phenomenon’s wind was blowing’ had changed.

There was a terrific thump. Miguel unintentionally cried out at the sudden, loud noise, and his horse reared upwards.

“What!”

He thought for a moment that there was an enemy attack, but when he checked, it was the nearby cage which was shaking ferociously. But not because of some outside force. The large beasts with their sharp fangs and claws had all at once started rampaging inside of it.

Before Miguel’s eyes, the bars of the cage bent. Through the slightly widened gap, the paw of a medium-sized dragon – a Goll – suddenly stretched outwards.

“O-oi!” Miguel shouted and hurriedly pulled on Ran’s shoulder. The gleaming claws had been about to maul her as the paw stretched out.

Ran slid down from her horse when Miguel pulled her, although thanks to her splendid reflexes, she managed to land on her feet.

Yet she looked utterly stunned. Hou Ran stared at the raging dragons with the same expression she would have had if she had seen the sun rise at midnight.

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin_no_Monshou:Volume12_Chapter4|Chapter 4]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter1

2017-12-26T14:20:07Z

Double Check: Duplicate sentence.

==Chapter 1: Creeping Shadow==

=== Part 1 ===

“So hard…”

The trembling voice crept along the cold stone floor. Transparent teardrops trickled downwards as though chasing after it.

“I’ve tried so hard to forget that day. To tell myself that it was all just a dream. That I had a sweet dream about promising a happy future with someone. Then I had a bad dream that tore it all up in one night. I was finally, truly, managing to convince myself of that… Even though I was finally starting to forget… When he appeared in front of me again.”

“…”

The only one listening to Layla’s soliloquy was Vileena Owell. The third princess of Garbera and fiancée to Crown Prince Gil of Mephius, she stood rooted to the spot as she listened to the truth behind Gil’s past, unable to interrupt.

“Even though he had caused me so much pain, even though he’d casually pushed me from the summit of happiness straight into the pits of despair simply because he found it amusing to do so... he looked as though he didn’t recognize me at all. Not just that, the second time I met him, he acted like a completely different person from the crown prince I knew.”

Layla was no longer looking at Vileena. She herself probably did not know who she was talking to anymore. It was as though the words poured out along with the emotions welling up from the very depths of her heart, all while her shoulders, lips and voice trembled.

“Ah, but that’s no wonder,” Vileena was startled by the sudden smile which appeared on Layla’s lips. “He died. He was shot by my father and killed. Even for a crown prince, once his chest was pierced by a bullet, there’s no way to come back to life. That’s someone else. That can’t be the Crown Prince of Mephius. But then… then, why? Why did someone with the same face as him appear and take the crown prince’s identity? To torment me again? Even though everything’s already been taken from me, that still wasn’t enough? Then, is that why Father was hurt? Or else… it’s not me, but to deceive the princess? Did he appear to make her suffer the same thing as me? No, not just the princess…”

Something pressed strongly against Layla’s mouth, blocking her voice inside within.

It was Vileena. Before she had realised it, the Garberan princess was hugging Layla to her chest. Layla’s entire body trembled violently, exactly as though she was rejecting Vileena; but the princess wrapped her arms around her back even tighter and Layla, sobbing even more bitterly than before, pressed her cheeks against the younger girl.

It was not true, however, that while enveloping Layla in her own warmth, Vileena herself was calm. At this point, it was difficult to believe that Layla was deliberately lying. And yet… that ‘’that’’ Gil Mephius had forced his right to the first night on a girl of the people, and that Layla’s father had shot him dead because of it – the ‘truth’ that Layla was telling her was simply too far removed from the reality that Vileena knew. The contradictions raged through her slender chest like a storm.

''Died… He… died?'' It was a feeling that she too was familiar with. Back in Apta. She had not been able to believe that they had been parted for all eternity. And in actual fact, Gil had nonchalantly returned as though nothing had happened.

Then were there similar circumstances to the the ‘truth’ that Layla was talking about?

''To hide the shame of having used his right to the first night, he pretended to die…'' No, that didn’t add up. It couldn’t add up. Vileena’s thoughts were in complete disarray.

Desperate to find an answer, she cast her mind in every imaginable direction, but no matter how far she followed every thread of thought, she always came back with nothing.

''Someone else'' – As sharply as something slapping her cheek, those simple words suddenly burst to the surface of her mind. The same words that Layla had blurted out earlier.

''That’s impossible''.

Yet for some reason, those frivolous words that she had discarded from the start had taken on a strange sense of reality, like a snake abruptly raising its sickle-shaped head.

Vileena had heard comments that Crown Prince Gil was like a different person compared to the past. A great many comments.

Indeed, there had been rumours even in Garbera that Gil Mephius was a ‘fool’. That he showed no ambition to take part in government or military affairs, and simply spent every day racketing about with his friends until late at night. He was apparently constantly terrified of his father’s very shadow, and even the retainers looked down on him. Although he was still young, there had also already been more than just one or two scandals involving women.

Because of that, Vileena had, from the bottom of her heart, despised the thought of marrying that ‘fool’ Gil, and, before leaving Garbera, she had energetically decided to train him to bend to her will, and so bring about victory for her country.

However –

Once she had actually arrived in Mephius and met Gil face-to-face, he had been like a completely different person from the rumours.

Certainly, he had also been very different from all the other aristocrats Vileena was acquainted with. They had even yelled at each other once because of a difference of opinion. He was definitely extremely eccentric, but he was not the feeble-minded man that rumour had made him out to be. He was, in particular, completely hopeless when it came to women. Or rather, he gave the impression of being uninterested in playing around with them.

''Rumours heard from abroad are really untrustworthy''. Yet no sooner had Vileena been forced to that conclusion than the Mephians themselves all started agreeing on one thing:

“The crown prince seems like a completely different person from how he was before.”

Among them, there were some ladies who whispered to the princess that, “this is a perfect illustration of how a layabout who could never go to sleep unless dead drunk is transformed by marriage into a splendidly hard-working man. The crown prince must surely be pushing himself to become a mature adult before your wedding, Princess.”

She herself, however, did not agree with that.

''It’s impossible to suddenly become that kind of person. He must have been like that long before meeting me''.

But then – why?

Why did the crown prince transform so abruptly that the retainers were left staring wide-eyed?

At that moment, scenes appeared in Vileena’s mind. As quickly as one scene seemed to flicker and light up, it merged into another, then another.

Their first meeting in Seirin Valley. Even though she had offered him her greetings, Gil Mephius had not given her any direct response, but had simply mumbled the words that his aide, Fedom, had whispered to him.

Afterwards, Ryucown’s men had barged in on the ceremony and just when the princess had seemed about to be kidnapped, Gil had given his own men and the gladiators exactly the right orders to prevent that from happening.

That same evening, there had been the scene that Vileena had suddenly remembered just a moment earlier, when they had yelled at each other.

“The royal family started this war of their own accord, without considering their people’s feelings, but they now claim to take them into consideration by ending that war? Those exalted, high-born nobles hold the lives of the commoners entirely in their grip, huh,” Gil had spat out, causing Vileena to fly into a rage.

He might have come across as a man who thought about the people and about the ordinary troops, yet when subjugating Ryucown, he had stood by and watched as the Garberan and the rebel forces clashed without sending a single soldier in reinforcement. When she had pointed out the contradiction, Gil Mephius had been almost ridiculously upset. That man who sized things up so infuriatingly calmly; that man who, when it came to battle, seemed to toss away personal feelings to somewhere underfoot, in a ditch, or wherever.

“For now, we have to wait for the right time,” he had finally managed to bite out, looking as though she had touched a weak point in his heart.

Right, a weak man.

That was another impression that Vileena had of him.

The next scene which rose to her mind took place on the topmost floor of Apta Fortress, against the backdrop of early evening, where a man was kneeling, alone and in tears. It was the first time she had seen anything like that. A man sobbing out loud. And as it had been none other than Gil Mephius, the princess had felt more shocked than words could express.

The recollections still would not end. There were scenes which had been indelibly seared into her mind, and a great many others which had done nothing more than lightly graze its surface, only a few fragments – a casual word, a certain gesture – remaining in her memory. They went so fast that not even Vileena’s eyes and ears could follow them. Before one scene even came to an end, the next one would start, so there was no sense of time and space, with each scene blending into the others.

Amidst them, something strange happened.

“It’s the same for everyone.”

Next to the princess, who was sitting down, was the figure of a man standing beneath a clear blue sky. He was smiling dazzlingly.

“What is our real self? Doesn’t everyone live their lives without knowing the answer? Or without knowing if there even is an answer? Royalty, philosophers, priests, peasants, merchants, and even slaves – everyone grieves over their own situation; and not knowing what to do with themselves, they dream that there exists a true calling for them. ‘Who am I’ and ‘who will I become’ – those kinds of worries are as countless as the stars in the sky, and will follow you around endlessly.”

The one who had said that had been the gladiator, Orba. A man whose face was hidden behind an iron mask and that she had thus never seen. And yet, right now, in the image that flashed through Vileena’s mind, he had removed the mask. His face seemed to be buffeted by the wind and as dazzling as looking up into the sun.

Startled, she hurriedly tried to pull that scene back to her consciousness. She wanted to ‘see’ it one more time, before it drifted away.

“Princess.”

What appeared before her ‘eyes’ however was a scene from yet another memory.

"I hope you will never lose that honesty. No matter what happens from now on.”

This was Apta once more. It was dusk and Gil Mephius, wrapped in its golden light, had spoken those words on the topmost floor of the barracks.

But – why was it? Maybe it was because of confusion born from too many memories revolving too quickly, but to Vileena’s eyes, it looked as though Gil was wearing an iron mask.

“Then, will you promise me?” She heard her own voice from far away. “From now on, would you confide in me without concealing anything? If you do, I will help you to the best of my poor ability.”

“Yeah. But,” he laughed lightly. “Don't forget one thing. Mephius' Prince Gil is a 'liar'.”

His figure merging into the evening sun, half of Gil’s face seemed to shine the colour of iron.

The curtain fell on the theatre of her memories with terrifying abruptness. So much so that she was left reeling from it. There was nothing more. The words, gestures and scenes from her memory all vanished from her mind, and Vileena was left behind, alone.

For a moment, it felt as though her thoughts went blank, but her heart started thumping wildly as if to fill in that empty space.

''Perhaps…'' she thought.

''It can’t be'' – she denied it in the next second.

But like a wave surging forward, that ''perhaps'' came back again, her doubts erasing the ''it can’t be''.

The clash between those two emotions did not last as long as her reminiscences had. The second one gradually grew weaker, and a suspicion that she could barely acknowledge entered her heart.

She remained unmoving, caught up in that inextricable tangle. Before she realised it, loud footsteps were fast approaching.

Gowen rushed up the tower staircase.

He was the one who had given orders to only a few soldiers to guard Layla, who was locked up in there. And late that night, he had received a report from those very soldiers. They had been told that a young man named Alnakk, who had started serving the princess, had recently been sniffing around about Layla. On top of that, the lady’s maid who had given them that warning was said to have entered the tower to help Layla wash herself.

“A lady’s maid?”

The soldiers had surely believed that she had been sent by Gowen but, of course, this was the first that Gowen, himself, had heard of it. He figured it out instantly.

''The princess!''

He had hastily headed towards the tower. The door leading to the topmost floor was ajar.

Gowen gnashed his teeth. ''I knew it, I shouldn’t have said anything'' – he thought.

Layla appeared to know the previous – or rather, the real – crown prince, so her very existence was liable to bring danger to Orba. In actual fact, she had already turned a blade against him and tried to kill him, but he was more afraid of the knowledge she possessed becoming a danger to Orba’s inner circle than of any sword coated in poison that she might wield.

''Once the princess learns about it…'' the magnificent deception would come to an end.

''Shit, if only we had a smooth-talker around''. It was unlike Gowen, but his mind conjured up the face of a man who was not there, who could no longer be there. Poor talker that he himself was, he was not at all confident that he would be able to mystify the princess.

With no leisure to worry about it, Gowen leapt and landed on the top floor.

“Now, Layla,” a woman’ voice could be heard. Princess Vileena’s voice.

The princess guided the sobbing Layla to the bed and covered her with a blanket. “Please rest for now. I’ll cast a magic spell on your pillow so that you won’t be bothered by bad dreams.”

She blew on the pillow – it was probably a Garberan way of coaxing children to sleep – then turned her gaze towards Gowen, who was standing ramrod straight in the doorway. Her tenderly smiling face turned all at once into an angry expression as she approached him, her eyebrows lowered.

Gowen gulped unconsciously, but before he had time to put himself on guard, she said:

“At the very least, provide her with a bath.”

“Huh?”

“She insolently pointed a blade towards His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince, so I will not ask you to treat her with courtesy. However, she also served by me for a time, so at the very least, I would expect that she be treated in a manner befitting a woman.”

“…”

As Gowen remained silent, Vileena walked towards the door, as much as to say that she had finished her business there.

“I was hoping to hear of the circumstances, but what she said was quite incoherent. If anyone outside were to hear her, they would not think her sane. Furtively hiding her away like this, however, is more likely to attract needless attention from those around. As it did mine…”

For a moment, Gowen glanced between Layla, asleep on the bed, and Vileena, who was walking down the staircase.

''Well then, this is…'' the veteran soldier and former overseer who made even tough gladiators tremble in fear muttered inwardly. ''She’s just no good at acting, so it seems pretty clear she learned something. Hey Orba, in that case, should I be warning you that there’s now another person whose mouth needs to be sealed, or should I be advising you to just run away at once with your tail between your legs?''

The opponent was the third princess of Garbera. Someone who might well be an enemy far more difficult to handle than Mephius’ Emperor Guhl if she were to stand in Orba’s way.

=== Part 2 ===

The troops led by Zenon Owell took up position at a point eight kilometres east of Dairan.

The way was barred to the north by cliffs projecting out onto the sea, and to the south, by steep, craggy mountains where almost no vegetation grew, so this mountain pass was the only road through which an army could march along. Allion’s second wave of troops, which was moving from the east via the country of Ryalide, could naturally only approach Dairan by following this route.

Prince Zenon of Garbera had hastened to bring reinforcements. He commanded a thousand two hundred soldiers from his own Order of the Tiger, three hundred from the Order of the Badger, and about seven hundred from the western allied forces.

After conferring with Lord Eric, the next grand duke of Ende, they had undertaken the responsibility of halting Allion’s second wave of troops, which was advancing along the overland route.

Their opponents numbered three thousand.

The enemy held the numerical superiority, but they could not possibly have foreseen that Garbera would take part in the fighting. One glance at the white flag of Garbera that was currently flying above Zenon’s head, and maybe they would lose their fighting spirit…

While he was not actually optimistic to ''that'' extent, neither did Zenon believe that the fighting would become particularly fierce. The enemy was facing a long-distance campaign, and simply maintaining their supply line was a huge cost in time, effort, and money. Even if they called on Ryalide’s assistance, they could not be planning to remain stationed there for any long period of time.

''And if we can just block their way…'' In other words, if they could prevent the enemy from joining with Kaseria’s main body of troops, anchored to the north in Zonga, then Zenon estimated that they could win the war.

After taking up position, they had erected palisades against horses and dragons, and had installed three canons on high ground. Airships had also been flown to scout out the surrounding terrain.

A few days passed. It was now around the time when Lord Eric was still waiting impatiently for Kaseria’s troops to make a move.

The riders sent out on reconnaissance returned, fiercely lashing their horses. They had caught sight of Allion’s army.

“They’ve arrived?”

Zenon had been in his pavilion, reading through some old books that he had brought from his own country, but hurriedly put on his armour when he received the news.

“Finally, huh.”

Outside the tent, Moldorf and Nilgif, the Red and Blue Dragons of Kadyne, already had their horses lined up and their long spears at the ready. The end of Moldorf’s lance was divided into three prongs.

“By the way, I still haven’t heard,” his younger brother, Nilgif, spoke in a carefree tone, “what about the enemy general?”

Even though war was close, Zenon grinned involuntarily. There were two reasons for that.

The first was because he remembered how Nilgif, although technically taking part in the war meetings, had spent each of them with his eyes closed and his arms folded. One might have believed that he was plunged deep in thought, except that the quiet, even breathing coming from him within less than five minutes had attested to the fact that he was asleep.

And as for the other reason – it seemed to him that when Nilgif asked “what about the enemy general?”, he was not particularly enquiring about the enemy’s personality or about what kind of tactics he used, but simply wanted to confirm “who is it I should be aiming for?”

Putting on his helmet, its plume casting a shadow over his virile features, Zenon answered in an even voice.

“According to the scouts, the enemy commander-in-chief is Phard Chryseum. He uses his mother’s family name, but, apparently, he is Prince Kaseria’s older half-brother. He is said to be a fearless commander who has taken to the field a countless number of times and, every time, he’s torn through the enemy’s vanguard and left behind mountains of corpses.”

“Oh, sounds fun!”

“Don’t be pushy, Nilgif,” his older brother reproved him. “We’re fighting in a foreign country. We might be here as reinforcements, but this is a gathering of many powers and acting however you want by yourself might completely disrupt command. In this war, I won’t let you rush off ahead of me.”

The three companions spurred their horses forward to the front lines. It looked as though the enemy had started setting up their battle formations less than two kilometres away, down the mountain pass.

The enemy – Allion’s forces – was also receiving reports from its scouts.

“The flag of Garbera?” growled Phard Chryseum. Since he was sucking the meat from a rib, his voice sounded strangely stuffy.

Beneath the battle flags of famed commanders flapping in the wind, his black cloak swayed gently. A woman’s profile was embroidered in silver thread within its lining. Although his build was chubby, the two arms protruding from his armour were magnificently muscular and he was a man who gave off the same feeling of oppression as a small mountain. He was practically baby-faced and habitually wore his fluttering golden hair tied back.

With a pop, he pulled the bone out from his mouth then licked his lips that were shiny with grease.

“It’s gotten interesting. Garbera’s all about that, isn’t it – those chivalry guys. I always wanted to see what it was like.”

“Please wait.”

The man who stopped him as he seemed about to immediately rush off was so thin he almost seemed to exist as a contrast to Phard. In his blue hooded robes embroidered in red thread, he was unmistakably one of Allion’s non-combatant military sorcerers. His face looked as though only a thin layer of skin was stretched over his skull.

“What, Morga?”

The man did not flinch even as Phard glared at him in displeasure.

“We have not yet completed our preparations. If you would wait but a short while, I will open a ‘passageway’ so we can communicate with Prince Kaseria.”

“As usual, that sure is convenient,” Phard’s manner changed abruptly. He seemed to be the kind of man whose interest switched with dizzying speed to whatever was in front of him. “Can I talk to Kaseria directly?”

“It would take time… No, not just an hour or two, but the time to prepare adequate facilities and ether supplies. And on top of that, you would need to receive training in sorcery, Lord Phard.”

“Talk about needing patience,” Phard’s forehead creased into a frown. “If you want to train your arms, just carry something heavy. If you want to strengthen your legs, just run while doing so. But I can’t even guess how you’d train to strengthen yourself in sorcery.”

Although he was grumbling, Phard seemed willing to wait for the ‘sorcery’. Crunching on the bone with his sturdy jaws, he swung a heavy battle staff and started whirling it above his shoulders as though it were as light as a feather, probably intending to kill some time. Near the tip of the staff, a considerable number of iron balls hung from chains. They made a humming sound as they spun, and the nearby soldiers yelped and scattered away from their general to avoid being hit.

Morga left quickly and entered the tent reserved for his preparations. He was something like a staff officer attached to Phard; in Allion, it was not unusual for sorcerers bearing that kind of role to accompany troops.

As soon as Phard grew tired of swinging his weapon around, he retired to his pavilion and went to sleep, wrapped in the same black cloak. Loud snores could soon be heard from there, although something very like sobs were occasionally mixed in with them. His attendants had often witnessed how he would press his cheeks against the embroidered woman’s profile, practically wailing as he did so. Incidentally, the embroidery apparently represented Phard’s mother back in her younger days. While you would be forgiven for thinking that they had been torn asunder by her early death, she was still perfectly healthy. It was just that this huge man of nearly thirty missed his mother.

Night fell, soon followed by the dawning day.

At breakfast, Phard appeared for all the world to have utterly forgotten the previous day’s conversation and to be about to give the signal to attack, when the sorcerer Morga knelt by his side and started giving his report.

“Oh?”

What Morga was conveying were Kaseria’s instructions, which they had only received late that night. Had they been using airships or fast horses, it would, of course, not normally have been possible to communicate so quickly; this was the work of sorcery.

“This is enemy territory and ether is scarce, so we cannot open a ‘passageway’ here,” said Morga.

The further they were from Allion, the longer it took to prepare and the shorter the messages that could be transmitted, but for most people, who were not well-versed in sorcery, it was certainly a means of communication that defied common sense.

In any case, Phard listened to the instructions from Kaseria, nodding frequently.

“My little brother really is smart,” he gazed in the distance towards where the enemy had pitched their camp. “It’s fun to fight head-on, but killing a ''fleeing'' enemy also makes for an exciting battlefield. Both get my blood pumping. Right, we’ll wait.”

He flopped down and set his custom weapon beside him.

“Ooi, you lot! No war for now. Have a drink.”

Wine casks were immediately opened. His men looked as though they were going to waste no time acting on Phard’s generous suggestion and filling their wine cups to the brim.

“Hmm,” after a moment of deep cogitation however, “if we’re going to be waiting for the enemy, we might not have enough to drink. Wait, wait, you lot! No alcohol. No, it’s not that I won’t hand it out. Let’s have a kabat. Only the one who wins gets to drink a cup.”

Kabat was an ancient form of combat from the Magic Dynasty that had been handed down in Allion. A circle drawn on the ground was used as an arena. The contestants grappled bare-handed, and the winner was the one who pushed his opponent backwards on the ground or out of the circle. Trained soldiers usually performed in front of crowds of spectators at festivals held several times a year.

“Don’t worry about it being your superior officers. If I catch anyone going easy, I’ll come and be their opponent.”

While Allion’s camp was displaying this peculiar turn of events, in the opposite camp, Zenon Owell was puzzled at the enemy having halted their actions.

Having heard that battle was drawing near, Nilgif was so wound up that he seemed unable to sit still, and he was incessantly putting horses through their paces nearby. Had Zenon not been the commander of the allied forces, he too would have wanted to start at once.

While Nilgif was getting excited, his older brother Moldorf was like a boulder as he sat cross-legged. He carried a spear under one arm and looked ready to spring into action at any time, but his expression was as tranquil as could be.

He handed the kumis he was holding to Zenon, who happened to pass by.

“You should calm down.”

His attitude was entirely like that of a commander, and it was with mixed feelings – part astonishment, part envy – that Zenon took the alcohol.

“Nothing will come of you getting as impatient as the men are.” He jerked his chin towards where Nilgif was rebuking a subordinate even while galloping his horse. Although he was a considerable distance away, it felt as though the dust he was sending flying had enough force to reach them.

While looking at the scene, Moldorf seemed to be saying with some self-derision that he was used to this. Zenon let slip a chortle. After which he dropped down next to Moldorf, who glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

“There’s maybe no point asking now, but I heard that Garbera and Ende had clashed near their border. And then, not that much time later, here you are rushing to help them.”

“I have the same kind of question. I had heard that the west was a land of never-ending conflicts. And yet now, you’ve joined hands and come to Ende’s assistance.”

“That would be thanks to King Ax, the leader of the Confederacy, being so capable… and also, to Mephius.”

“Mephius?”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v12 045.jpg|thumb]]
“You don’t need to bring up the history of Taúlia to know about the long state of tension between Tauran and Mephius. The one who broke through that like it was nothing and suggested an alliance was, of course, that Crown Prince.”

“Of course,” Zenon chortled softly again. “The mastermind who pushed you into marching with our troops. That thoroughly irritating brat.”

“Exactly,” Moldorf washed down his drink with a gulp then laughed loudly. “Even though everything he says sounds upright, does he himself even actually believe any of it?”

“He seems like the sort of man who’s a reliable ally but a dangerous enemy.”

“We’ve actually crossed spears. Well, to be precise, it wasn’t the Crown Prince himself but one of his men who was probably acting on his orders, but anyway...”

“Oh!” Zenon Owell’s eyes gleamed with interest.

Moldorf told the foreign prince about the battles in the west and, while he was describing one of the scenes, he added, “he’s certainly a dangerous man, but, well, it’s nothing to be too worried about. Sure, I was defeated once, but if there’s a second time, I’ll win.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a child. And it’s because he’s a child that he pulls off all these things that adults wouldn’t think of. But once you know that, an adult has ways of dealing with kids.”

“Ha ha ha, I see. I definitely caught a glimpse of immaturity when I talked with that crown prince in person.”

“It’s fine while he’s green,” Moldorf heaved a sigh reeking of liquor, “his immaturity is just about his only charm. But once he becomes an adult and loses even that charm, I’m worried he’ll become the kind of foolish ruler who doesn’t trust or confide in anyone.”

“Hmm, well, it’s another country’s affairs so I can’t really say it with confidence, but…” Zenon’s bright smile was very like him, “on that point, I’m fairly sure things will be fine.”

“Hmm?”

“Because you know, that crown prince has got my little sister with him.”

Having said that as though it answered everything, Zenon put the leather flask to his mouth for the first time. It smelled strange, but he drank deep without worrying about it.

=== Part 3 ===

At around the same time, Orba, as Gil Mephius, left Solon with a thousand three hundred soldiers and arrived in Idoro to the east.

Before doing so, he had notified Ende that they would be responding to their appeal for reinforcements, but the reply he received was truly vague. That probably meant that Eric, the next grand duke, was away from the capital, Safia. With Ende not yet having transitioned to its new regime, communications were likely to be slow. With no reply forthcoming, and since he had been afraid that if he waited too long he would be too late, Orba had moved swiftly.

He was met in Idoro by the domain-lord, Julius. He too had been in Solon during the direct confrontation between the Emperor and Crown Prince, but he had returned earlier to his territory since Prince Gil would be leading his forces through it.

“I did not have the opportunity to present you with my greetings in Solon,” he said with a smile.

Day after day, a long succession of people presented themselves before Ineli and Fedom, who were seen as points of contact with the Crown Prince, hoping for a chance to meet the heir to the throne and to fix themselves in his memory, so Julius felt that luck was on his side to be able to meet Gil face-to-face like this.

“If there is anything you lack, please just grab the person concerned and let them know. I will be delighted to provide you with anything, be it weapons and armour, provisions, or even if you want women… Ah, but hold on, Your Highness has Lady Vileena, the perfect wife for you. But if, perchance, anything improper were to occur, allow me to say with confidence that my lips would be sealed firmer than the sacred iron gates in the Ryuujin Tribe’s underground ruins at Avort. Ha, ha, ha.”

It was probably because his mood was so good that his jokes were in poor taste.

''Right, thinking about it, we have met before, huh'' – Orba meanwhile only remembered Julius to about that extent.

During Gil Mephius’ first campaign, just before they had headed to Zaim Fortress to subjugate Ryucown, they had held a council of war here in Idoro. Julius was a man known for his harsh treatment towards slaves, and it was because he had been on the verge of executing the slaves from Tarkas’ Gladiator Troupe, who were travelling with the troops, that Orba had saved them by ordering that they temporarily be hired as his own Imperial Guards.

Looking at it that way, there was no particular relationship between them.

Orba received Julius’ welcome but did his utmost to ensure that his men didn’t cut loose too much.

Three days passed while they remained in Idoro. During that time, another messenger arrived from Ende.

''Isn’t there a single sensible guy in Safia?''

Had Kaseria left Zonga? How far had Allion’s second wave of troops, taking the overland route, already approached? In this situation in which he didn’t even know that much, time crawled by as slowly as a snail.

Perhaps because he could sense Prince Gil’s state of mind, Julius showed consideration. “To ease the Crown Prince’s boredom,” he organised a gladiator performance.

When he heard about it, and even though Julius’ messenger was right in front of him, Orba clicked his tongue.

''Completely unnecessary'' – he thought, but in Mephius, it was the custom to organise a gladiator contest when one was receiving a person of higher rank to one’s town or castle. A noble’s ability was then judged on how many gladiators he could summon, and on how long a show he could stage.

Orba really wanted to excuse himself by claiming that he wasn’t feeling well or something, but Julius was the domain-lord of an important city. From now on, Gil Mephius would not be able to avoid socialising with him.

''I’ll be meeting plenty of people I don’t agree with and having conversations about things I don’t go along with''. – He grudgingly decided to set off towards Idoro’s largest amphitheatre.

Given that it was about gladiators, he chose Pashir, Gilliam, and ‘Orba’ as his attendants, three men that the Crown Prince had elevated from their ranks. In this case, ‘Orba’ was, of course, the former gladiator Kain, hidden beneath the iron tiger mask.

“So, how’s the way I’m walking? It’s exactly like Orba, right?”

“Not at all.”

In the reception room reserved for aristocrats, Orba’s expression was sour. The three that were there with him all knew about the relation between the ‘Crown Prince’ and ‘Orba’.

“Yeah, it’s spot on,” Gilliam gave his stamp of approval. “You’ve got the same stooped shoulders he had, back when we were gladiators. The way you hunch up your chin is also exactly like he used to.”

Pashir remained silent, but the faint smile at the edge of his lips showed that he agreed. Although he had an official position separate from this, he would invariably take it upon himself to go as a bodyguard whenever the prince went anywhere.

“Yep, I’ve been observing Orba and practicing,” out of the blue, Kain smugly started teasing Orba.

“Self-training is fine and all, but you’re an Imperial Guard. Wouldn’t you rather be fawned over under your real identity? If ‘Kain’ stands out for his great deeds, being popular with women or earning a fortune won’t be just a dream anymore.”

This was ironic coming from Orba, whose real name and face were always hidden.

“Say, Orba,” yet Kain’s expression was extremely serious when he answered. “I was just a small-time pickpocket. From the time I was born, I’ve never had parents or relatives. And then I got caught by the guards and from the next day onwards, I was a gladiator. I lived one day at a time, not knowing if I’d see tomorrow. That’s ‘Kain’. The guy you and me both know well.”

“…”

“So I intend to fully enjoy life as someone else when I’m ‘Orba’. It’s fun, you know? And if we’re talking about being popular with women, putting on that iron mask is way more efficient than trying to flirt with them with just my real face.”

“From the way you’re saying that, you’ve done it before, huh?”

“Ah… no… well, once or twice, maybe…” Kain’s eyes went shifty. “But…”

“But?”

“Say you go from being the crown prince to becoming emperor, and you don’t plan on ever revealing your identity as Orba,” Kain started with a preface, “and so when I’m a grandfather, I’ll have the iron mask hidden in my house. And say, one day, when my grandchildren come to play, they accidentally find it. ‘Wow, Grandad, are you actually Orba, the masked gladiator?’ they’ll ask, their young eyes sparkling, at that time, I’ll neither admit nor deny it. And that way, I’ll be leaving tantalising hints.”

Orba thought that was a pretty long-term dream, but he did not say anything. Men all had plans for what to do ‘afterwards’ with their lives.

Just before noon, they were guided to their seats in the amphitheatre. Maybe because Julius had advertised it, there was a good attendance for the hastily organised performance. Gil’s group was lead to the special lodge, which had pillars supporting a stone canopy. With Pashir, Gilliam, and ‘Orba’ fanned out in a row behind him, Gil Mephius sat next to Julius, the domain-lord of Idoro.

“Those who are about to die for His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince and for His Excellency Lord Julius give their greetings!” An elderly man announced resoundingly.

Bathed in sunlight, a row of muscular gladiators each raised one hand to their chest and bowed their head.

It was a very familiar scene. Simply from seeing it, a burning emotion welled up within Orba. What came with it were not tears, however, but a feeling of wanting to throw up.

The gladiators all carried wounds, great or small, on their bodies, and their faces were dark from dust, but their eyes as they looked upwards shone just as brightly as the sun that was blazing down on them.

It was not the Crown Prince they were looking at. No, they were staring at the ones standing beyond him, at Pashir and ‘Orba’. Each of their chests burned with fighting spirit and with the hope that they too might be appointed Imperial Guards if the Crown Prince was pleased with them – that their days of living hell might all at once give way to the freedom that they could not help but yearn for, and that, at the same time, they might obtain the status and honour that, as gladiators, they would not be able to achieve in all their lives.

Before long, the life-and-death struggles began before Orba’s eyes. For all that he looked on as expressionlessly and apathetically as possible, the crash of steel, the spurts of blood, the beastlike howls in their death throes – everything grated on the former gladiator’s five senses. One after another, the memories revived.

The training grounds always reeked of the stench of fodder and dragon dung. Amidst the clash of roaring voices, Orba, drenched in sweat, brandished his sword and repeatedly took aim at the overseer, Gowen.

Although they were encircled by a high fence, there were lattices on the east side and, through the gaps, they could catch glimpses of the world beyond. The training grounds and their buildings were by no means within the prosperous part of town. Quite the opposite: they were next to the slums. The people that went by were children with grubby faces, prostitutes with patched clothing, and peddlers selling goods of dubious origin.

''Freedom…''

Orba craved it every bit as much as he did the food and water he needed to survive. Perhaps even more so. It stretched out like a glittering blue sea. The freedom to walk along the streets, the freedom to run along them, without anyone having decided his destination for him. The freedom to peacefully fall asleep after the sun had gone down, without anyone ordering him to fight to the death the next day.

Even if he had more gold than he could carry, he would gladly have exchanged it for that. Even if that freedom was just the freedom to beat up those he didn’t like, the freedom to steal and to keep running away until he ran out of breath, the freedom to collapse without food or money and to die by the roadside.

He had thought about escaping again and again. On nights before a fight, lying on the hard ground, he would wonder – ''Tomorrow, will I be sleeping in this same place alive and healthy?'' He had spent many a sleepless night endlessly, obsessively going over it in his thoughts.
And then, greater than his craving for freedom, greater than his fear of death, more implacable than any other thought –

''Revenge''.

Amidst the excited cheers, Orba leapt out like a wild animal let loose from its cage. In front of him was an opponent who would try to take his life – to snatch away his future which consisted only of a single day at a time.

Swords crashed against one another. Red and blue sparks scattered and flew.

“The game is over!”

The announcer’s voice reverberated above Orba’s head.

He suddenly went rigid. In his hand was a blood-stained sword, right before his eyes rolled a now silent corpse.

A hallucination.

In reality, as Gil Mephius, Orba was looking down from on high at both the winner and the loser, lying dead and shrouded in blood. Having won the tournament, and even though he had a dark red scar roughly at the level of his heart, the winner raised both hands and gave a roar of joy.

Barely an hour earlier, a row of men had stood before Orba with shinning eyes, yet now, this was the only survivor.

“Magnificent,” Orba stood up and praised the victor. “It’s a priviledge to witness such a display of warrior spirit before heading to the battlefield. An omen of victory, surely. You are appointed an officer of the Imperial Guards. No objections, Orba?”

“From a brave of his calibre, I expect splendid deeds,” ‘Orba’ respectfully replied. He knew his script on this stage.

As a matter of fact, the young man who had won was not as splendidly skilled as ‘Orba’ claimed. Luck, however, was on his side. It had blessed him from when the combination of fighters was decided, and the opponents that chance had decided for him were all ones that he could handle.

Put otherwise, it was simply luck that had decided the life and death of these men, and luck that had separated their ‘afterwards’ into light or shadows. Orba had promoted him neither for show nor on a whim, but because he anticipated that making an ally of luck was as good as roping in a hundred strong soldiers.

Eyes brimming with tears, the young man bowed towards Gil Mephius, then once more shouted from exhilaration.

Orba received Lord Julius’ salutations, then left the amphitheatre. He felt as though, just like that young man, there was a dark red gash across his chest.

The sun shone down from up above.

Yet by the time that dazzling sun had sunk below the mountain ridge, then risen again over the world of men, the young man who should have become an Imperial Guard had met with the same fate as the slaves he himself had killed for the sake of his freedom and future.

His master and companions had apparently thrown an all-night banquet to celebrate the start of the hero’s new life. When morning came, he was stretched out flat, his face pale. He was already dead by the time he was discovered. It was thought that the wound he had suffered the day before had taken a turn for the worse.

Orba received the news early in the morning.

“I see,” he said. He did not have anything particular to add, and ate his breakfast.

''A man with no luck'' – he thought to himself.

Or perhaps he had used up all of his luck?

Orba tried hard to recall how he had fought and how he had shone with delight when told that he was appointed as an Imperial Guard but, in the end, Orba could not even remember his face.

He was unlucky…

Not only Orba, but also most of the people who knew of the young man’s fate thought the same way. However –

''First one''.

There was one man, his lips curled into an evil smile, who held a different opinion. He claimed to be a merchant who had travelled far from the distant west.

His name was Zafar.

He was a sorcerer who had once served Reizus, when the latter had taken the name ‘Garda’. In Birac, he had lured Layla, Vileena’s lady maid, into attempting to assassinate the crown prince.

The old man’s connection to Orba ran deep, yet this time as well he had turned up on a street corner in Idoro, feigning harmlessness. Next to him walked a woman who was also from Tauran. She was pretending to be Zafar’s daughter, and her name was Tahī. She was a sorceress who had likewise served ‘Garda’ and who had thereafter schemed to assassinate Ax Bazgan, the leader of the western alliance.

Both had failed in their attempts but had met up here in Idoro.

“The Revered Elder has allowed us the deaths – has allowed us the manipulation of the fates of up to twelve people. First is one who became an exalted sacrifice of flesh and blood. This time, failure will not be tolerated. Tahī, you understand, don’t you? We cannot act recklessly.”

“There will be no mistakes,” Tahī smiled faintly.

A hood covered her head and she wore robes long enough to cover her entire body, but even though her figure was almost entirely concealed – or perhaps, ''because'' it was concealed – her every gesture was alluring.

Idoro was at the time in a fervour over the Crown Prince’s visit. Rumours of his audience with Emperor Guhl had already spread throughout Mephius. The main character from that heroic legend had arrived with an army, so the populace had gone in droves to surround Julius’ mansion, in the hopes of catching even just a single glimpse of the Crown Prince; and when his men went out, they followed them around in groups, even though they had no business with them.

Zafar and Tahī arrived at the foot of the tower which served as the launch pad for air carriers. The entrance to it was on the other side of a fence.

Perhaps there had been some kind of news, as the area had been busy since just after noon that day. Slaves were moving a number of huge cages; within them were dragons.

“Oh, it seems that the prince will be leaving soon. We need to hurry.”

The cages were being transported into the tower, probably ready to be loaded onto carriers. It was a job that usually took time and manpower since dragons locked up in the same cage were prone to becoming enraged and acting violently. The dragon handler must have been a good one though, and every single one of the scaly beasts, large or medium-sized, were quiet, not letting out a single howl. Even now, a person who seemed to be the handler was running between the cages and calling out to the dragons.

It was, needless to say, Crown Prince Gil’s personal dragon tamer, Hou Ran.

“That’s…” Tahī’s red lips parted.

Zafar realised a bit too late. From the area around Tahī’s forehead, a sudden, crimson ‘wave’ seemed to materialise. It was hard to know how to describe it. It resembled both wispy smoke and a watery whirlpool, although an ordinary person would not have been able to see it in the first place. Just as this ‘wave’ that baffled description seemed to be revolving before Tahī’s forehead, it suddenly shot free and flew towards the dragon handler who was in front of the tower.

For a second, Ran stopped moving. Tahī’s lips curled upwards into a smile. This was her signature, flame-summoning magic. Just now, however, it did not take the shape of a ‘flame’ but was more on the level of a wave of heat. Even so, a direct hit had enough power to inflict a burn.

Ran, however, immediately gave a supple swing of her arm. Zafar saw the ‘wave’ disappear like smoke dissipating in a strong wind. It was an astonishing phenomenon, but perhaps Ran herself was unaware of it, since, after looking around blankly for a moment, she returned to her work with apparent unconcern.

Tahī’s expression turned angry.

“Don’t go too deep,” Zafar stretched his hand out in front of her face as he spoke. “I’ve only just said not to act recklessly.”

“It was just a preliminary test,” Tahī said teasingly, but her eyes were not smiling.

Zafar shot her a sharp glare.

“Once I move into action, you just need to hold her in check. We don’t yet know the extent of that person’s power or their true identity. Sooner or later, we will have to uncover them, but now is not the time.”

“I understand,” Tahī answered without looking at Zafar. Her eyes still stared straight ahead, as though they were piercing through Zafar’s hand, held before them like a shield, and still held Hou Ran in sight.

“I see,” she then muttered softly. “I understand why the Revered Elder gave me those orders. ''That'' is the same as me…”

=== Part 4 ===

During Gil Mephius’ stay, a succession of incidents occurred in Idoro.

In each of them, people lost their lives. Nothing about them raised any particular suspicions, however. They included a drunkards’ brawl, a cheating husband stabbed to death by his wife after he was found out, or business talks that turned sour before ending in mutual killing. Although you couldn’t go so far as to call them everyday occurrences, these kinds of cases were by no means uncommon, and it was simply coincidence that they all happened around the same time.

Such trivial matters naturally did not reach Gil Mephius’ ears.

''Second… third…''

Which meant, of course, that each time an event occurred, each time a body was discovered, Orba had no awareness of the whispering voice that seemed to be tallying them.

It was a sort of ‘shadow’ that prowled through Idoro at night. Merging with the darkness, it wandered through every nook and cranny of the fortified city. And it unfailingly caught the ‘scent’ of every incident that was on the verge of unfolding.

When, not long ago, a group of new mercenaries, who had recently arrived in Idoro, got into a quarrel with a more experienced group in a bar along one of the back alleys, the ‘shadow’ had softly crept in. And it had smoothly slid up to a wife who was thoroughly fed up with her carpenter husband that went out fooling around every night.

The shadow had started whispering. It was the very faintest of murmurs, that only those involved in the incident were able to hear.

When the long-serving mercenary approached a newbie with a wine cup in one hand, the voice that said – ''He’ll kill me if he sees an opening'' – had sounded like the voice of his own mind. When the wife had half-resigned herself to her husband having affairs, it had whispered – ''It’s about time to teach him a lesson. Right now, he’s entranced with a younger woman. Sooner or later, he’ll take all the money in the house and run off, leaving me behind''.

The second they heard the voice of ‘their awareness’, they felt their emotions well up like fire within them.

What was left behind afterwards was a corpse.

And the mercenary, the wife, and every other person who became an assailant could only look down in a daze at their blood-covered victims.

Each and every time, the ‘shadow’ whispered its count and left without a trace, wandering back into Idoro’s night, in search of the next ‘scent’.

One night, when the crown prince’s flagship, Dhum, was weighing anchor at Idoro’s air carrier departure point. The cages had been loaded into the ship’s hold, and the dragons had all lain down their heads and were sleeping peacefully.

Hou Ran had thus finished her work, and was now staying the night in the same place as the dragons to help them feel reassured in this unfamiliar environment. She was lying at the centre of the hold, wrapped up in a single piece of cloth.

There was nobody else there. Several soldiers were on watch outboard, but none of them noticed the dark shadow crawling beneath their feet.

Once on board the ship, the shadow unhesitatingly made straight for its destination: the hold were the dragons’ cages were lined up. The ‘shadow’ turned its formless gaze towards the centre of the room, where Hou Ran lay stretched out. In the starlight that shone through the window, her hair seemed to shine with a strangely pale lustre.

The ‘shadow’ whispered something. Although Ran’s eyelids fluttered and quivered for a second, her sleep remained undisturbed. A few of the slumbering dragons in the cages on either side of her had a similar faint reaction, but they too continued to sleep peacefully.

The next day, the morning brought uproar in one area of Idoro. Preparations for departure were almost complete when a corpse was found in an air carrier which was scheduled to fly before noon that day.

A woman’s corpse.

It went without saying that Orba received a report about it. He rushed over there.

“Ran…”

When he called out, the woman he had known since their time with Tarkas’ Gladiator Troupe turned around.

“What happened?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she shook her head.

The reason Orba had asked her was because he found it surprising to see her among the onlookers.

The body belonged to a young slave woman who helped take care of those who worked at the port. Her aggressor had already been arrested by the guards; he was the second son of the harbour master. Even though he was her master, he had long held wicked thoughts towards her. Having summoned her to the ship in the middle of the night with orders about a job to do, he had forced her down but, because she had struggled violently, he had instinctively struck her.

Ran irritably paced around the cabin in which the incident had occurred.

“What’s wrong?”

“It stinks.”

“Stinks?”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know. Where did it come from… where did it go… A nasty stench.”

Orba, naturally, did not have any understanding of the ‘stench’. He had not been informed of anything concerning the succession of incidents in Idoro, and even if he had, it was doubtful whether he would have connected them to the affair that had occurred onboard the ship.

After all, Orba was in a hurry.

They had finally received an answer from Ende. A military officer living in Safia, who had long been part of Eric’s faction, was concerned about the way Prince Gil was being made to wait at the border. Overriding the high officials who were dragging their feet, he made the judgement call to accept the prince’s request to be allowed into the country.

“It was Lord Eric himself who issued the appeal for reinforcements to Mephius. There is no need to wait for his reply,” by the time he had convinced the higher-ups, a messenger had already been sent to Idoro.

After meeting with him, Orba had hurriedly finished preparations for departure. Having Ran move the dragons was part of them.

From times immemorial, sailors on ships sailing the sea or sky had loathed incidents involving women, and it was an ominous event that had occurred the previous night. Orba, however, had laughed at the frightened men, and the ships had risen into the sky at the scheduled time.

After crossing the river east of Idoro, it would take half a day to reach the border fortress. However, they could not proceed to Dairan as they were, and would need to leave the Dhum at the riverside fortress. The aforementioned military officer had apologetically explained that this was the last-minute compromise they had managed to hammer out to have the reinforcements be allowed to pass.

“They said that without direct confirmation from Lord Eric, we cannot allow ships from another country to freely fly our skies.”

“It’s fine. Then could you have some of your own ships readied for us?”

Orba had a good impression of the officer, who must have been about twenty years older than he was and who handled things well. Ende was a country with a very old history, and the long years had brought stagnation which, like rickets<ref>Rickets is a childhood condition caused by serious vitamin D deficiency, which leads to the bones weakening and softening, and which in turn results in slowed growth and stunted skeletal development. Nowadays, it is perfectly treatable, but back when it wasn’t, it could leave people deformed for life.</ref>, had warped the personality of its nobles. Eric, however, was young and had been raised, sword and armour wet with blood, in a rough region far from the centre of Ende. Yet only very few people would already have felt the influence of this new mood.

Leaving a few men to guard the Dhum, Orba transferred to Endean ships to travel north. If speed was the priority, it would have been best to split the soldiers up and have them ride in small and medium-sized ships. As was to be expected though, such a large variety of boats was not what had been prepared; instead, there were two large ships.

Air travel was convenient, but it had taken them about five days to reach the final relay-base before Dairan. By that time, the sun had already set; it was only a short distance from there to Dairan, but it was not advisable to fly by night.

They decided to stay overnight at the base.

<noinclude>
===References and Translation Notes===
<references/>

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12_Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin_no_Monshou:Volume12_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter1

2017-12-26T14:17:31Z

Double Check: Duplicate sentence.

==Chapter 1: Creeping Shadow==

=== Part 1 ===

“So hard…”

The trembling voice crept along the cold stone floor. Transparent teardrops trickled downwards as though chasing after it.

“I’ve tried so hard to forget that day. To tell myself that it was all just a dream. That I had a sweet dream about promising a happy future with someone. Then I had a bad dream that tore it all up in one night. I was finally, truly, managing to convince myself of that… Even though I was finally starting to forget… When he appeared in front of me again.”

“…”

The only one listening to Layla’s soliloquy was Vileena Owell. The third princess of Garbera and fiancée to Crown Prince Gil of Mephius, she stood rooted to the spot as she listened to the truth behind Gil’s past, unable to interrupt.

“Even though he had caused me so much pain, even though he’d casually pushed me from the summit of happiness straight into the pits of despair simply because he found it amusing to do so... he looked as though he didn’t recognize me at all. Not just that, the second time I met him, he acted like a completely different person from the crown prince I knew.”

Layla was no longer looking at Vileena. She herself probably did not know who she was talking to anymore. It was as though the words poured out along with the emotions welling up from the very depths of her heart, all while her shoulders, lips and voice trembled.

“Ah, but that’s no wonder,” Vileena was startled by the sudden smile which appeared on Layla’s lips. “He died. He was shot by my father and killed. Even for a crown prince, once his chest was pierced by a bullet, there’s no way to come back to life. That’s someone else. That can’t be the Crown Prince of Mephius. But then… then, why? Why did someone with the same face as him appear and take the crown prince’s identity? To torment me again? Even though everything’s already been taken from me, that still wasn’t enough? Then, is that why Father was hurt? Or else… it’s not me, but to deceive the princess? Did he appear to make her suffer the same thing as me? No, not just the princess…”

Something pressed strongly against Layla’s mouth, blocking her voice inside within.

It was Vileena. Before she had realised it, the Garberan princess was hugging Layla to her chest. Layla’s entire body trembled violently, exactly as though she was rejecting Vileena; but the princess wrapped her arms around her back even tighter and Layla, sobbing even more bitterly than before, pressed her cheeks against the younger girl.

It was not true, however, that while enveloping Layla in her own warmth, Vileena herself was calm. At this point, it was difficult to believe that Layla was deliberately lying. And yet… that ‘’that’’ Gil Mephius had forced his right to the first night on a girl of the people, and that Layla’s father had shot him dead because of it – the ‘truth’ that Layla was telling her was simply too far removed from the reality that Vileena knew. The contradictions raged through her slender chest like a storm.

''Died… He… died?'' It was a feeling that she too was familiar with. Back in Apta. She had not been able to believe that they had been parted for all eternity. And in actual fact, Gil had nonchalantly returned as though nothing had happened.

Then were there similar circumstances to the the ‘truth’ that Layla was talking about?

''To hide the shame of having used his right to the first night, he pretended to die…'' No, that didn’t add up. It couldn’t add up. Vileena’s thoughts were in complete disarray.

Desperate to find an answer, she cast her mind in every imaginable direction, but no matter how far she followed every thread of thought, she always came back with nothing.

''Someone else'' – As sharply as something slapping her cheek, those simple words suddenly burst to the surface of her mind. The same words that Layla had blurted out earlier.

''That’s impossible''.

Yet for some reason, those frivolous words that she had discarded from the start had taken on a strange sense of reality, like a snake abruptly raising its sickle-shaped head.

Vileena had heard comments that Crown Prince Gil was like a different person compared to the past. A great many comments.

Indeed, there had been rumours even in Garbera that Gil Mephius was a ‘fool’. That he showed no ambition to take part in government or military affairs, and simply spent every day racketing about with his friends until late at night. He was apparently constantly terrified of his father’s very shadow, and even the retainers looked down on him. Although he was still young, there had also already been more than just one or two scandals involving women.

Because of that, Vileena had, from the bottom of her heart, despised the thought of marrying that ‘fool’ Gil, and, before leaving Garbera, she had energetically decided to train him to bend to her will, and so bring about victory for her country.

However –

Once she had actually arrived in Mephius and met Gil face-to-face, he had been like a completely different person from the rumours.

Certainly, he had also been very different from all the other aristocrats Vileena was acquainted with. They had even yelled at each other once because of a difference of opinion. He was definitely extremely eccentric, but he was not the feeble-minded man that rumour had made him out to be. He was, in particular, completely hopeless when it came to women. Or rather, he gave the impression of being uninterested in playing around with them.

''Rumours heard from abroad are really untrustworthy''. Yet no sooner had Vileena been forced to that conclusion than the Mephians themselves all started agreeing on one thing:

“The crown prince seems like a completely different person from how he was before.”

Among them, there were some ladies who whispered to the princess that, “this is a perfect illustration of how a layabout who could never go to sleep unless dead drunk is transformed by marriage into a splendidly hard-working man. The crown prince must surely be pushing himself to become a mature adult before your wedding, Princess.”

She herself, however, did not agree with that.

''It’s impossible to suddenly become that kind of person. He must have been like that long before meeting me''.

But then – why?

Why did the crown prince transform so abruptly that the retainers were left staring wide-eyed?

At that moment, scenes appeared in Vileena’s mind. As quickly as one scene seemed to flicker and light up, it merged into another, then another.

Their first meeting in Seirin Valley. Even though she had offered him her greetings, Gil Mephius had not given her any direct response, but had simply mumbled the words that his aide, Fedom, had whispered to him.

Afterwards, Ryucown’s men had barged in on the ceremony and just when the princess had seemed about to be kidnapped, Gil had given his own men and the gladiators exactly the right orders to prevent that from happening.

That same evening, there had been the scene that Vileena had suddenly remembered just a moment earlier, when they had yelled at each other.

“The royal family started this war of their own accord, without considering their people’s feelings, but they now claim to take them into consideration by ending that war? Those exalted, high-born nobles hold the lives of the commoners entirely in their grip, huh,” Gil had spat out, causing Vileena to fly into a rage.

He might have come across as a man who thought about the people and about the ordinary troops, yet when subjugating Ryucown, he had stood by and watched as the Garberan and the rebel forces clashed without sending a single soldier in reinforcement. When she had pointed out the contradiction, Gil Mephius had been almost ridiculously upset. That man who sized things up so infuriatingly calmly; that man who, when it came to battle, seemed to toss away personal feelings to somewhere underfoot, in a ditch, or wherever.

“For now, we have to wait for the right time,” he had finally managed to bite out, looking as though she had touched a weak point in his heart.

Right, a weak man.

That was another impression that Vileena had of him.

The next scene which rose to her mind took place on the topmost floor of Apta Fortress, against the backdrop of early evening, where a man was kneeling, alone and in tears. It was the first time she had seen anything like that. A man sobbing out loud. And as it had been none other than Gil Mephius, the princess had felt more shocked than words could express.

The recollections still would not end. There were scenes which had been indelibly seared into her mind, and a great many others which had done nothing more than lightly graze its surface, only a few fragments – a casual word, a certain gesture – remaining in her memory. They went so fast that not even Vileena’s eyes and ears could follow them. Before one scene even came to an end, the next one would start, so there was no sense of time and space, with each scene blending into the others.

Amidst them, something strange happened.

“It’s the same for everyone.”

Next to the princess, who was sitting down, was the figure of a man standing beneath a clear blue sky. He was smiling dazzlingly.

“What is our real self? Doesn’t everyone live their lives without knowing the answer? Or without knowing if there even is an answer? Royalty, philosophers, priests, peasants, merchants, and even slaves – everyone grieves over their own situation; and not knowing what to do with themselves, they dream that there exists a true calling for them. ‘Who am I’ and ‘who will I become’ – those kinds of worries are as countless as the stars in the sky, and will follow you around endlessly.”

The one who had said that had been the gladiator, Orba. A man whose face was hidden behind an iron mask and that she had thus never seen. And yet, right now, in the image that flashed through Vileena’s mind, he had removed the mask. His face seemed to be buffeted by the wind and as dazzling as looking up into the sun.

Startled, she hurriedly tried to pull that scene back to her consciousness. She wanted to ‘see’ it one more time, before it drifted away.

“Princess.”

What appeared before her ‘eyes’ however was a scene from yet another memory.

"I hope you will never lose that honesty. No matter what happens from now on.”

This was Apta once more. It was dusk and Gil Mephius, wrapped in its golden light, had spoken those words on the topmost floor of the barracks.

But – why was it? Maybe it was because of confusion born from too many memories revolving too quickly, but to Vileena’s eyes, it looked as though Gil was wearing an iron mask.

“Then, will you promise me?” She heard her own voice from far away. “From now on, would you confide in me without concealing anything? If you do, I will help you to the best of my poor ability.”

“Yeah. But,” he laughed lightly. “Don't forget one thing. Mephius' Prince Gil is a 'liar'.”

His figure merging into the evening sun, half of Gil’s face seemed to shine the colour of iron.

The curtain fell on the theatre of her memories with terrifying abruptness. So much so that she was left reeling from it. There was nothing more. The words, gestures and scenes from her memory all vanished from her mind, and Vileena was left behind, alone.

For a moment, it felt as though her thoughts went blank, but her heart started thumping wildly as if to fill in that empty space.

''Perhaps…'' she thought.

''It can’t be'' – she denied it in the next second.

But like a wave surging forward, that ''perhaps'' came back again, her doubts erasing the ''it can’t be''.

The clash between those two emotions did not last as long as her reminiscences had. The second one gradually grew weaker, and a suspicion that she could barely acknowledge entered her heart.

She remained unmoving, caught up in that inextricable tangle. Before she realised it, loud footsteps were fast approaching.

Gowen rushed up the tower staircase.

He was the one who had given orders to only a few soldiers to guard Layla, who was locked up in there. And late that night, he had received a report from those very soldiers. They had been told that a young man named Alnakk, who had started serving the princess, had recently been sniffing around about Layla. On top of that, the lady’s maid who had given them that warning was said to have entered the tower to help Layla wash herself.

“A lady’s maid?”

The soldiers had surely believed that she had been sent by Gowen but, of course, this was the first that Gowen, himself, had heard of it. He figured it out instantly.

''The princess!''

He had hastily headed towards the tower. The door leading to the topmost floor was ajar.

Gowen gnashed his teeth. ''I knew it, I shouldn’t have said anything'' – he thought.

Layla appeared to know the previous – or rather, the real – crown prince, so her very existence was liable to bring danger to Orba. In actual fact, she had already turned a blade against him and tried to kill him, but he was more afraid of the knowledge she possessed becoming a danger to Orba’s inner circle than of any sword coated in poison that she might wield.

''Once the princess learns about it…'' the magnificent deception would come to an end.

''Shit, if only we had a smooth-talker around''. It was unlike Gowen, but his mind conjured up the face of a man who was not there, who could no longer be there. Poor talker that he himself was, he was not at all confident that he would be able to mystify the princess.

With no leisure to worry about it, Gowen leapt and landed on the top floor.

“Now, Layla,” a woman’ voice could be heard. Princess Vileena’s voice.

The princess guided the sobbing Layla to the bed and covered her with a blanket. “Please rest for now. I’ll cast a magic spell on your pillow so that you won’t be bothered by bad dreams.”

She blew on the pillow – it was probably a Garberan way of coaxing children to sleep – then turned her gaze towards Gowen, who was standing ramrod straight in the doorway. Her tenderly smiling face turned all at once into an angry expression as she approached him, her eyebrows lowered.

Gowen gulped unconsciously, but before he had time to put himself on guard, she said:

“At the very least, provide her with a bath.”

“Huh?”

“She insolently pointed a blade towards His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince, so I will not ask you to treat her with courtesy. However, she also served by me for a time, so at the very least, I would expect that she be treated in a manner befitting a woman.”

“…”

As Gowen remained silent, Vileena walked towards the door, as much as to say that she had finished her business there.

“I was hoping to hear of the circumstances, but what she said was quite incoherent. If anyone outside were to hear her, they would not think her sane. Furtively hiding her away like this, however, is more likely to attract needless attention from those around. As it did mine…”

For a moment, Gowen glanced between Layla, asleep on the bed, and Vileena, who was walking down the staircase.

''Well then, this is…'' the veteran soldier and former overseer who made even tough gladiators tremble in fear muttered inwardly. ''She’s just no good at acting, so it seems pretty clear she learned something. Hey Orba, in that case, should I be warning you that there’s now another person whose mouth needs to be sealed, or should I be advising you to just run away at once with your tail between your legs?''

The opponent was the third princess of Garbera. Someone who might well be an enemy far more difficult to handle than Mephius’ Emperor Guhl if she were to stand in Orba’s way.

=== Part 2 ===

The troops led by Zenon Owell took up position at a point eight kilometres east of Dairan.

The way was barred to the north by cliffs projecting out onto the sea, and to the south, by steep, craggy mountains where almost no vegetation grew, so this mountain pass was the only road through which an army could march along. Allion’s second wave of troops, which was moving from the east via the country of Ryalide, could naturally only approach Dairan by following this route.

Prince Zenon of Garbera had hastened to bring reinforcements. He commanded a thousand two hundred soldiers from his own Order of the Tiger, three hundred from the Order of the Badger, and about seven hundred from the western allied forces.

After conferring with Lord Eric, the next grand duke of Ende, they had undertaken the responsibility of halting Allion’s second wave of troops, which was advancing along the overland route.

Their opponents numbered three thousand.

The enemy held the numerical superiority, but they could not possibly have foreseen that Garbera would take part in the fighting. One glance at the white flag of Garbera that was currently flying above Zenon’s head, and maybe they would lose their fighting spirit…

While he was not actually optimistic to ''that'' extent, neither did Zenon believe that the fighting would become particularly fierce. The enemy was facing a long-distance campaign, and simply maintaining their supply line was a huge cost in time, effort, and money. Even if they called on Ryalide’s assistance, they could not be planning to remain stationed there for any long period of time.

''And if we can just block their way…'' In other words, if they could prevent the enemy from joining with Kaseria’s main body of troops, anchored to the north in Zonga, then Zenon estimated that they could win the war.

After taking up position, they had erected palisades against horses and dragons, and had installed three canons on high ground. Airships had also been flown to scout out the surrounding terrain.

A few days passed. It was now around the time when Lord Eric was still waiting impatiently for Kaseria’s troops to make a move.

The riders sent out on reconnaissance returned, fiercely lashing their horses. They had caught sight of Allion’s army.

“They’ve arrived?”

Zenon had been in his pavilion, reading through some old books that he had brought from his own country, but hurriedly put on his armour when he received the news.

“Finally, huh.”

Outside the tent, Moldorf and Nilgif, the Red and Blue Dragons of Kadyne, already had their horses lined up and their long spears at the ready. The end of Moldorf’s lance was divided into three prongs.

“By the way, I still haven’t heard,” his younger brother, Nilgif, spoke in a carefree tone, “what about the enemy general?”

Even though war was close, Zenon grinned involuntarily. There were two reasons for that.

The first was because he remembered how Nilgif, although technically taking part in the war meetings, had spent each of them with his eyes closed and his arms folded. One might have believed that he was plunged deep in thought, except that the quiet, even breathing coming from him within less than five minutes had attested to the fact that he was asleep.

And as for the other reason – it seemed to him that when Nilgif asked “what about the enemy general?”, he was not particularly enquiring about the enemy’s personality or about what kind of tactics he used, but simply wanted to confirm “who is it I should be aiming for?”

Putting on his helmet, its plume casting a shadow over his virile features, Zenon answered in an even voice.

“According to the scouts, the enemy commander-in-chief is Phard Chryseum. He uses his mother’s family name, but, apparently, he is Prince Kaseria’s older half-brother. He is said to be a fearless commander who has taken to the field a countless number of times and, every time, he’s torn through the enemy’s vanguard and left behind mountains of corpses.”

“Oh, sounds fun!”

“Don’t be pushy, Nilgif,” his older brother reproved him. “We’re fighting in a foreign country. We might be here as reinforcements, but this is a gathering of many powers and acting however you want by yourself might completely disrupt command. In this war, I won’t let you rush off ahead of me.”

The three companions spurred their horses forward to the front lines. It looked as though the enemy had started setting up their battle formations less than two kilometres away, down the mountain pass.

The enemy – Allion’s forces – was also receiving reports from its scouts.

“The flag of Garbera?” growled Phard Chryseum. Since he was sucking the meat from a rib, his voice sounded strangely stuffy.

Beneath the battle flags of famed commanders flapping in the wind, his black cloak swayed gently. A woman’s profile was embroidered in silver thread within its lining. Although his build was chubby, the two arms protruding from his armour were magnificently muscular and he was a man who gave off the same feeling of oppression as a small mountain. He was practically baby-faced and habitually wore his fluttering golden hair tied back.

With a pop, he pulled the bone out from his mouth then licked his lips that were shiny with grease.

“It’s gotten interesting. Garbera’s all about that, isn’t it – those chivalry guys. I always wanted to see what it was like.”

“Please wait.”

The man who stopped him as he seemed about to immediately rush off was so thin he almost seemed to exist as a contrast to Phard. In his blue hooded robes embroidered in red thread, he was unmistakably one of Allion’s non-combatant military sorcerers. His face looked as though only a thin layer of skin was stretched over his skull.

“What, Morga?”

The man did not flinch even as Phard glared at him in displeasure.

“We have not yet completed our preparations. If you would wait but a short while, I will open a ‘passageway’ so we can communicate with Prince Kaseria.”

“As usual, that sure is convenient,” Phard’s manner changed abruptly. He seemed to be the kind of man whose interest switched with dizzying speed to whatever was in front of him. “Can I talk to Kaseria directly?”

“It would take time… No, not just an hour or two, but the time to prepare adequate facilities and ether supplies. And on top of that, you would need to receive training in sorcery, Lord Phard.”

“Talk about needing patience,” Phard’s forehead creased into a frown. “If you want to train your arms, just carry something heavy. If you want to strengthen your legs, just run while doing so. But I can’t even guess how you’d train to strengthen yourself in sorcery.”

Although he was grumbling, Phard seemed willing to wait for the ‘sorcery’. Crunching on the bone with his sturdy jaws, he swung a heavy battle staff and started whirling it above his shoulders as though it were as light as a feather, probably intending to kill some time. Near the tip of the staff, a considerable number of iron balls hung from chains. They made a humming sound as they spun, and the nearby soldiers yelped and scattered away from their general to avoid being hit.

Morga left quickly and entered the tent reserved for his preparations. He was something like a staff officer attached to Phard; in Allion, it was not unusual for sorcerers bearing that kind of role to accompany troops.

As soon as Phard grew tired of swinging his weapon around, he retired to his pavilion and went to sleep, wrapped in the same black cloak. Loud snores could soon be heard from there, although something very like sobs were occasionally mixed in with them. His attendants had often witnessed how he would press his cheeks against the embroidered woman’s profile, practically wailing as he did so. Incidentally, the embroidery apparently represented Phard’s mother back in her younger days. While you would be forgiven for thinking that they had been torn asunder by her early death, she was still perfectly healthy. It was just that this huge man of nearly thirty missed his mother.

Night fell, soon followed by the dawning day.

At breakfast, Phard appeared for all the world to have utterly forgotten the previous day’s conversation and to be about to give the signal to attack, when the sorcerer Morga knelt by his side and started giving his report.

“Oh?”

What Morga was conveying were Kaseria’s instructions, which they had only received late that night. Had they been using airships or fast horses, it would, of course, not normally have been possible to communicate so quickly; this was the work of sorcery.

“This is enemy territory and ether is scarce, so we cannot open a ‘passageway’ here,” said Morga.

The further they were from Allion, the longer it took to prepare and the shorter the messages that could be transmitted, but for most people, who were not well-versed in sorcery, it was certainly a means of communication that defied common sense.

In any case, Phard listened to the instructions from Kaseria, nodding frequently.

“My little brother really is smart,” he gazed in the distance towards where the enemy had pitched their camp. “It’s fun to fight head-on, but killing a ''fleeing'' enemy also makes for an exciting battlefield. Both get my blood pumping. Right, we’ll wait.”

He flopped down and set his custom weapon beside him.

“Ooi, you lot! No war for now. Have a drink.”

Wine casks were immediately opened. His men looked as though they were going to waste no time acting on Phard’s generous suggestion and filling their wine cups to the brim.

“Hmm,” after a moment of deep cogitation however, “if we’re going to be waiting for the enemy, we might not have enough to drink. Wait, wait, you lot! No alcohol. No, it’s not that I won’t hand it out. Let’s have a kabat. Only the one who wins gets to drink a cup.”

Kabat was an ancient form of combat from the Magic Dynasty that had been handed down in Allion. A circle drawn on the ground was used as an arena. The contestants grappled bare-handed, and the winner was the one who pushed his opponent backwards on the ground or out of the circle. Trained soldiers usually performed in front of crowds of spectators at festivals held several times a year.

“Don’t worry about it being your superior officers. If I catch anyone going easy, I’ll come and be their opponent.”

While Allion’s camp was displaying this peculiar turn of events, in the opposite camp, Zenon Owell was puzzled at the enemy having halted their actions.

Having heard that battle was drawing near, Nilgif was so wound up that he seemed unable to sit still, and he was incessantly putting horses through their paces nearby. Had Zenon not been the commander of the allied forces, he too would have wanted to start at once.

While Nilgif was getting excited, his older brother Moldorf was like a boulder as he sat cross-legged. He carried a spear under one arm and looked ready to spring into action at any time, but his expression was as tranquil as could be.

He handed the kumis he was holding to Zenon, who happened to pass by.

“You should calm down.”

His attitude was entirely like that of a commander, and it was with mixed feelings – part astonishment, part envy – that Zenon took the alcohol.

“Nothing will come of you getting as impatient as the men are.” He jerked his chin towards where Nilgif was rebuking a subordinate even while galloping his horse. Although he was a considerable distance away, it felt as though the dust he was sending flying had enough force to reach them.

While looking at the scene, Moldorf seemed to be saying with some self-derision that he was used to this. Zenon let slip a chortle. After which he dropped down next to Moldorf, who glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

“There’s maybe no point asking now, but I heard that Garbera and Ende had clashed near their border. And then, not that much time later, here you are rushing to help them.”

“I have the same kind of question. I had heard that the west was a land of never-ending conflicts. And yet now, you’ve joined hands and come to Ende’s assistance.”

“That would be thanks to King Ax, the leader of the Confederacy, being so capable… and also, to Mephius.”

“Mephius?”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v12 045.jpg|thumb]]
“You don’t need to bring up the history of Taúlia to know about the long state of tension between Tauran and Mephius. The one who broke through that like it was nothing and suggested an alliance was, of course, that Crown Prince.”

“Of course,” Zenon chortled softly again. “The mastermind who pushed you into marching with our troops. That thoroughly irritating brat.”

“Exactly,” Moldorf washed down his drink with a gulp then laughed loudly. “Even though everything he says sounds upright, does he himself even actually believe any of it?”

“He seems like the sort of man who’s a reliable ally but a dangerous enemy.”

“We’ve actually crossed spears. Well, to be precise, it wasn’t the Crown Prince himself but one of his men who was probably acting on his orders, but anyway...”

“Oh!” Zenon Owell’s eyes gleamed with interest.

Moldorf told the foreign prince about the battles in the west and, while he was describing one of the scenes, he added, “he’s certainly a dangerous man, but, well, it’s nothing to be too worried about. Sure, I was defeated once, but if there’s a second time, I’ll win.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a child. And it’s because he’s a child that he pulls off all these things that adults wouldn’t think of. But once you know that, an adult has ways of dealing with kids.”

“Ha ha ha, I see. I definitely caught a glimpse of immaturity when I talked with that crown prince in person.”

“It’s fine while he’s green,” Moldorf heaved a sigh reeking of liquor, “his immaturity is just about his only charm. But once he becomes an adult and loses even that charm, I’m worried he’ll become the kind of foolish ruler who doesn’t trust or confide in anyone.”

“Hmm, well, it’s another country’s affairs so I can’t really say it with confidence, but…” Zenon’s bright smile was very like him, “on that point, I’m fairly sure things will be fine.”

“Hmm?”

“Because you know, that crown prince has got my little sister with him.”

Having said that as though it answered everything, Zenon put the leather flask to his mouth for the first time. It smelled strange, but he drank deep without worrying about it.

=== Part 3 ===

At around the same time, Orba, as Gil Mephius, left Solon with a thousand three hundred soldiers and arrived in Idoro to the east.

Before doing so, he had notified Ende that they would be responding to their appeal for reinforcements, but the reply he received was truly vague. That probably meant that Eric, the next grand duke, was away from the capital, Safia. With Ende not yet having transitioned to its new regime, communications were likely to be slow. With no reply forthcoming, and since he had been afraid that if he waited too long he would be too late, Orba had moved swiftly.

He was met in Idoro by the domain-lord, Julius. He too had been in Solon during the direct confrontation between the Emperor and Crown Prince, but he had returned earlier to his territory since Prince Gil would be leading his forces through it.

“I did not have the opportunity to present you with my greetings in Solon,” he said with a smile.

Day after day, a long succession of people presented themselves before Ineli and Fedom, who were seen as points of contact with the Crown Prince, hoping for a chance to meet the heir to the throne and to fix themselves in his memory, so Julius felt that luck was on his side to be able to meet Gil face-to-face like this.

“If there is anything you lack, please just grab the person concerned and let them know. I will be delighted to provide you with anything, be it weapons and armour, provisions, or even if you want women… Ah, but hold on, Your Highness has Lady Vileena, the perfect wife for you. But if, perchance, anything improper were to occur, allow me to say with confidence that my lips would be sealed firmer than the sacred iron gates in the Ryuujin Tribe’s underground ruins at Avort. Ha, ha, ha.”

It was probably because his mood was so good that his jokes were in poor taste.

''Right, thinking about it, we have met before, huh'' – Orba meanwhile only remembered Julius to about that extent.

During Gil Mephius’ first campaign, just before they had headed to Zaim Fortress to subjugate Ryucown, they had held a council of war here in Idoro. Julius was a man known for his harsh treatment towards slaves, and it was because he had been on the verge of executing the slaves from Tarkas’ Gladiator Troupe, who were travelling with the troops, that Orba had saved them by ordering that they temporarily be hired as his own Imperial Guards.

Looking at it that way, there was no particular relationship between them.

Orba received Julius’ welcome but did his utmost to ensure that his men didn’t cut loose too much.

Three days passed while they remained in Idoro. During that time, another messenger arrived from Ende.

''Isn’t there a single sensible guy in Safia?''

Had Kaseria left Zonga? How far had Allion’s second wave of troops, taking the overland route, already approached? In this situation in which he didn’t even know that much, time crawled by as slowly as a snail.

Perhaps because he could sense Prince Gil’s state of mind, Julius showed consideration. “To ease the Crown Prince’s boredom,” he organised a gladiator performance.

When he heard about it, and even though Julius’ messenger was right in front of him, Orba clicked his tongue.

''Completely unnecessary'' – he thought, but in Mephius, it was the custom to organise a gladiator contest when one was receiving a person of higher rank to one’s town or castle. A noble’s ability was then judged on how many gladiators he could summon, and on how long a show he could stage.

Orba really wanted to excuse himself by claiming that he wasn’t feeling well or something, but Julius was the domain-lord of an important city. From now on, Gil Mephius would not be able to avoid socialising with him.

''I’ll be meeting plenty of people I don’t agree with and having conversations about things I don’t go along with''. – He grudgingly decided to set off towards Idoro’s largest amphitheatre.

Given that it was about gladiators, he chose Pashir, Gilliam, and ‘Orba’ as his attendants, three men that the Crown Prince had elevated from their ranks. In this case, ‘Orba’ was, of course, the former gladiator Kain, hidden beneath the iron tiger mask.

“So, how’s the way I’m walking? It’s exactly like Orba, right?”

“Not at all.”

In the reception room reserved for aristocrats, Orba’s expression was sour. The three that were there with him all knew about the relation between the ‘Crown Prince’ and ‘Orba’.

“Yeah, it’s spot on,” Gilliam gave his stamp of approval. “You’ve got the same stooped shoulders he had, back when we were gladiators. The way you hunch up your chin is also exactly like he used to.”

Pashir remained silent, but the faint smile at the edge of his lips showed that he agreed. Although he had an official position separate from this, he would invariably take it upon himself to go as a bodyguard whenever the prince went anywhere.

“Yep, I’ve been observing Orba and practicing,” out of the blue, Kain smugly started teasing Orba.

“Self-training is fine and all, but you’re an Imperial Guard. Wouldn’t you rather be fawned over under your real identity? If ‘Kain’ stands out for his great deeds, being popular with women or earning a fortune won’t be just a dream anymore.”

This was ironic coming from Orba, whose real name and face were always hidden.

“Say, Orba,” yet Kain’s expression was extremely serious when he answered. “I was just a small-time pickpocket. From the time I was born, I’ve never had parents or relatives. And then I got caught by the guards and from the next day onwards, I was a gladiator. I lived one day at a time, not knowing if I’d see tomorrow. That’s ‘Kain’. The guy you and me both know well.”

“…”

“So I intend to fully enjoy life as someone else when I’m ‘Orba’. It’s fun, you know? And if we’re talking about being popular with women, putting on that iron mask is way more efficient than trying to flirt with them with just my real face.”

“From the way you’re saying that, you’ve done it before, huh?”

“Ah… no… well, once or twice, maybe…” Kain’s eyes went shifty. “But…”

“But?”

“Say you go from being the crown prince to becoming emperor, and you don’t plan on ever revealing your identity as Orba,” Kain started with a preface, “and so when I’m a grandfather, I’ll have the iron mask hidden in my house. And say, one day, when my grandchildren come to play, they accidentally find it. ‘Wow, Grandad, are you actually Orba, the masked gladiator?’ they’ll ask, their young eyes sparkling, at that time, I’ll neither admit nor deny it. And that way, I’ll be leaving tantalising hints.”

Orba thought that was a pretty long-term dream, but he did not say anything. Men all had plans for what to do ‘afterwards’ with their lives.

Just before noon, they were guided to their seats in the amphitheatre. Maybe because Julius had advertised it, there was a good attendance for the hastily organised performance. Gil’s group was lead to the special lodge, which had pillars supporting a stone canopy. With Pashir, Gilliam, and ‘Orba’ fanned out in a row behind him, Gil Mephius sat next to Julius, the domain-lord of Idoro.

“Those who are about to die for His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince and for His Excellency Lord Julius give their greetings!” An elderly man announced resoundingly.

Bathed in sunlight, a row of muscular gladiators each raised one hand to their chest and bowed their head.

It was a very familiar scene. Simply from seeing it, a burning emotion welled up within Orba. What came with it were not tears, however, but a feeling of wanting to throw up.

The gladiators all carried wounds, great or small, on their bodies, and their faces were dark from dust, but their eyes as they looked upwards shone just as brightly as the sun that was blazing down on them.

It was not the Crown Prince they were looking at. No, they were staring at the ones standing beyond him, at Pashir and ‘Orba’. Each of their chests burned with fighting spirit and with the hope that they too might be appointed Imperial Guards if the Crown Prince was pleased with them – that their days of living hell might all at once give way to the freedom that they could not help but yearn for, and that, at the same time, they might obtain the status and honour that, as gladiators, they would not be able to achieve in all their lives.

Before long, the life-and-death struggles began before Orba’s eyes. For all that he looked on as expressionlessly and apathetically as possible, the crash of steel, the spurts of blood, the beastlike howls in their death throes – everything grated on the former gladiator’s five senses. One after another, the memories revived.

The training grounds always reeked of the stench of fodder and dragon dung. Amidst the clash of roaring voices, Orba, drenched in sweat, brandished his sword and repeatedly took aim at the overseer, Gowen.

Although they were encircled by a high fence, there were lattices on the east side and, through the gaps, they could catch glimpses of the world beyond. The training grounds and their buildings were by no means within the prosperous part of town. Quite the opposite: they were next to the slums. The people that went by were children with grubby faces, prostitutes with patched clothing, and peddlers selling goods of dubious origin.

''Freedom…''

Orba craved it every bit as much as he did the food and water he needed to survive. Perhaps even more so. It stretched out like a glittering blue sea. The freedom to walk along the streets, the freedom to run along them, without anyone having decided his destination for him. The freedom to peacefully fall asleep after the sun had gone down, without anyone ordering him to fight to the death the next day.

Even if he had more gold than he could carry, he would gladly have exchanged it for that. Even if that freedom was just the freedom to beat up those he didn’t like, the freedom to steal and to keep running away until he ran out of breath, the freedom to collapse without food or money and to die by the roadside.

He had thought about escaping again and again. On nights before a fight, lying on the hard ground, he would wonder – ''Tomorrow, will I be sleeping in this same place alive and healthy?'' He had spent many a sleepless night endlessly, obsessively going over it in his thoughts.
And then, greater than his craving for freedom, greater than his fear of death, more implacable than any other thought –

''Revenge''.

Amidst the excited cheers, Orba leapt out like a wild animal let loose from its cage. In front of him was an opponent who would try to take his life – to snatch away his future which consisted only of a single day at a time.

Swords crashed against one another. Red and blue sparks scattered and flew.

“The game is over!”

The announcer’s voice reverberated above Orba’s head.

He suddenly went rigid. In his hand was a blood-stained sword, right before his eyes rolled a now silent corpse.

A hallucination.

In reality, as Gil Mephius, Orba was looking down from on high at both the winner and the loser, lying dead and shrouded in blood. Having won the tournament, and even though he had a dark red scar roughly at the level of his heart, the winner raised both hands and gave a roar of joy.

In reality, as Gil Mephius, Orba was looking down from on high at both the winner and the loser, lying dead and shrouded in blood. Having won the tournament, and even though he had a dark red scar roughly at the level of his heart, the winner raised both hands and gave a roar of joy.

Barely an hour earlier, a row of men had stood before Orba with shinning eyes, yet now, this was the only survivor.

“Magnificent,” Orba stood up and praised the victor. “It’s a priviledge to witness such a display of warrior spirit before heading to the battlefield. An omen of victory, surely. You are appointed an officer of the Imperial Guards. No objections, Orba?”

“From a brave of his calibre, I expect splendid deeds,” ‘Orba’ respectfully replied. He knew his script on this stage.

As a matter of fact, the young man who had won was not as splendidly skilled as ‘Orba’ claimed. Luck, however, was on his side. It had blessed him from when the combination of fighters was decided, and the opponents that chance had decided for him were all ones that he could handle.

Put otherwise, it was simply luck that had decided the life and death of these men, and luck that had separated their ‘afterwards’ into light or shadows. Orba had promoted him neither for show nor on a whim, but because he anticipated that making an ally of luck was as good as roping in a hundred strong soldiers.

Eyes brimming with tears, the young man bowed towards Gil Mephius, then once more shouted from exhilaration.

Orba received Lord Julius’ salutations, then left the amphitheatre. He felt as though, just like that young man, there was a dark red gash across his chest.

The sun shone down from up above.

Yet by the time that dazzling sun had sunk below the mountain ridge, then risen again over the world of men, the young man who should have become an Imperial Guard had met with the same fate as the slaves he himself had killed for the sake of his freedom and future.

His master and companions had apparently thrown an all-night banquet to celebrate the start of the hero’s new life. When morning came, he was stretched out flat, his face pale. He was already dead by the time he was discovered. It was thought that the wound he had suffered the day before had taken a turn for the worse.

Orba received the news early in the morning.

“I see,” he said. He did not have anything particular to add, and ate his breakfast.

''A man with no luck'' – he thought to himself.

Or perhaps he had used up all of his luck?

Orba tried hard to recall how he had fought and how he had shone with delight when told that he was appointed as an Imperial Guard but, in the end, Orba could not even remember his face.

He was unlucky…

Not only Orba, but also most of the people who knew of the young man’s fate thought the same way. However –

''First one''.

There was one man, his lips curled into an evil smile, who held a different opinion. He claimed to be a merchant who had travelled far from the distant west.

His name was Zafar.

He was a sorcerer who had once served Reizus, when the latter had taken the name ‘Garda’. In Birac, he had lured Layla, Vileena’s lady maid, into attempting to assassinate the crown prince.

The old man’s connection to Orba ran deep, yet this time as well he had turned up on a street corner in Idoro, feigning harmlessness. Next to him walked a woman who was also from Tauran. She was pretending to be Zafar’s daughter, and her name was Tahī. She was a sorceress who had likewise served ‘Garda’ and who had thereafter schemed to assassinate Ax Bazgan, the leader of the western alliance.

Both had failed in their attempts but had met up here in Idoro.

“The Revered Elder has allowed us the deaths – has allowed us the manipulation of the fates of up to twelve people. First is one who became an exalted sacrifice of flesh and blood. This time, failure will not be tolerated. Tahī, you understand, don’t you? We cannot act recklessly.”

“There will be no mistakes,” Tahī smiled faintly.

A hood covered her head and she wore robes long enough to cover her entire body, but even though her figure was almost entirely concealed – or perhaps, ''because'' it was concealed – her every gesture was alluring.

Idoro was at the time in a fervour over the Crown Prince’s visit. Rumours of his audience with Emperor Guhl had already spread throughout Mephius. The main character from that heroic legend had arrived with an army, so the populace had gone in droves to surround Julius’ mansion, in the hopes of catching even just a single glimpse of the Crown Prince; and when his men went out, they followed them around in groups, even though they had no business with them.

Zafar and Tahī arrived at the foot of the tower which served as the launch pad for air carriers. The entrance to it was on the other side of a fence.

Perhaps there had been some kind of news, as the area had been busy since just after noon that day. Slaves were moving a number of huge cages; within them were dragons.

“Oh, it seems that the prince will be leaving soon. We need to hurry.”

The cages were being transported into the tower, probably ready to be loaded onto carriers. It was a job that usually took time and manpower since dragons locked up in the same cage were prone to becoming enraged and acting violently. The dragon handler must have been a good one though, and every single one of the scaly beasts, large or medium-sized, were quiet, not letting out a single howl. Even now, a person who seemed to be the handler was running between the cages and calling out to the dragons.

It was, needless to say, Crown Prince Gil’s personal dragon tamer, Hou Ran.

“That’s…” Tahī’s red lips parted.

Zafar realised a bit too late. From the area around Tahī’s forehead, a sudden, crimson ‘wave’ seemed to materialise. It was hard to know how to describe it. It resembled both wispy smoke and a watery whirlpool, although an ordinary person would not have been able to see it in the first place. Just as this ‘wave’ that baffled description seemed to be revolving before Tahī’s forehead, it suddenly shot free and flew towards the dragon handler who was in front of the tower.

For a second, Ran stopped moving. Tahī’s lips curled upwards into a smile. This was her signature, flame-summoning magic. Just now, however, it did not take the shape of a ‘flame’ but was more on the level of a wave of heat. Even so, a direct hit had enough power to inflict a burn.

Ran, however, immediately gave a supple swing of her arm. Zafar saw the ‘wave’ disappear like smoke dissipating in a strong wind. It was an astonishing phenomenon, but perhaps Ran herself was unaware of it, since, after looking around blankly for a moment, she returned to her work with apparent unconcern.

Tahī’s expression turned angry.

“Don’t go too deep,” Zafar stretched his hand out in front of her face as he spoke. “I’ve only just said not to act recklessly.”

“It was just a preliminary test,” Tahī said teasingly, but her eyes were not smiling.

Zafar shot her a sharp glare.

“Once I move into action, you just need to hold her in check. We don’t yet know the extent of that person’s power or their true identity. Sooner or later, we will have to uncover them, but now is not the time.”

“I understand,” Tahī answered without looking at Zafar. Her eyes still stared straight ahead, as though they were piercing through Zafar’s hand, held before them like a shield, and still held Hou Ran in sight.

“I see,” she then muttered softly. “I understand why the Revered Elder gave me those orders. ''That'' is the same as me…”

=== Part 4 ===

During Gil Mephius’ stay, a succession of incidents occurred in Idoro.

In each of them, people lost their lives. Nothing about them raised any particular suspicions, however. They included a drunkards’ brawl, a cheating husband stabbed to death by his wife after he was found out, or business talks that turned sour before ending in mutual killing. Although you couldn’t go so far as to call them everyday occurrences, these kinds of cases were by no means uncommon, and it was simply coincidence that they all happened around the same time.

Such trivial matters naturally did not reach Gil Mephius’ ears.

''Second… third…''

Which meant, of course, that each time an event occurred, each time a body was discovered, Orba had no awareness of the whispering voice that seemed to be tallying them.

It was a sort of ‘shadow’ that prowled through Idoro at night. Merging with the darkness, it wandered through every nook and cranny of the fortified city. And it unfailingly caught the ‘scent’ of every incident that was on the verge of unfolding.

When, not long ago, a group of new mercenaries, who had recently arrived in Idoro, got into a quarrel with a more experienced group in a bar along one of the back alleys, the ‘shadow’ had softly crept in. And it had smoothly slid up to a wife who was thoroughly fed up with her carpenter husband that went out fooling around every night.

The shadow had started whispering. It was the very faintest of murmurs, that only those involved in the incident were able to hear.

When the long-serving mercenary approached a newbie with a wine cup in one hand, the voice that said – ''He’ll kill me if he sees an opening'' – had sounded like the voice of his own mind. When the wife had half-resigned herself to her husband having affairs, it had whispered – ''It’s about time to teach him a lesson. Right now, he’s entranced with a younger woman. Sooner or later, he’ll take all the money in the house and run off, leaving me behind''.

The second they heard the voice of ‘their awareness’, they felt their emotions well up like fire within them.

What was left behind afterwards was a corpse.

And the mercenary, the wife, and every other person who became an assailant could only look down in a daze at their blood-covered victims.

Each and every time, the ‘shadow’ whispered its count and left without a trace, wandering back into Idoro’s night, in search of the next ‘scent’.

One night, when the crown prince’s flagship, Dhum, was weighing anchor at Idoro’s air carrier departure point. The cages had been loaded into the ship’s hold, and the dragons had all lain down their heads and were sleeping peacefully.

Hou Ran had thus finished her work, and was now staying the night in the same place as the dragons to help them feel reassured in this unfamiliar environment. She was lying at the centre of the hold, wrapped up in a single piece of cloth.

There was nobody else there. Several soldiers were on watch outboard, but none of them noticed the dark shadow crawling beneath their feet.

Once on board the ship, the shadow unhesitatingly made straight for its destination: the hold were the dragons’ cages were lined up. The ‘shadow’ turned its formless gaze towards the centre of the room, where Hou Ran lay stretched out. In the starlight that shone through the window, her hair seemed to shine with a strangely pale lustre.

The ‘shadow’ whispered something. Although Ran’s eyelids fluttered and quivered for a second, her sleep remained undisturbed. A few of the slumbering dragons in the cages on either side of her had a similar faint reaction, but they too continued to sleep peacefully.

The next day, the morning brought uproar in one area of Idoro. Preparations for departure were almost complete when a corpse was found in an air carrier which was scheduled to fly before noon that day.

A woman’s corpse.

It went without saying that Orba received a report about it. He rushed over there.

“Ran…”

When he called out, the woman he had known since their time with Tarkas’ Gladiator Troupe turned around.

“What happened?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she shook her head.

The reason Orba had asked her was because he found it surprising to see her among the onlookers.

The body belonged to a young slave woman who helped take care of those who worked at the port. Her aggressor had already been arrested by the guards; he was the second son of the harbour master. Even though he was her master, he had long held wicked thoughts towards her. Having summoned her to the ship in the middle of the night with orders about a job to do, he had forced her down but, because she had struggled violently, he had instinctively struck her.

Ran irritably paced around the cabin in which the incident had occurred.

“What’s wrong?”

“It stinks.”

“Stinks?”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know. Where did it come from… where did it go… A nasty stench.”

Orba, naturally, did not have any understanding of the ‘stench’. He had not been informed of anything concerning the succession of incidents in Idoro, and even if he had, it was doubtful whether he would have connected them to the affair that had occurred onboard the ship.

After all, Orba was in a hurry.

They had finally received an answer from Ende. A military officer living in Safia, who had long been part of Eric’s faction, was concerned about the way Prince Gil was being made to wait at the border. Overriding the high officials who were dragging their feet, he made the judgement call to accept the prince’s request to be allowed into the country.

“It was Lord Eric himself who issued the appeal for reinforcements to Mephius. There is no need to wait for his reply,” by the time he had convinced the higher-ups, a messenger had already been sent to Idoro.

After meeting with him, Orba had hurriedly finished preparations for departure. Having Ran move the dragons was part of them.

From times immemorial, sailors on ships sailing the sea or sky had loathed incidents involving women, and it was an ominous event that had occurred the previous night. Orba, however, had laughed at the frightened men, and the ships had risen into the sky at the scheduled time.

After crossing the river east of Idoro, it would take half a day to reach the border fortress. However, they could not proceed to Dairan as they were, and would need to leave the Dhum at the riverside fortress. The aforementioned military officer had apologetically explained that this was the last-minute compromise they had managed to hammer out to have the reinforcements be allowed to pass.

“They said that without direct confirmation from Lord Eric, we cannot allow ships from another country to freely fly our skies.”

“It’s fine. Then could you have some of your own ships readied for us?”

Orba had a good impression of the officer, who must have been about twenty years older than he was and who handled things well. Ende was a country with a very old history, and the long years had brought stagnation which, like rickets<ref>Rickets is a childhood condition caused by serious vitamin D deficiency, which leads to the bones weakening and softening, and which in turn results in slowed growth and stunted skeletal development. Nowadays, it is perfectly treatable, but back when it wasn’t, it could leave people deformed for life.</ref>, had warped the personality of its nobles. Eric, however, was young and had been raised, sword and armour wet with blood, in a rough region far from the centre of Ende. Yet only very few people would already have felt the influence of this new mood.

Leaving a few men to guard the Dhum, Orba transferred to Endean ships to travel north. If speed was the priority, it would have been best to split the soldiers up and have them ride in small and medium-sized ships. As was to be expected though, such a large variety of boats was not what had been prepared; instead, there were two large ships.

Air travel was convenient, but it had taken them about five days to reach the final relay-base before Dairan. By that time, the sun had already set; it was only a short distance from there to Dairan, but it was not advisable to fly by night.

They decided to stay overnight at the base.

<noinclude>
===References and Translation Notes===
<references/>

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12_Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin_no_Monshou:Volume12_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume11 Chapter1

2017-12-08T18:50:11Z

Double Check: Duplicate sentences.

==Chapter 1: Rumblings==

=== Part 1 ===

The city of Dairan, at the northernmost tip of Ende, was defended by high ramparts that protected it from invasion by the nomadic northern tribes. These nomadic tribes were divided into numerous clans and usually lived as they pleased. However, they would occasionally commit piracy along their southern coast, and occasionally attempt to trample into Ende’s territory. The trend to their movements was utterly unfathomable: sometimes they would go a year or two without taking any action, while at other times, there would be two attacks within a month.

Eric Le Doria, who was to be the next Grand Duke of Ende, had often fought them beyond Dairan’s protective ramparts. From a very young age, he had been entrusted to the care of the Plutos family – who had governed Dairan for generation after generation – and in that wild and rough land, he had fought to his utmost with sword and gun, and had learned of that joy that was second to none; of gathering with his comrades around the campfire after battle, still covered in the blood of his foes, to boast together of their feats.

Given this particularity, Dairan was clearly at odds with the “aristocratic” traits that were prized by other Endeans – traits such as dressing splendidly or never ostensibly injuring another person, but instead preferring to exchange verbal quips laced with lethal doses of poison.

To take other examples, Safia, the capital of the Grand Duchy, was known throughout the world as the “Water Capital” and was recognised as a city of great artistic value. The high walls that surrounded Dairan, however, were rough-hewn and inelegant, and the people who came and went from the city wore simple clothes. In Safia, men and women alike weaved their long hair into whatever complicated style they preferred, but here, that was rare.

In plain words, it was the sticks, and among the nobles that filled Safia, many mocked Dairan as a “remote frontier” and a “land of savages”.

Walking through Dairan, everywhere you went, you would hear the yells of men training in the military arts, and under the eaves of the houses, you would frequently see women doing laundry or peeling vegetables.

Just then, the men, dripping with sweat, suddenly halted their arms that were swinging spears. The women, who had been trampling the spread-out laundry, also stopped the movement of their white legs, and the young girls hurriedly corrected their seating posture.

“Lord Eric,” voices called out all along the street, and Eric answered them with a smile.

The Second Prince always openly asserted that Dairan was his home. His personality was much closer to that of a warrior of the Plutos House than to one of Ende’s leading aristocrat; and on top of that, he had only recently exterminated the wild dragons that that had attacked Dairan. And so, the people there adored him.

When they heard that he had been chosen as the next Grand Duke, this rustic town, with its simple and unaffected creeds and its lingering scent of earth, was engulfed in three days and three nights of revelry, its people delirious with joy.

It did not even last ten days.

The people had particularly rejoiced at the fact that the future Grand Duke would be visiting Dairan. Eric, however, did not come to his “home” dressed in fine clothes for a triumphal return. Because they were well-aware of this, Dairan’s populace did not create more of a fanfare than necessary.

War is coming.

Moreover, it was not because of an attack by the nomadic tribes. The great eastern country of Allion had dispatched its troops; and far from there being any reason to celebrate, Dairan, or better said, Ende itself, was facing an unprecedented crisis.

Allion’s air carriers were already moored to the north of Ende, in the port city of Zonga. These were probably no more than an advance supply unit, but a force of two thousand led by Kaseria Jamil was said to currently be at sea.

Right now, all of Ende was focused on getting ready for the impending war. Eric had come to Dairan to prepare for when Allion’s troops would depart from northern Zonga, but he could not remain there indefinitely.

In the old days, all he needed to focus on when war was about to break out was the war itself. Back when he had fought the nomadic tribes or planned the invasion of Garbera, he would only worry about organising the troops, ensuring provisions, or various concerns related to weapons inspection or maintaining his comrades’ morale.

Now however, Eric was the future Grand Duke. Other than the preparations directly involving battle, there was a pile of things he needed to attend to. Beyond the battlefield, he needed to extend his gaze to all of Ende and keep a close eye on the surrounding countries.

On top of that, although he had been nominated as the next Grand Duke upon the death of his father, it could not be said that he was standing on firm footing. Having spent more time in Dairan than in Safia, Eric felt considerably estranged from the leading figures who supported the country.

Naturally, he had no choice but to travel back and forth to the capital. He had arrived in Dairan just the day before yesterday, but would soon be returning to Safia.

''Kaseria. Just how serious are you about taking Ende, you bastard?'' His enemy’s true feelings and intentions were as yet impossible to know.

He had already obtained information that, while his older brother, Jeremie, had implored its help by claiming that “the descendants of the Magic Dynasty should be brought together,” not all of Allion welcomed this situation which had given them a good pretext for invading Ende. Or rather, it seemed that only Allion’s First Prince, Kaseria Jamil, was enthusiastic about this war.

''Are they simply intending to demonstrate Allion’s influence at the centre of the continent through one battle, or is Kaseria the vanguard, with Allion’s entire army set to move after all?''

At no point, while out in public, did Eric wipe off his forthright smile, but in the depths of night, alone in his bed, there was a distinct crease between his brows.

One of the reasons for that was that their last ray of hope – the response from the northern coastal countries – was slow to arrive. It had been almost ten days since they had sent a request for help by fast air carrier, but they had still received no answer.

''Has Allion already gotten to them or are they like me, they don’t know what Allion’s real intention is?''

It was the same for Garbera and Mephius as well. From intelligence sent by spies, he understood that problems had arisen in both of those countries. Forget about sending aid to Ende, it would not be strange if fighting were to break out between the two of them.

In the worst possible situation, Ende would have to confront Kaseria’s troops alone and under the sole command of Eric, who had not yet even become ruler.

''The enemy has two thousand at sea. There doesn’t seem to have been any further activity in Allion’s ports, and reinforcements probably wouldn’t come by the overland route''.

The country of Ryalide stretched out between Ende and Allion. Although militarily, it was only a small country, he did not believe that Allion would want to increase the number of its enemies on its way to Ende.

“In that case…”

They just needed to be prepared.

Eric dragged his sword near his pillow and fell asleep hugging its sheath. It was a habit he had developed over the last ten days.

Early the next morning, Eric awoke with his eyes wide open and headed out of the Plutos mansion. He was going to a well near the stable to wash his face. The elderly soldier guarding the stable looked sleepy, but he seemed surprised and stood at attention when he saw Eric. He was a long-time acquaintance from his childhood, and Eric grinned at him and stopped to exchange some idle chit-chat.

“Lord Eric,” a voice called out then. It was not that of a soldier. Turning around, he saw two young sisters.

“Thil, Reen,” Eric smiled as he said their names.

The two of them gave him deep bows. Bowing deeply to nobles was the custom in Ende, but as neither of them was ten years old yet, their movements were an exaggerated imitation of what adults did. The younger sister bent so far forward that her back was almost parallel to the ground.

They were the daughters of Darowkin Plutos, the eldest son of Kayness Plutos, the current head of the family. For Eric, who had spent so long in Dairan, Kayness was like a second father to him, and so, he thought of the two little girls practically as his own nieces.

“You have risen very early, Prince,” Thil, the older sister, spoke with punctilious courtesy.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v11 029.jpg|thumb]]

“You can’t call him ‘Prince’ anymore. Because he’s already become the Grand Duke,” Reen, the younger sister, pointed out.

Of the two sisters, the older often acted like a grown-up. And when Reen always took her up on any mistakes, Thil would then protest with faint tears in her eyes. Such was the relationship between them. Eric smiled involuntarily.

“Neither is wrong. I’m still a prince, but I also bear the duties of the next Grand Duke.”

“Right, you see, Reen. I wasn’t wrong after all.”

“That’s because adults always take Thil’s side.”

“I don’t want to fight in front of the prince. Go play over there. I’ll even lend you my doll.”

“Those are two different things!”

Reen galloped off, laughing. Even if she pretended to be an adult, she was still only seven years old. Her steps were always light, and she was always cheerful.

Left behind, her older sister, Thil, once again bowed towards Eric.

“Prince, will Dairan become a battlefield again?” She asked with a serious expression.

For all that she was young, she was a daughter of the Plutos House. There was no doubt that she had been quick to sense that a war was approaching, and that it would be harsher and more violent than usual. Eric’s expression also changed. He was a man who could not deceive anyone, not even children.

“I don’t plan to let that happen. But a good warrior prepares for every situation. All the men in Dairan are like that. If it does happen though, you have to protect your little sister Reen.”

“Yes,” Thil meekly nodded her head.

The same day, at dusk, they received new information from a reconnaissance party that had been sent to Zonga.

“The troops led by Prince Kaseria will apparently arrive at the port of Zonga the day after tomorrow.”

''Is this it?'' Eric braced himself as all of Dairan came under grew tense. ''Will they start by sending a messenger to keep the appearance of a just cause? Or is Kaseria so desperate for blood that he’ll advance regardless?''

Simply waiting did not suit his personality and his impatience was getting worse. He felt the impulse to sally forth and attack right now, however –

“The first thing you need to do is set your priorities, Lord Eric.” Kayness Plutos, the current lord of Dairan, spoke calmly. “Determine what is important and laugh off what is trivial. The ruler of a country and the commander of an army are two different things. It would be best to display composure and return to Safia for a while.”

“But, Sir Kayness…”

“Otherwise, the grandees in Safia will forget your face, Lord Eric,” Kaynes gave a soft chuckle. “First, there are things that need getting used to. Such as the mutual relationship between lord and retainer.”

Certainly, being away from the capital for too long also left Eric feeling anxious. Among the retainers who had remained at the palace, not a few of them had previously supported his brother, Jeremie. In order not to create an unfavourable atmosphere, and also for the sake of once more gathering information about the two countries of Mephius and Garbera, he conceded that he needed to return to Safia for a while.

Entrusting the command of the defence force to Kayness, Eric boarded an air carrier. Immediately upon arriving at Safia, he found another piece of information awaiting him.

“Allion’s second wave of troops?” Eric unconsciously repeated the contents out loud.

A second unit was crossing from the east by the overland route. The country of Ryalide should have been an obstacle to any military expedition, but it had apparently thrown open all the barriers along its highways and was allowing a troop of three thousand of Allion’s soldiers to pass through.

“Did they yield under pressure?”

If they did not comply, those troops could be used to set a small country like Ryalide ablaze – had that kind of threat been applied?

Eric, however, had genuinely believed that Allion would not push forward with that kind of violent diplomatic pressure. No matter how powerful a country was, displaying such a high-handed attitude was dangerous. One step wrong and they would induce a sense of impending crisis, which might lead their surroundings to spread an encircling net around Allion, which in turn would hinder them not only militarily, but would also disrupt their trade.

''Which means…''

Kaseria Jamil was serious?

Eric was aware of cold sweat trickling beneath his undershirt.

There might be more to follow. For now however, there were five thousand in all. If they focused on defence, that was by no means a difficult number to drive back.

Eric was still young. Whatever Allion’s true intentions were, the cause of all this was his older brother, Jeremie. When their father, the Grand Duke, passed away, and the position of successor to the throne was snatched away by his younger brother, Jeremie had stolen and made off with the flag of the Magic Dynasty, then begged a powerful country, with which they had ancient ties, to send troops.

Therefore, looking at things from a different angle, this was basically a problem internal to Ende. And so, Eric also felt like having Ende sweep away that number of enemies all by itself, and showing Garbera, Mephius, as well as those coastal countries that were deliberately staying quiet, that ‘there is a new Ende now’.

No, even more than to a group of foreigners, the ones that Eric felt the most strongly that way about was towards those retainers who still doubted his ability.

At that same time, west of Ende’s borders, there was a young man who was facing the same kind of trouble as Eric was.

He was equally in a position where he was poised to shoulder the responsibility of an entire country, he could not fathom his opponent’s real intentions, and he too was hesitant about what attitude to take.

The young man’s name was Gil Mephius.

The reminder is not needed, but his real identity was that of Orba, a former gladiator.

He had only just taken the city of Nedain when an envoy from the emperor had come to see him in person. The message he carried was that: “Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius is invited to come to Solon.”

=== Part 2 ===

Just before seeing the imperial envoy, Orba had met with a different visitor. An unexpected guest, at that.

Late the previous night, a group had turned up in Nedain. All of them were young men. They were dressed in rags, but all were muscular and their speech was rough. The guards at the gate assumed that they were some of the bandits who normally caused chaos along the surrounding highways but who, hearing about the crown prince’s victory, had decided to change jobs and had come to hire themselves out as mercenaries. However –

“Let me see the Imperial Crown Prince at once,” the youth who seemed to be the leader airily said something inconceivable. “I’m an acquaintance of His Highness’,” he insisted, his face dusty and slightly dirt-stained.

“How could a guy like you be acquainted with His Highness? If your mercenary applicants, go straight down this street, then at the end…”

“You’re kind of dim, huh? I told you I want to see him right now. His Highness will rake you over the coals later, you know.”

The gatekeepers were perplexed, but, just as when the former Imperial Guard Alnakk had visited the port city of Birac, Orba had given strict orders to be passed on to every single soldier – “It doesn’t matter how trivial it is. If something catches your attention, report it to your superior.” That posture had already been explained here in Nedain.

Even so, it had not been long since Gil Mephius had arrived in that town. In the end, the report did not reach him until the next day.

It was just after Orba had finished breakfast. When he heard the name by which the young men’s leader had introduced himself, he suddenly seemed lost in thought.

“It appears that this morning as well, they barged their way to the front of the mansion,” said the commander of the guards. “Should we send them away?”

“No, it seems interesting. I’ll see him,” Orba gave his permission.

On top of that, he announced that he would see him, just the two of them. People were surprised, but seeing Gil’s impish smile, they concluded that ''it must be some kind of whim''. There was no longer anyone who called Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius a “fool” – at least not here in Nedain – but there was never any lack of people who judged him to be “eccentric.”

The only one who objected was Pashir, who was currently ensuring Gil’s personal safety virtually single-handedly, but when Orba whispered something in his ear, he immediately withdrew his comment.

A few minutes later, the young man was allowed into the room which had been ordered clear of people.

“Heya, things got really heavy back there,” was the first thing that the very rough-and-tumble youth said upon entering. “That’s a real load of hassle, even just to see an old friend. Oh well, can’t be helped. You’re the crown prince of Mephius now.”

Sharp eyes and a characteristic aquiline nose. He was certainly an “old friend” – of Orba’s, the boy from an arid valley.

Orba himself did not say a word, but the young man sat himself down on a sofa in the room without asking and continued talking excitedly.

“Sorry for being so late. Obviously, I’ve known about the rumours for a while now. That the crown prince of Mephius has risen in revolt against Emperor Guhl. And, also obviously, I’d figured that you were that Crown Prince. Same thing when I first heard about your death: I realised from the start that you’d definitely gone into hiding.”

“...”

“But yeah, that’s Orba for you: not satisfied with being a body-double, you started moving to take over the whole country. That really got my blood pumping. So I wanted to gather some people and rush over at once, but some of the soldiers at Birac’s garrison might know my face. We kind of kicked up a lot of dust around there, you know? Just while I was wondering what to do, suddenly, Nedain had fallen. That was a chance not to be missed, so I just gathered a hundred and we came flying from the village.”

The young man’s name was Doug.

He was a year older than Orba, and in their childhood, they had spent their entire time quarrelling with each other. They shared the same past of having had the Mephian general Oubary Bilan attack their birthplace. Separated for six years, the two of them had met once more in that same native area.

One as the body-double to the crown prince of Mephius.

The other as the leader of bandits who had sworn revenge on Mephius.

The interests and goals of the two of them were aligned, so they lured Oubary Bilan and his troops to the village, killed the soldiers who had fallen into their trap, and captured Oubary himself.

How much time had passed again since then?

Doug looked at Orba with a cheerful expression. At which point, Orba opened his mouth for the first time.

“Why are you here?”

“Why?” For a moment, Doug’s eyes opened round, then immediately afterwards, he laughed, showing his teeth. “Because isn’t it interesting, Orba? I thought that killing those nobles and generals still wouldn’t have been enough to bring satisfaction, but now every single one of them will become your retainers. They’ll obey your orders and offer their lives for you. The quarrelsome brat from that arid valley will become the great emperor of Mephius. What could be more interesting than that? Let me take part in it. An ally knowing your real identity could be useful in an emergency. Officially, of course, I’ll serve as your loyal subordinate. Heh, Orba, I’ll have to call you Crown Prince and even Emperor. Still…”

“''Who are you?''” Orba asked once more. He stared expressionlessly at Doug, who this time was at a loss for words. “Who are you, and who is this Orba whose name you keep using? Who have you been talking about since earlier?”

“I-I get it. I get it. I won’t call you Orba in public. Like I’ve been saying, officially…”

“Ah, I remember,” Orba said unsmilingly. “Aren’t you that bandit from back then? And? It’s true that I borrowed your help to defeat Oubary so have you come to extort a reward? What is it you want: money or women? Just say what you’d like.”

“Wh-What did you say?” Suddenly bursting with anger, Doug got up from the sofa and drew up towards Orba. “Come to extort you? Bullshit. Oi, don’t push it, Orba.”

“I told you that I don’t know that name.” Orba spoke with complete calm, the exact opposite of Doug, whose entire body seemed to be burning like a ball of fire. He took the sword that was at his waist. “Leave at once and never appear before me again. If you defy me, Peasant, know that I’ll throw not just you but also your family and everyone close to you to the fire. Do you understand?”

More than the threats, more than the gleam of the sword taken from its sheath, what caused Doug’s body to freeze instantly was because from up close, there was no trace of warmth in his gaze. Those eyes truly seemed to be looking at a complete stranger, and moreover, they were looking down in utter contempt at the young man whose position was so clearly different from his own.

Orba clapped his hands and summoned Pashir, the only guard he had allowed to remain outside the door.

“Take him away,” he ordered. “Afterwards, have the guards memorise his face. If he shows up again around here, then too bad, he’s to be cut down without mercy.”

“Aye,” answered Pashir, and, seizing Doug by the arm, he forced him to leave.

Although having said that, Doug showed no signs of resisting. He looked towards Orba one last time, but Orba’s attention had already moved on to the documents on the desk.

The door closed.

Left alone, Orba stayed a while without stirring. Inwardly, however, he murmured, Doug?
Maybe he had been dreaming.

Not Doug, for aiming to go up in life – Orba himself.

Now, just before the point when he was about to step on a tightrope from which he could no longer look back, a nostalgic and familiar face had appeared before him, bringing with it the warmth of his home village.

After that, he could have treated him to a drink, and they could have laughed together, reminiscing about old times.

Or else, he could have clapped him on the shoulder, saying, “it’s a real help that you came,” then, with that shoulder to rely on, they could have crossed the tightrope together.

Orba however did neither of those things. Doug was one of those who knew his real identity. You could even call him a person who could affect his fate. The thought even flitted across his mind that as a last resort he could secretly kill him.

But –

''I don’t know anyone called Doug''.

Orba had played dumb.

Since he did not know him, he had sent him away out of hand; since he did not know him, he would not pay any attention to his existence.

''That was just a dream''.

Picking up the sword that he had, for a moment, placed on the desk, Orba gave a small, an ever so small, sigh.

Orba had posted soldiers throughout Nedain and had also personally gone to its outskirts and had them take up defensive positions. This was because they were in a situation in which they did not know when the emperor might dispatch a subjugation force. The circumstances, however, were different than what they had been in Apta or in Birac. In both of those towns, the people’s faces had been tinged with the worry that they might get swallowed up in a large-scale conflict. In Nedain’s case, on the other hand, having just been released from the oppression of the Abigoal family, both the people and the soldiers were full of fighting spirit and were ready to drive away any enemy that might come.

It was at such a time that the emperor’s envoy arrived.

Moreover, he brought not an order demanding that the impostor claiming to be the crown prince deliver up his own head, but an invitation for the “Gil Mephius” who was currently in Nedain to enter Solon, on the grounds that his identity had been thoroughly recognised.

Their side was in turmoil.

If the emperor had sent a host of ten thousand against them, the crown prince’s soldiers gathered in Nedain, as well as its people would, as stated earlier, probably have united as one. But the emperor had clearly ‘backed down’. Perhaps he had realised that the momentum from the crown prince’s side could no longer be stemmed and had grown timid; but, even more than the conviction that they could win, what this had brought was the hope that they would be able to avoid any more useless fighting.

They no longer needed to fight and spill the blood of fellow Mephians. Once that thought emerged, even ever so fleetingly, the wish for peace would easily erode the will to fight, and people’s opinions would come to be divided.

And naturally, among those opinions –

“It’s a trap.”

There was also the one that Rogue Saian had just expressed.

In Nedain Castle, the main officers from the crown prince’s side were gathered in the rectangular room that had once served as Jairus Abigoal’s office.

“I cannot believe that His Majesty would change his mind so suddenly. There is no doubt that this is a trap designed to cause unrest in our camp.”

“Definitely,” Odyne Lorgo agreed. “And in fact, having heard about it, the emotions of the soldiers and the people are swaying. While there are those who are saying that His Majesty is planning to have His Highness assassinated, just as back then in Birac, there are others who claim that to avoid civil war, the crown prince should allow himself to be persuaded to go to Solon.”

“And as soon as the invitation is accepted, His Highness will be captured and executed, without being given a chance to explain or vindicate himself. While we, of course, will be denounced as traitors who supported an impostor.”

“As His Majesty is now, he might just do that.”

“Having said that,” Folker Baran interrupted in a soft tone that yet managed to cut through everyone else, “if he refuses His Majesty’s invitation without a good reason, His Highness will lose the moral high ground.”

Rogue maintained a sullen silence. What had just been pointed out was not something that he had not thought of before. And naturally, Orba shared Folker’s concerns.

Up until now, the emperor had decisively dispatched soldiers against the impostor. Gil Mephius’ cause had become attacking Guhl, presented as “a statesman who does not listen to others”. However, now that he had recognised the prince and had officially summoned him, just as Folker had said, if he refused without a reason that the whole could accept as legitimate, Gil would turn into a traitor bent on devastating the land. And again, naturally, this was no doubt one of the aims on Guhl’s side.

It was for the same reason that he had once left Salamand Fogel to do as he pleased.

Both Rogue and Odyne understood it. Or better said, the “trap” spoken of earlier included that meaning.

“In any case, attending an audience in Solon is too dangerous. We cannot let Your Highness go through with it.”

“Should we send an envoy too?”

“We could suggest a conference somewhere at equal distance between Solon and Nedain.”

“No, that wouldn’t be practical.”

The discussion showed no sign of ending.

Orba had the meeting adjourned for the time being. In the end, he had barely expressed any opinion of his own. However, those who, starting with Rogue, had decided to serve the crown prince were getting used to the personality of their new lord. When he did not say anything, it was because Gil Mephius was deep in thought. At the same time, and while looking entirely expressionless and uninterested, he would carefully listen to his subordinates’ opinions.

And so, everyone stood to attention to see Gil out without a trace of grumbling or discontent.
They could not, however, completely conceal their anxiety and concern about the future.

Orba left the building.

Pashir followed so close behind him that they were almost stuck together. He had also been at the meeting but, like Orba, he had not expressed an opinion. His purpose was purely to be Gil’s guard.

Normally, Orba would irritably shake him off, but now, there had been the incident in Birac. If Pashir had not been there to pay attention to the surroundings, Orba would have died under an assassin’s blade. Although he seemed gloomy about it, Orba could not therefore outright order Pashir to go away.

Pashir suddenly pushed Orba aside and stepped out to stand in front of him.

“What is it?” He barked as three soldiers rushed forward towards them.

They were all different ages, but from their equipment, they seemed to be soldiers serving at Nedain Castle. They all knelt together.

“Please forgive our rudeness, Your Imperial Highness,” the grey-haired soldier breathlessly spoke first. “Everyone is talking about it. That for the sake of we soldiers and of the people, and to avoid war, you intend to go to Solon.”

“I-If you go, His Majesty the emperor will have you killed,” the young and pale-faced soldier said, following which, the soldier in the prime of life cried with a desperately resolute expression –
“Please, if you would, stay here and govern Nedain. All of us are ready to offer our lives to defend you as Your Highness’ spears and shields.”

Pashir quite literally kicked aside their hands, which seemed about to reach out towards Orba’s boots any moment now.

“Get back, you insolent curs. The likes of you lowly soldiers dare to interfere?”

“Wait, Pashir.” Orba quietly caught his massive shoulder. He then bestowed a smile upon the soldiers. “This is proof that everyone is thinking about the future of this country. I am different from my father. I wish to create a country in which everyone can express their opinions without reserve.”

“Aye,” Pashir drew back.

Orba turned to the soldiers next and spoke directly to them. “I don’t plan on giving up my life without resistance. Don’t worry.”

The soldiers lowered their heads as far as they could go. You could sense resolve from each of them, and the older soldier had been moved to tears.

Afterwards, Orba and Pashir climbed up to the top of the ramparts that surrounded Nedain. Sentries were placed on duty here and there, but they were some distance from them.

While enjoying the gentle wind beneath the pale sky, Orba sent Pashir a sidelong glare.

“Don’t force yourself into an act you can’t pull off.”

“You’re the one who got me mixed up in it. It felt like my face was going red.”

“Everyone’s uneasy. If the prince’s attitude isn’t seen to be indomitable, it could create enemies from within.”

Pashir had deliberately taken the role of a savage warrior who could not understand the feelings of the common people.

“It doesn’t suit you,” Orba shook his head. “If it comes to it, I’ll look for a better role for you. You’re a gladiator who climbed up to being an Imperial Guard. It’d be a problem rather if you didn’t have the support of the people and soldiers.”

“Hmm,” Pashir gave a vague nod then. “Was it that bad?” He asked with a serious expression.

Orba turned his head towards the back to stop himself from laughing. A man who was a skilful fighter and an able commander in a battle, but who was not deft by nature; hence why he felt that it ''didn’t suit''. As to who that was referring to, it went without saying.

They climbed down from the ramparts and inspected various points around Nedain. Just before the afternoon, messengers arrived from different quarters, carrying the regular reports from Apta, Birac and Solon. There was no noteworthy new information. According to what he heard from Solon, however, there was a rumour that Kaseria Jamil’s forces would soon arrive at the port of Zonga, north of Ende.

Ende had recently lost its Grand Duke and it was the second prince, Eric, who was to become the successor. When he had first heard that information, not even Orba had been able to conceal his surprise.

''That guy?''

He had fought him in Garbera’s territory. And afterwards, they had met along with the Garberan prince, Zenon.

''He’s young'' – he thought, without actually taking his own age into account. Still, in these turbulent times, there was nothing strange about a young warrior in his twenties becoming a reigning lord from one day to the next.

''If it’s him, will he be able to lead Ende’s army against Allion?''

There was a sequel to the information from Solon: it seemed that Prince Eric of Ende had sent messengers begging Mephius and Garbera for reinforcements. So far, Emperor Guhl had given no sign of replying. Which could be said to be completely natural, given that Mephius was in the middle of a civil war that had split the country in half. They did not have the leeway to help other countries.

There was still more information related to Allion.

Apparently, Allion was approaching Dairan not only by sea, but also overland. Just as Eric had when he had received the news, Orba could not hide his astonishment and groaned inwardly.

When he closed his eyes, it felt as though he could hear the tramping of army boots coming from the east. This was not going to be a transient event.

''There’ll be a large-scale war'' – he felt.

If even just a part of Ende were to be seized, Allion would then have foothold from which to launch an all-out advance on the centre of the continent. The surrounding countries could not indefinitely continue labelling this as someone else’s problem.

With that being said, Mephius and Garbera had yet to recover from the wounds of a decade of war. Would they be able to withstand a war between countries?

''No matter what, Eric has to win this first battle against Allion'' – thought Orba, while he mentally sorted out the information from all the various quarters. If it was for that, he would even consider lending his help by riding to Ende to offer assistance himself.

But – first, there was Mephius.

They could not afford a long face-off, like they had after taking Birac. Prolonging the civil war would cause ruin for the people. And if the country was weakened, it would not be able to oppose the increasingly large and carnivorous beast that was Allion. The end result would be that they would be swallowed up, and even the titles of emperor and crown prince, held by the two currently competing, would lose all meaning.

While Orba silently continued to mull over his thoughts, the messenger from Birac held out a letter, saying, “Sir Gowen entrusted me with this.”

The elderly soldier had remained in Birac, where he was organising troops consisting mainly of the new recruits.

His acquaintance with Gowen went back a long way, but this was the first time he had received a letter from him. To be frank, he did not even know if Gowen could read and write. When he unsealed the letter, he saw handwriting about as bad as his own. A wry smile involuntarily crossed his face, but as he read the contents, his expression quickly reverted back to being serious.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Pashir, who was, as usual, sticking close by. “Has there been some kind of movement in Birac?”

“No… It’s about Layla.”

The name was not without relevance to Pashir. He nodded with deliberation.

She who was supposed to be a lady’s maid to Princess Vileena of Garbera had, one evening, lured Crown Prince Gil to an isolated tower and had attempted to kill him with a poisoned dagger. In the process, she had also ushered in quite a few of her comrades. As mentioned previously, if Pashir had not been keeping a close eye on the prince and on Layla, Orba would currently be laid out as a cold corpse.

And yet, at the very last minute, that same Layla had thrown herself in front of him to protect from the assassins’ blades.

''Layla''.

It was a name that Orba had heard even before then. On the very day of her wedding, the crown prince before Orba – in other words, the real Gil Mephius – had claimed the right to the first night from her. He had certainly never expected to meet her like that.

To be more precise, they had met for the first time in a western village. What had a Mephian like her been doing there and how had she come to work as a lady’s maid for the princess?

There were too many puzzling points about it.

More importantly, Orba instinctively sensed that any information she had about the crown prince might prove fatal to him.

Out of necessity, Orba had decided to keep Layla confined in a room in the tower. There had been the option of executing her as the instigator of the assassination attempt, but she was also someone who had once been a lady’s maid to the Garberan princess. He wanted to try and get a detailed explanation from her.

It seemed, however, that Gowen shared his opinion about the threat posed by whatever information Layla might have.

“Given the circumstances, we’ve kept the number of guards at the minimum, but I believe that we can’t continue that way,” said the letter. It then went on to suggest that she be executed.

For a moment, Orba was left speechless by the appealing contents of the note. He felt as though he was seeing a different side to his long-time acquaintance. It was probably not Gowen’s real wish though. In a way, it was similar to the resolve that Orba himself carried.

''You’ll have to bear the burden of an entire country while deceiving everyone around you'' – That also meant being prepared to use any means necessary to protect his secret.

Orba conjured up a mental image of the elderly warrior who had always seemed to, more or less, look out for him ever since back when he had been an overseer of slaves. After adopting Hou Ran, he had been giving off a somewhat “fatherly” atmosphere, which had given Orba and Shique a good laugh.

And he was suggesting that it might be necessary to kill a girl who was around the same age as his “daughter” in order to seal her mouth. This too was a distortion caused by Orba – by the likes of a slave of unknown origin – pretending to be the crown prince.

Orba tore up the letter and went back to the ramparts once again. Pashir silently followed along.

=== Part 3 ===

The sun was setting.

Fields spread out both within and beyond the ramparts. The soil around Nedain was not particularly fertile, but through effort and ingenuity, the people of the fief had continuously improved it; and so, for example, the grapes from this area were contenders for producing the first or second best wine within Mephius.

Lines of soldiers armed with spears and swords could be seen patrolling around the fields. Airships were dotted around here and there, ready to swiftly carry information. Carriers were also stationed at all four corners of the ramparts.

Orba’s gaze suddenly turned towards the east. For a while, he looked hard beyond the pale pink sky.

“How long has it been?”

At those words, which had unintentionally burst from his mouth, Orba felt as though he was seeing clear to his own mind for the first time. Before Pashir could enquire what he meant, he continued, “Right, it’s not like it’s got nothing to do with you. Ever since Zaat Quark’s rebellion. When I prevented it and left for Apta with you.”

“Are you talking about Solon?” Pashir asked. “You can’t possibly be thinking of responding to the emperor’s invitation?”

“You were also listening at the council of war, weren’t you? If I stay like this without making a move, I’ll damage my cause and be letting Allion do whatever they please. Apta, Birac, and Nedain would eventually turn against me. The result would just be me bringing about my own ruin. And besides…”

“Besides?”

“Allion is obviously a threat to Mephius but… this could also be taken as a once in a lifetime ‘opportunity’.”

Orba was saying that being pressed by Allion meant being helplessly cornered into destroying a favourable situation. And yet, he declared that it was also an “opportunity”. Pashir could not understand his thoughts.

He did not understand, but –

“You’re not saying that you’re planning on just handing over your life, right?” There was one thing that he single-mindedly could not let go of.

“I’m not planning on going there to let myself be killed.”

“Same thing. Have you forgotten the assassination attempt in Birac? It’s obvious the emperor had a hand in it.”

“Now that he’s openly summoned me, he won’t be thinking of using assassination.”

“Don’t be stupid,” yet a smile flitted across Pashir’s slightly bruised and battered face. “Hasn’t the emperor of Mephius lost touch with common sense? That’s why people like General Rogue or General Folker are willing to follow you.”

“Yeah. But somehow, I feel like I understand.”

“You understand?”

“What Guhl was thinking when he summoned me.”

At this point, the emperor was probably feeling that they had reached a stalemate. Mephius’ centre of trade had been stolen from him and, following closely on the heels of that defeat, his loyal subject, Simon, had died, which in turn had started to sow dissent among his retainers. The emperor had then been unable to dispatch the reinforcements he had planned to send to Nedain, as a result of which, even that town had fallen to the crown prince’s side. Assassination – his last resort – had also failed, and he could no longer use the same method for fear of rumours spreading to Solon.

In terms of the military potential that each held, the emperor still had the advantage. However, a ‘wind’ which was not so easy to overturn was blowing throughout all of Mephius. It had been raised by Orba himself who had successively taken Apta, Birac, and Nedain; it had been supported by Rogue, Odyne and Folker, who had aided his advance; and finally, it had been protected by Princess Vileena, who had turned back Salamand, an invader into Mephian territory.

In a way, from when he had decided to rise up as the crown prince in Apta, what Orba had set his sights on was – ''how can I stir up more ‘wind’ and ‘waves’?'' For now, it could be said that he had accomplished that goal.

And the emperor desired a meeting with Gil simply because he could no longer afford to ignore that influence. ''Since things have turned out this way, I should meet him in person and show the retainers our difference in might'' – was probably what he was thinking.

In a sense, it would be a duel.

“You say you understand?” Pashir spoke half in exasperation. “What do you understand? You weren’t born to royalty and Guhl’s not your real father. In the first place, you’re not even that well-acquainted with Guhl.”

Orba deliberately did not answer. Just as Pashir had pointed out, the environment in which Orba and Guhl had been born and raised were as different as heaven and earth. It was a fact that they were fighting like this simply because their thoughts and their vision of the future were at odds.

Yet even so, Orba felt that – ''I would think the same thing if I was in Guhl’s situation''.

Neither moving troops nor killing in secret. In a situation where the wind was blowing in the enemy’s favour daily, and Allion, a powerful outside foe, was approaching, he too would want a direct confrontation. He also would, after baiting the newcomer jeopardising his position, use the authority of his own accumulated achievements and experience, in front of the assembled retainers, to verbally corner his opponent.

''The final gamble'' – he too shared that thought.

For all that he said that it was great opportunity, he privately thought that his own strength might not be enough. Beyond that, he could only leave things to the ‘wave’ that he had himself raised.
The messenger that Guhl had sent proved that he had successfully managed to move ‘time’. It was time to see the conclusion through with his own eyes.

“Don’t be stupid,” repeated Pashir. “You think the retainers, who’ve shut their eyes to Guhl’s tyranny this long, are suddenly going to awaken to a sense of honour? That the nobles that you used to hate enough to kill are now going to protect you from the emperor? That soft way of thinking isn’t like you.”

“Guess not,” Orba answered shortly, then laughed unintentionally. He thought it had been a long time since his gladiator self had been in contact with Pashir. “But you know, Pashir… The ones who carry a country are its people. Is it really so foolish to entrust your life and future to those people’s feelings?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I won’t go unprepared. Even if something happens to me, I’ll get ready what’s needed to prevent a war between Mephius and the west, and to drive the emperor further into a corner.”

Orba’s expression looked strangely refreshed. With the fervour for fighting gone from it, his appearance truly matched his age and he looked like a boy who had thought up a way of pulling a silly prank. It seemed to just fan the flames of Pashir’s anger though.

“If something happens,” the long-serving swordsman’s voice grew harsh. “When anything happens to you, it’ll mean ruin for all the rest of us. For the generals and soldiers who joined you because they believe in you, obviously, but also for their families who’ll be put in danger again.”

“I know. And it’s a gamble. But no matter what, we can’t stay in a stand-off with the capital like this. I’ve already said it, but if we draw things out now, we’ll lose the moral high ground and allow Allion to do whatever it likes. I chose to go to war with the emperor so as to protect Taúlia. This time, I’ve got to go to Solon to protect Mephius. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing. There’s got to be another way.”

“Pashir, this isn’t a fight which will be over once the emperor has been brought down. Looking at what happens after that, then no matter what…”

“It’s too dangerous. For everyone. So I can’t let you carry on like that. ‘No matter what’.”

His expression still harsh, Pashir started to draw the sword at his waist. His intention was clear.
Orba however made no move in response. He gave a half-smile.

“And, what are you going to do? Kill me? You’re the one who said that everyone will be annihilated if I die, right?”

“Yeah, I won’t kill you. But I can cut off your arms and legs so that you can’t just do as you please,” said Pashir. “And after that, I’ll pull your tongue out. So that you won’t be able to say too much afterwards.”

“…”

Hearing the stern verdict, Orba wiped the amused expression from his face. Pashir was saying that he only needed to be alive. He was saying that the crown prince’s figure and life alone were enough to be a flag for those who followed him.

Pashir continued his now half-unsheathed sword. “What is it. Not saying anything? Don’t you have enough resolve to step over my corpse?”

“Pashir.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v11 061.jpg|thumb]]

Orba softly called out. He quietly stretched out his hand and touched Pashir’s sinewy, log-like arm. He had once been known as “Strong-armed”, an undefeated gladiator.

“I’m going,” Orba was almost whispering. “If you have things you want to protect enough to step over my corpse to do so, then you can just slash me in the back. I won’t resist.”

After he had finished speaking, he turned his back towards Pashir.

He walked one step, then two.

Behind him, he could feel Pashir’s presence like a scorching wind. Any moment now, it might transform into steel and rain down on Orba from above.

''Right, this is the final gamble'' – thought Orba, as he continued to walk further and further away.

In the distance, he could hear what seemed to be the voices of young men and women singing a popular song.

''If I can’t move ‘time’ from here on out, nothing will change''.

He and Mephius would perish together… In choosing to see things that way, Orba was urging on his own resolve and actions.

His feet arrived at the staircase. The presence was still there, ferocity rolling like flames from it, but, in the end, Pashir had not moved from where he was.

Just before the sun had finished fully setting, Orba, having left Pashir, went to see Fedom, who had arrived in Nedain just the other day. Nedain was geographically closer to the capital and the lord of Birac was desperate to gather information there.

“A letter came from Indolph.” Fedom’s tone made clear his pride in this achievement. “It looks like that man will soon have resolved himself to finally take action. It’ll be exactly as I said. When Indolph’s forces also make their move, and threaten the capital from the rear, the other lords will have no choice but to clarify their standpoint.”

Fedom Aulin’s eyes were gleaming. The long-cherished desire that he had concealed in his breast was now right before his eyes; and in his current frame of mind, he felt as though he was conscious when sleeping, and dreaming when awake.

Actually, it was clear from his appearance that he was hardly sleeping at all. And because he was in that state, when he first heard Orba say “even so, I’m thinking of leaving here tomorrow and going to the capital,” after first gaping at him, Fedom then burst out laughing as though he had just heard a good joke.

But when it gradually dawned on him that Orba was serious, his face flushed bright red with rage. His ferocity was every bit as intense as Pashir’s, who had drawn a steel sword to stop Orba, and it seemed as though, at any moment, he might reach out his thick arms to seize him by the neck and strangle him to death.

“T-This is the limit,” Fedom screamed, wheezing and gasping for breath. “I’m not letting you do whatever you like, you bastard. What do you think you’re saying at this point? You can’t just do whatever you like right before my greatest ambition comes true! Bah, I won’t listen to anything more you say. You’re not going even if I have to tie you down!”

“Now, now, calm down.”

''You’re the one trying to do whatever you like'' – thought Orba, although he did not actually say it out loud.

“I don’t think it would bad for you, though.”

“W-What?”

“Your worry is that after I nonchalantly stroll into the capital, my real identity will be exposed and I’ll be killed, right?”

“Of course it is. If your past as a gladiator became known at this point in time, not only would you lose your life, but all the resolve and expectations gathered around you would all come to nothing!”

“I wonder…” Orba brushed his hair back. “Saying that everything would be spoiled seems like such an exaggeration.”

“Bastard, what are you saying, even now you’re not taking your position into…”

“Even if I died, ''you’re'' in the crown prince’s camp, aren’t you? You, Fedom Aulin.”

“W-What?”

Orba faced the lord of Birac, who was blinking in confusion.

“Apta, Birac, Nedain. Even if I die, their strength won’t just abruptly fall to the emperor’s side. On the contrary, if you raise the cry for a war of revenge for the crown prince, even more soldiers than now will gather, and it might even give rise to conspirators within Solon itself. Right – after the crown prince’s death, all the soldiers assembled in the three cities would become yours.”

“…”

“And the hero who would take command of that entire army to take Solon and at long last liberate Mephius from the unjust emperor would be none other than you, Fedom Aulin. That could be what happens.”

Fedom gulped. Having swallowed too much of his own saliva, he was seized by a brief but violent coughing fit.

“R-Ridiculous,” his eyes were still teary. “If your real identity is revealed in the capital, that’ll be the end of it. Who would rally to a war of revenge for the likes of a slave?”

“There are as many possible explanations as you like. For example: ‘to show his contempt for the crown prince who had become a threat to him, the emperor deliberately had him murdered then branded his back so as to lie about his real identity.’ After that, well, Fedom, you’re a guy who’s usually proud of your own abilities. Wouldn’t you be able to convince everyone to follow you through your words and attitude? The emperor’s cruel and inhuman behaviour would be highlighted even further than before my death, and would actually make it easier to take action. You of all people aren’t going to tell me that’s impossible, right?”

Fedom was still breathing raggedly, but the reason for that seemed to be somewhat different from earlier. He peered closely into Orba’s face.

“You said ‘even further than before my death’…? You’re talking exactly as though you didn’t care in the slightest about your own life.”

“Wasn’t I originally picked up by you? If you hadn’t appeared at Tarkas’ Gladiator Group back then, riding a Tengo in such a great hurry – back when it wouldn’t have occurred to me for even a second that you had the outrageous plan of using a slave to replace the crown prince – I would still be wielding a sword every day as a gladiator, drenched in sweat and fighting desperate, bloody battles. Or no, after close to two years of that, maybe my devil’s luck would already have run out and the sand of the coliseum would be absorbing my blood around about now.”

“…”

“Say, this is getting tedious: forget my enemies, I’m even being doubted by my allies. More importantly, it would be best for you to take action. Isn’t that right? Lord Fedom?”

Orba gazed almost affectionately at the man in front of him. Right, as a matter of fact, he did feel affection for this man, Fedom Aulin.

Just as he himself had said, if this man had not existed, he himself would not be where he was now.

''If this man was smarter than he actually is, or even just a little bit less prudent…'' Then that overly-ambitious plan would have collapsed in no time, and Orba and Fedom’s severed heads would have been lining the road to Solon by now, each adorning the tip of a spear.

Although, of course, there would be no end to it if one were to discuss that sort of thing. If, at that time, his prediction had been off even by a little; if, at that time, he had not met that person; if, at that time, the sword had slipped in his sweaty hands…

Out of the tens of thousands of possible paths, the he who was here now had picked only one to follow to the end.

Orba engraved that awareness into his mind.

That evening, Orba summoned Rogue, Odyne, and Folker to Nedain Castle.

It took him about twice as long to explain the same thing that he had told Pashir. General Rogue of the Dawnlight Wings Division opposed it with the vehemence of a raging fire. General Odyne of the Silver Axe Division revealed a distressed and conflicted expression, while General Folker of the Black Steel Sword Division remained silent from beginning to end.

“Y-Your Highness, that is the one thing… the one thing you must not do,” Rogue Saian repeated it time and time again.

In that, it was similar to the times with Pashir and Fedom. Naturally, Orba had not been expecting them to just silently see him off. He listened to the veteran general’s spirited persuasion for a while, then –

“Rogue,” he addressed him softly. “What do you think is the one thing that we cannot lose sight of in this fight of ours?”

“That…” Rogue Saian’s voice choked up, “the banner that we raised.”

“Right. And that is not me myself,” asserted Orba. “It isn’t me but the cause that impels me to take action. If the hearts of the people doubt our cause, then we are already as good as defeated. We will be letting Guhl Mephius ridicule us without even putting up a fight, and we will bear the disgrace of being remembered in history, I as the Impostor Crown Prince, and you as rebels.”

The generals had not, of course, imagined that the crown prince would choose of his own free will to travel to the imperial capital.

At the same time, however, the three of them were not as inflexible in their opposition to his going to Solon as Pashir and Fedom had been. After all, none of Mephius’ stalwart generals knew the real name of the man before them. They believed that he was the legitimate inheritor of the imperial family’s bloodline, Gil Mephius. And so, at no point had they experienced the fear that Pashir and Fedom held about his real identity being exposed.

“This is no longer the time to raise our swords against our fellow countrymen. It’s been a harsh road up until now because of that. From now on, what we need to do is to demonstrate our resolve. Rogue, don’t take me for a plague-ridden coward. Don’t take me for a mere fool who continues to make a show of savage courage without knowing how to read the signs of the times. Don’t take me for a criminal who continues to spill the blood of his countrymen. Well, there’s no helping whatever future historians might say, but now, here and now, here and now, we cannot lose the hearts and trust of the people.”

Rogue’s eyes were glistening with tears. He was, of course, well able to read the signs of the times. Up until now, he had been desperately racking his brains to try and come up with a way to improve the situation other than by having the crown prince personally go to Solon. However, no matter what new plan or strategy he came up with, he could not find in it that which Gil Mephius himself had just spoken of: the very “cause” that Rogue also adhered to.

In the end, he had no choice but to despairingly nod in consent.

Gazing at his despondently drooping head of white hair, Orba remained deliberately expressionless, then rose from his seat.

“Rogue, Odyne, Folker – you will stay here in Nedain and ensure its defence along with Raymond Peacelow. Yuriah’s fleet, bolstered by Walt’s ground forces, will regroup in Birac.”

The generals stood up and clicked their heels before the “Crown Prince”.

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume11_Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin_no_Monshou:Volume11_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume11 Chapter1

2017-12-08T18:20:32Z

Double Check:

==Chapter 1: Rumblings==

=== Part 1 ===

The city of Dairan, at the northernmost tip of Ende, was defended by high ramparts that protected it from invasion by the nomadic northern tribes. These nomadic tribes were divided into numerous clans and usually lived as they pleased. However, they would occasionally commit piracy along their southern coast, and occasionally attempt to trample into Ende’s territory. The trend to their movements was utterly unfathomable: sometimes they would go a year or two without taking any action, while at other times, there would be two attacks within a month.

Eric Le Doria, who was to be the next Grand Duke of Ende, had often fought them beyond Dairan’s protective ramparts. From a very young age, he had been entrusted to the care of the Plutos family – who had governed Dairan for generation after generation – and in that wild and rough land, he had fought to his utmost with sword and gun, and had learned of that joy that was second to none; of gathering with his comrades around the campfire after battle, still covered in the blood of his foes, to boast together of their feats.

Given this particularity, Dairan was clearly at odds with the “aristocratic” traits that were prized by other Endeans – traits such as dressing splendidly or never ostensibly injuring another person, but instead preferring to exchange verbal quips laced with lethal doses of poison.

To take other examples, Safia, the capital of the Grand Duchy, was known throughout the world as the “Water Capital” and was recognised as a city of great artistic value. The high walls that surrounded Dairan, however, were rough-hewn and inelegant, and the people who came and went from the city wore simple clothes. In Safia, men and women alike weaved their long hair into whatever complicated style they preferred, but here, that was rare.

In plain words, it was the sticks, and among the nobles that filled Safia, many mocked Dairan as a “remote frontier” and a “land of savages”.

Walking through Dairan, everywhere you went, you would hear the yells of men training in the military arts, and under the eaves of the houses, you would frequently see women doing laundry or peeling vegetables.

Just then, the men, dripping with sweat, suddenly halted their arms that were swinging spears. The women, who had been trampling the spread-out laundry, also stopped the movement of their white legs, and the young girls hurriedly corrected their seating posture.

“Lord Eric,” voices called out all along the street, and Eric answered them with a smile.

The Second Prince always openly asserted that Dairan was his home. His personality was much closer to that of a warrior of the Plutos House than to one of Ende’s leading aristocrat; and on top of that, he had only recently exterminated the wild dragons that that had attacked Dairan. And so, the people there adored him.

When they heard that he had been chosen as the next Grand Duke, this rustic town, with its simple and unaffected creeds and its lingering scent of earth, was engulfed in three days and three nights of revelry, its people delirious with joy.

It did not even last ten days.

The people had particularly rejoiced at the fact that the future Grand Duke would be visiting Dairan. Eric, however, did not come to his “home” dressed in fine clothes for a triumphal return. Because they were well-aware of this, Dairan’s populace did not create more of a fanfare than necessary.

War is coming.

Moreover, it was not because of an attack by the nomadic tribes. The great eastern country of Allion had dispatched its troops; and far from there being any reason to celebrate, Dairan, or better said, Ende itself, was facing an unprecedented crisis.

Allion’s air carriers were already moored to the north of Ende, in the port city of Zonga. These were probably no more than an advance supply unit, but a force of two thousand led by Kaseria Jamil was said to currently be at sea.

Right now, all of Ende was focused on getting ready for the impending war. Eric had come to Dairan to prepare for when Allion’s troops would depart from northern Zonga, but he could not remain there indefinitely.

In the old days, all he needed to focus on when war was about to break out was the war itself. Back when he had fought the nomadic tribes or planned the invasion of Garbera, he would only worry about organising the troops, ensuring provisions, or various concerns related to weapons inspection or maintaining his comrades’ morale.

Now however, Eric was the future Grand Duke. Other than the preparations directly involving battle, there was a pile of things he needed to attend to. Beyond the battlefield, he needed to extend his gaze to all of Ende and keep a close eye on the surrounding countries.

On top of that, although he had been nominated as the next Grand Duke upon the death of his father, it could not be said that he was standing on firm footing. Having spent more time in Dairan than in Safia, Eric felt considerably estranged from the leading figures who supported the country.

Naturally, he had no choice but to travel back and forth to the capital. He had arrived in Dairan just the day before yesterday, but would soon be returning to Safia.

''Kaseria. Just how serious are you about taking Ende, you bastard?'' His enemy’s true feelings and intentions were as yet impossible to know.

He had already obtained information that, while his older brother, Jeremie, had implored its help by claiming that “the descendants of the Magic Dynasty should be brought together,” not all of Allion welcomed this situation which had given them a good pretext for invading Ende. Or rather, it seemed that only Allion’s First Prince, Kaseria Jamil, was enthusiastic about this war.

''Are they simply intending to demonstrate Allion’s influence at the centre of the continent through one battle, or is Kaseria the vanguard, with Allion’s entire army set to move after all?''

At no point, while out in public, did Eric wipe off his forthright smile, but in the depths of night, alone in his bed, there was a distinct crease between his brows.

One of the reasons for that was that their last ray of hope – the response from the northern coastal countries – was slow to arrive. It had been almost ten days since they had sent a request for help by fast air carrier, but they had still received no answer.

''Has Allion already gotten to them or are they like me, they don’t know what Allion’s real intention is?''

It was the same for Garbera and Mephius as well. From intelligence sent by spies, he understood that problems had arisen in both of those countries. Forget about sending aid to Ende, it would not be strange if fighting were to break out between the two of them.

In the worst possible situation, Ende would have to confront Kaseria’s troops alone and under the sole command of Eric, who had not yet even become ruler.

''The enemy has two thousand at sea. There doesn’t seem to have been any further activity in Allion’s ports, and reinforcements probably wouldn’t come by the overland route''.

The country of Ryalide stretched out between Ende and Allion. Although militarily, it was only a small country, he did not believe that Allion would want to increase the number of its enemies on its way to Ende.

“In that case…”

They just needed to be prepared.

Eric dragged his sword near his pillow and fell asleep hugging its sheath. It was a habit he had developed over the last ten days.

Early the next morning, Eric awoke with his eyes wide open and headed out of the Plutos mansion. He was going to a well near the stable to wash his face. The elderly soldier guarding the stable looked sleepy, but he seemed surprised and stood at attention when he saw Eric. He was a long-time acquaintance from his childhood, and Eric grinned at him and stopped to exchange some idle chit-chat.

“Lord Eric,” a voice called out then. It was not that of a soldier. Turning around, he saw two young sisters.

“Thil, Reen,” Eric smiled as he said their names.

The two of them gave him deep bows. Bowing deeply to nobles was the custom in Ende, but as neither of them was ten years old yet, their movements were an exaggerated imitation of what adults did. The younger sister bent so far forward that her back was almost parallel to the ground.

They were the daughters of Darowkin Plutos, the eldest son of Kayness Plutos, the current head of the family. For Eric, who had spent so long in Dairan, Kayness was like a second father to him, and so, he thought of the two little girls practically as his own nieces.

“You have risen very early, Prince,” Thil, the older sister, spoke with punctilious courtesy.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v11 029.jpg|thumb]]

“You can’t call him ‘Prince’ anymore. Because he’s already become the Grand Duke,” Reen, the younger sister, pointed out.

Of the two sisters, the older often acted like a grown-up. And when Reen always took her up on any mistakes, Thil would then protest with faint tears in her eyes. Such was the relationship between them. Eric smiled involuntarily.

“Neither is wrong. I’m still a prince, but I also bear the duties of the next Grand Duke.”

“Right, you see, Reen. I wasn’t wrong after all.”

“That’s because adults always take Thil’s side.”

“I don’t want to fight in front of the prince. Go play over there. I’ll even lend you my doll.”

“Those are two different things!”

Reen galloped off, laughing. Even if she pretended to be an adult, she was still only seven years old. Her steps were always light, and she was always cheerful.

Left behind, her older sister, Thil, once again bowed towards Eric.

“Prince, will Dairan become a battlefield again?” She asked with a serious expression.

For all that she was young, she was a daughter of the Plutos House. There was no doubt that she had been quick to sense that a war was approaching, and that it would be harsher and more violent than usual. Eric’s expression also changed. He was a man who could not deceive anyone, not even children.

“I don’t plan to let that happen. But a good warrior prepares for every situation. All the men in Dairan are like that. If it does happen though, you have to protect your little sister Reen.”

“Yes,” Thil meekly nodded her head.

The same day, at dusk, they received new information from a reconnaissance party that had been sent to Zonga.

“The troops led by Prince Kaseria will apparently arrive at the port of Zonga the day after tomorrow.”

''Is this it?'' Eric braced himself as all of Dairan came under grew tense. ''Will they start by sending a messenger to keep the appearance of a just cause? Or is Kaseria so desperate for blood that he’ll advance regardless?''

Simply waiting did not suit his personality and his impatience was getting worse. He felt the impulse to sally forth and attack right now, however –

“The first thing you need to do is set your priorities, Lord Eric.” Kayness Plutos, the current lord of Dairan, spoke calmly. “Determine what is important and laugh off what is trivial. The ruler of a country and the commander of an army are two different things. It would be best to display composure and return to Safia for a while.”

“But, Sir Kayness…”

“Otherwise, the grandees in Safia will forget your face, Lord Eric,” Kaynes gave a soft chuckle. “First, there are things that need getting used to. Such as the mutual relationship between lord and retainer.”

Certainly, being away from the capital for too long also left Eric feeling anxious. Among the retainers who had remained at the palace, not a few of them had previously supported his brother, Jeremie. In order not to create an unfavourable atmosphere, and also for the sake of once more gathering information about the two countries of Mephius and Garbera, he conceded that he needed to return to Safia for a while.

Entrusting the command of the defence force to Kayness, Eric boarded an air carrier. Immediately upon arriving at Safia, he found another piece of information awaiting him.

“Allion’s second wave of troops?” Eric unconsciously repeated the contents out loud.

A second unit was crossing from the east by the overland route. The country of Ryalide should have been an obstacle to any military expedition, but it had apparently thrown open all the barriers along its highways and was allowing a troop of three thousand of Allion’s soldiers to pass through.

“Did they yield under pressure?”

If they did not comply, those troops could be used to set a small country like Ryalide ablaze – had that kind of threat been applied?

Eric, however, had genuinely believed that Allion would not push forward with that kind of violent diplomatic pressure. No matter how powerful a country was, displaying such a high-handed attitude was dangerous. One step wrong and they would induce a sense of impending crisis, which might lead their surroundings to spread an encircling net around Allion, which in turn would hinder them not only militarily, but would also disrupt their trade.

''Which means…''

Kaseria Jamil was serious?

Eric was aware of cold sweat trickling beneath his undershirt.

There might be more to follow. For now however, there were five thousand in all. If they focused on defence, that was by no means a difficult number to drive back.

Eric was still young. Whatever Allion’s true intentions were, the cause of all this was his older brother, Jeremie. When their father, the Grand Duke, passed away, and the position of successor to the throne was snatched away by his younger brother, Jeremie had stolen and made off with the flag of the Magic Dynasty, then begged a powerful country, with which they had ancient ties, to send troops.

Therefore, looking at things from a different angle, this was basically a problem internal to Ende. And so, Eric also felt like having Ende sweep away that number of enemies all by itself, and showing Garbera, Mephius, as well as those coastal countries that were deliberately staying quiet, that ‘there is a new Ende now’.

No, even more than to a group of foreigners, the ones that Eric felt the most strongly that way about was towards those retainers who still doubted his ability.

At that same time, west of Ende’s borders, there was a young man who was facing the same kind of trouble as Eric was.

He was equally in a position where he was poised to shoulder the responsibility of an entire country, he could not fathom his opponent’s real intentions, and he too was hesitant about what attitude to take.

The young man’s name was Gil Mephius.

The reminder is not needed, but his real identity was that of Orba, a former gladiator.

He had only just taken the city of Nedain when an envoy from the emperor had come to see him in person. The message he carried was that: “Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius is invited to come to Solon.”

=== Part 2 ===

Just before seeing the imperial envoy, Orba had met with a different visitor. An unexpected guest, at that.

Late the previous night, a group had turned up in Nedain. All of them were young men. They were dressed in rags, but all were muscular and their speech was rough. The guards at the gate assumed that they were some of the bandits who normally caused chaos along the surrounding highways but who, hearing about the crown prince’s victory, had decided to change jobs and had come to hire themselves out as mercenaries. However –

“Let me see the Imperial Crown Prince at once,” the youth who seemed to be the leader airily said something inconceivable. “I’m an acquaintance of His Highness’,” he insisted, his face dusty and slightly dirt-stained.

“How could a guy like you be acquainted with His Highness? If your mercenary applicants, go straight down this street, then at the end…”

“You’re kind of dim, huh? I told you I want to see him right now. His Highness will rake you over the coals later, you know.”

The gatekeepers were perplexed, but, just as when the former Imperial Guard Alnakk had visited the port city of Birac, Orba had given strict orders to be passed on to every single soldier – “It doesn’t matter how trivial it is. If something catches your attention, report it to your superior.” That posture had already been explained here in Nedain.

Even so, it had not been long since Gil Mephius had arrived in that town. In the end, the report did not reach him until the next day.

It was just after Orba had finished breakfast. When he heard the name by which the young men’s leader had introduced himself, he suddenly seemed lost in thought.

“It appears that this morning as well, they barged their way to the front of the mansion,” said the commander of the guards. “Should we send them away?”

“No, it seems interesting. I’ll see him,” Orba gave his permission.

On top of that, he announced that he would see him, just the two of them. People were surprised, but seeing Gil’s impish smile, they concluded that ''it must be some kind of whim''. There was no longer anyone who called Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius a “fool” – at least not here in Nedain – but there was never any lack of people who judged him to be “eccentric.”

The only one who objected was Pashir, who was currently ensuring Gil’s personal safety virtually single-handedly, but when Orba whispered something in his ear, he immediately withdrew his comment.

A few minutes later, the young man was allowed into the room which had been ordered clear of people.

“Heya, things got really heavy back there,” was the first thing that the very rough-and-tumble youth said upon entering. “That’s a real load of hassle, even just to see an old friend. Oh well, can’t be helped. You’re the crown prince of Mephius now.”

Sharp eyes and a characteristic aquiline nose. He was certainly an “old friend” – of Orba’s, the boy from an arid valley.

Orba himself did not say a word, but the young man sat himself down on a sofa in the room without asking and continued talking excitedly.

“Sorry for being so late. Obviously, I’ve known about the rumours for a while now. That the crown prince of Mephius has risen in revolt against Emperor Guhl. And, also obviously, I’d figured that you were that Crown Prince. Same thing when I first heard about your death: I realised from the start that you’d definitely gone into hiding.”

“...”

“But yeah, that’s Orba for you: not satisfied with being a body-double, you started moving to take over the whole country. That really got my blood pumping. So I wanted to gather some people and rush over at once, but some of the soldiers at Birac’s garrison might know my face. We kind of kicked up a lot of dust around there, you know? Just while I was wondering what to do, suddenly, Nedain had fallen. That was a chance not to be missed, so I just gathered a hundred and we came flying from the village.”

The young man’s name was Doug.

He was a year older than Orba, and in their childhood, they had spent their entire time quarrelling with each other. They shared the same past of having had the Mephian general Oubary Bilan attack their birthplace. Separated for six years, the two of them had met once more in that same native area.

One as the body-double to the crown prince of Mephius.

The other as the leader of bandits who had sworn revenge on Mephius.

The interests and goals of the two of them were aligned, so they lured Oubary Bilan and his troops to the village, killed the soldiers who had fallen into their trap, and captured Oubary himself.

How much time had passed again since then?

Doug looked at Orba with a cheerful expression. At which point, Orba opened his mouth for the first time.

“Why are you here?”

“Why?” For a moment, Doug’s eyes opened round, then immediately afterwards, he laughed, showing his teeth. “Because isn’t it interesting, Orba? I thought that killing those nobles and generals still wouldn’t have been enough to bring satisfaction, but now every single one of them will become your retainers. They’ll obey your orders and offer their lives for you. The quarrelsome brat from that arid valley will become the great emperor of Mephius. What could be more interesting than that? Let me take part in it. An ally knowing your real identity could be useful in an emergency. Officially, of course, I’ll serve as your loyal subordinate. Heh, Orba, I’ll have to call you Crown Prince and even Emperor. Still…”

“''Who are you?''” Orba asked once more. He stared expressionlessly at Doug, who this time was at a loss for words. “Who are you, and who is this Orba whose name you keep using? Who have you been talking about since earlier?”

“I-I get it. I get it. I won’t call you Orba in public. Like I’ve been saying, officially…”

“Ah, I remember,” Orba said unsmilingly. “Aren’t you that bandit from back then? And? It’s true that I borrowed your help to defeat Oubary so have you come to extort a reward? What is it you want: money or women? Just say what you’d like.”

“Wh-What did you say?” Suddenly bursting with anger, Doug got up from the sofa and drew up towards Orba. “Come to extort you? Bullshit. Oi, don’t push it, Orba.”

“I told you that I don’t know that name.” Orba spoke with complete calm, the exact opposite of Doug, whose entire body seemed to be burning like a ball of fire. He took the sword that was at his waist. “Leave at once and never appear before me again. If you defy me, Peasant, know that I’ll throw not just you but also your family and everyone close to you to the fire. Do you understand?”

More than the threats, more than the gleam of the sword taken from its sheath, what caused Doug’s body to freeze instantly was because from up close, there was no trace of warmth in his gaze. Those eyes truly seemed to be looking at a complete stranger, and moreover, they were looking down in utter contempt at the young man whose position was so clearly different from his own.

Orba clapped his hands and summoned Pashir, the only guard he had allowed to remain outside the door.

“Take him away,” he ordered. “Afterwards, have the guards memorise his face. If he shows up again around here, then too bad, he’s to be cut down without mercy.”

“Aye,” answered Pashir, and, seizing Doug by the arm, he forced him to leave.

Although having said that, Doug showed no signs of resisting. He looked towards Orba one last time, but Orba’s attention had already moved on to the documents on the desk.

The door closed.

Left alone, Orba stayed a while without stirring. Inwardly, however, he murmured, Doug?
Maybe he had been dreaming.

Not Doug, for aiming to go up in life – Orba himself.

Now, just before the point when he was about to step on a tightrope from which he could no longer look back, a nostalgic and familiar face had appeared before him, bringing with it the warmth of his home village.

After that, he could have treated him to a drink, and they could have laughed together, reminiscing about old times.

Or else, he could have clapped him on the shoulder, saying, “it’s a real help that you came,” then, with that shoulder to rely on, they could have crossed the tightrope together.

Orba however did neither of those things. Doug was one of those who knew his real identity. You could even call him a person who could affect his fate. The thought even flitted across his mind that as a last resort he could secretly kill him.

But –

''I don’t know anyone called Doug''.

Orba had played dumb.

Since he did not know him, he had sent him away out of hand; since he did not know him, he would not pay any attention to his existence.

''That was just a dream''.

Picking up the sword that he had, for a moment, placed on the desk, Orba gave a small, an ever so small, sigh.

Orba had posted soldiers throughout Nedain and had also personally gone to its outskirts and had them take up defensive positions. This was because they were in a situation in which they did not know when the emperor might dispatch a subjugation force. The circumstances, however, were different than what they had been in Apta or in Birac. In both of those towns, the people’s faces had been tinged with the worry that they might get swallowed up in a large-scale conflict. In Nedain’s case, on the other hand, having just been released from the oppression of the Abigoal family, both the people and the soldiers were full of fighting spirit and were ready to drive away any enemy that might come.

It was at such a time that the emperor’s envoy arrived.

Moreover, he brought not an order demanding that the impostor claiming to be the crown prince deliver up his own head, but an invitation for the “Gil Mephius” who was currently in Nedain to enter Solon, on the grounds that his identity had been thoroughly recognised.

Their side was in turmoil.

If the emperor had sent a host of ten thousand against them, the crown prince’s soldiers gathered in Nedain, as well as its people would, as stated earlier, probably have united as one. But the emperor had clearly ‘backed down’. Perhaps he had realised that the momentum from the crown prince’s side could no longer be stemmed and had grown timid; but, even more than the conviction that they could win, what this had brought was the hope that they would be able to avoid any more useless fighting.

They no longer needed to fight and spill the blood of fellow Mephians. Once that thought emerged, even ever so fleetingly, the wish for peace would easily erode the will to fight, and people’s opinions would come to be divided.

And naturally, among those opinions –

“It’s a trap.”

There was also the one that Rogue Saian had just expressed.

In Nedain Castle, the main officers from the crown prince’s side were gathered in the rectangular room that had once served as Jairus Abigoal’s office.

“I cannot believe that His Majesty would change his mind so suddenly. There is no doubt that this is a trap designed to cause unrest in our camp.”

“Definitely,” Odyne Lorgo agreed. “And in fact, having heard about it, the emotions of the soldiers and the people are swaying. While there are those who are saying that His Majesty is planning to have His Highness assassinated, just as back then in Birac, there are others who claim that to avoid civil war, the crown prince should allow himself to be persuaded to go to Solon.”

“And as soon as the invitation is accepted, His Highness will be captured and executed, without being given a chance to explain or vindicate himself. While we, of course, will be denounced as traitors who supported an impostor.”

“As His Majesty is now, he might just do that.”

“Having said that,” Folker Baran interrupted in a soft tone that yet managed to cut through everyone else, “if he refuses His Majesty’s invitation without a good reason, His Highness will lose the moral high ground.”

Rogue maintained a sullen silence. What had just been pointed out was not something that he had not thought of before. And naturally, Orba shared Folker’s concerns.

Up until now, the emperor had decisively dispatched soldiers against the impostor. Gil Mephius’ cause had become attacking Guhl, presented as “a statesman who does not listen to others”. However, now that he had recognised the prince and had officially summoned him, just as Folker had said, if he refused without a reason that the whole could accept as legitimate, Gil would turn into a traitor bent on devastating the land. And again, naturally, this was no doubt one of the aims on Guhl’s side.

It was for the same reason that he had once left Salamand Fogel to do as he pleased.

Both Rogue and Odyne understood it. Or better said, the “trap” spoken of earlier included that meaning.

“In any case, attending an audience in Solon is too dangerous. We cannot let Your Highness go through with it.”

“Should we send an envoy too?”

“We could suggest a conference somewhere at equal distance between Solon and Nedain.”

“No, that wouldn’t be practical.”

The discussion showed no sign of ending.

Orba had the meeting adjourned for the time being. In the end, he had barely expressed any opinion of his own. However, those who, starting with Rogue, had decided to serve the crown prince were getting used to the personality of their new lord. When he did not say anything, it was because Gil Mephius was deep in thought. At the same time, and while looking entirely expressionless and uninterested, he would carefully listen to his subordinates’ opinions.

And so, everyone stood to attention to see Gil out without a trace of grumbling or discontent.
They could not, however, completely conceal their anxiety and concern about the future.

Orba left the building.

Pashir followed so close behind him that they were almost stuck together. He had also been at the meeting but, like Orba, he had not expressed an opinion. His purpose was purely to be Gil’s guard.

Normally, Orba would irritably shake him off, but now, there had been the incident in Birac. If Pashir had not been there to pay attention to the surroundings, Orba would have died under an assassin’s blade. Although he seemed gloomy about it, Orba could not therefore outright order Pashir to go away.

Pashir suddenly pushed Orba aside and stepped out to stand in front of him.

“What is it?” He barked as three soldiers rushed forward towards them.

They were all different ages, but from their equipment, they seemed to be soldiers serving at Nedain Castle. They all knelt together.

“Please forgive our rudeness, Your Imperial Highness,” the grey-haired soldier breathlessly spoke first. “Everyone is talking about it. That for the sake of we soldiers and of the people, and to avoid war, you intend to go to Solon.”

“I-If you go, His Majesty the emperor will have you killed,” the young and pale-faced soldier said, following which, the soldier in the prime of life cried with a desperately resolute expression –
“Please, if you would, stay here and govern Nedain. All of us are ready to offer our lives to defend you as Your Highness’ spears and shields.”

Pashir quite literally kicked aside their hands, which seemed about to reach out towards Orba’s boots any moment now.

“Get back, you insolent curs. The likes of you lowly soldiers dare to interfere?”

“Wait, Pashir.” Orba quietly caught his massive shoulder. He then bestowed a smile upon the soldiers. “This is proof that everyone is thinking about the future of this country. I am different from my father. I wish to create a country in which everyone can express their opinions without reserve.”

“Aye,” Pashir drew back.

Orba turned to the soldiers next and spoke directly to them. “I don’t plan on giving up my life without resistance. Don’t worry.”

The soldiers lowered their heads as far as they could go. You could sense resolve from each of them, and the older soldier had been moved to tears.

Afterwards, Orba and Pashir climbed up to the top of the ramparts that surrounded Nedain. Sentries were placed on duty here and there, but they were some distance from them.

While enjoying the gentle wind beneath the pale sky, Orba sent Pashir a sidelong glare.

“Don’t force yourself into an act you can’t pull off.”

“You’re the one who got me mixed up in it. It felt like my face was going red.”

“Everyone’s uneasy. If the prince’s attitude isn’t seen to be indomitable, it could create enemies from within.”

Pashir had deliberately taken the role of a savage warrior who could not understand the feelings of the common people.

“It doesn’t suit you,” Orba shook his head. “If it comes to it, I’ll look for a better role for you. You’re a gladiator who climbed up to being an Imperial Guard. It’d be a problem rather if you didn’t have the support of the people and soldiers.”

“Hmm,” Pashir gave a vague nod then. “Was it that bad?” He asked with a serious expression.

Orba turned his head towards the back to stop himself from laughing. A man who was a skilful fighter and an able commander in a battle, but who was not deft by nature; hence why he felt that it ''didn’t suit''. As to who that was referring to, it went without saying.

They climbed down from the ramparts and inspected various points around Nedain. Just before the afternoon, messengers arrived from different quarters, carrying the regular reports from Apta, Birac and Solon. There was no noteworthy new information. According to what he heard from Solon, however, there was a rumour that Kaseria Jamil’s forces would soon arrive at the port of Zonga, north of Ende.

Ende had recently lost its Grand Duke and it was the second prince, Eric, who was to become the successor. When he had first heard that information, not even Orba had been able to conceal his surprise.

''That guy?''

He had fought him in Garbera’s territory. And afterwards, they had met along with the Garberan prince, Zenon.

''He’s young'' – he thought, without actually taking his own age into account. Still, in these turbulent times, there was nothing strange about a young warrior in his twenties becoming a reigning lord from one day to the next.

''If it’s him, will he be able to lead Ende’s army against Allion?''

There was a sequel to the information from Solon: it seemed that Prince Eric of Ende had sent messengers begging Mephius and Garbera for reinforcements. So far, Emperor Guhl had given no sign of replying. Which could be said to be completely natural, given that Mephius was in the middle of a civil war that had split the country in half. They did not have the leeway to help other countries.

There was still more information related to Allion.

Apparently, Allion was approaching Dairan not only by sea, but also overland. Just as Eric had when he had received the news, Orba could not hide his astonishment and groaned inwardly.

When he closed his eyes, it felt as though he could hear the tramping of army boots coming from the east. This was not going to be a transient event.

''There’ll be a large-scale war'' – he felt.

If even just a part of Ende were to be seized, Allion would then have foothold from which to launch an all-out advance on the centre of the continent. The surrounding countries could not indefinitely continue labelling this as someone else’s problem.

With that being said, Mephius and Garbera had yet to recover from the wounds of a decade of war. Would they be able to withstand a war between countries?

''No matter what, Eric has to win this first battle against Allion'' – thought Orba, while he mentally sorted out the information from all the various quarters. If it was for that, he would even consider lending his help by riding to Ende and offers assistance himself.

But – first, there was Mephius.

They could not afford a long face-off, like they had after taking Birac. Prolonging the civil war would cause ruin for the people. And if the country was weakened, it would not be able to oppose the increasingly large and carnivorous beast that was Allion. The end result would be that they would be swallowed up, and even the titles of emperor and crown prince, held by the two currently competing, would lose all meaning.

While Orba silently continued to mull over his thoughts, the messenger from Birac held out a letter, saying, “Sir Gowen entrusted me with this.”

The elderly soldier had remained in Birac, where he was organising troops consisting mainly of the new recruits.

His acquaintance with Gowen went back a long way, but this was the first time he had received a letter from him. To be frank, he did not even know if Gowen could read and write. When he unsealed the letter, he saw handwriting about as bad as his own. A wry smile involuntarily crossed his face, but as he read the contents, his expression quickly reverted back to being serious.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Pashir, who was, as usual, sticking close by. “Has there been some kind of movement in Birac?”

“No… It’s about Layla.”

The name was not without relevance to Pashir. He nodded with deliberation.

She who was supposed to be a lady’s maid to Princess Vileena of Garbera had, one evening, lured Crown Prince Gil to an isolated tower and had attempted to kill him with a poisoned dagger. In the process, she had also ushered in quite a few of her comrades. As mentioned previously, if Pashir had not been keeping a close eye on the prince and on Layla, Orba would currently be laid out as a cold corpse.

And yet, at the very last minute, that same Layla had thrown herself in front of him to protect from the assassins’ blades.

''Layla''.

It was a name that Orba had heard even before then. On the very day of her wedding, the crown prince before Orba – in other words, the real Gil Mephius – had claimed the right to the first night from her. He had certainly never expected to meet her like that.

To be more precise, they had met for the first time in a western village. What had a Mephian like her been doing there and how had she come to work as a lady’s maid for the princess?

There were too many puzzling points about it.

More importantly, Orba instinctively sensed that any information she had about the crown prince might prove fatal to him.

Out of necessity, Orba had decided to keep Layla confined in a room in the tower. There had been the option of executing her as the instigator of the assassination attempt, but she was also someone who had once been a lady’s maid to the Garberan princess. He wanted to try and get a detailed explanation from her.

It seemed, however, that Gowen shared his opinion about the threat posed by whatever information Layla might have.

“Given the circumstances, we’ve kept the number of guards at the minimum, but I believe that we can’t continue that way,” said the letter. It then went on to suggest that she be executed.

For a moment, Orba was left speechless by the appealing contents of the note. He felt as though he was seeing a different side to his long-time acquaintance. It was probably not Gowen’s real wish though. In a way, it was similar to the resolve that Orba himself carried.

''You’ll have to bear the burden of an entire country while deceiving everyone around you'' – That also meant being prepared to use any means necessary to protect his secret.

Orba conjured up a mental image of the elderly warrior who had always seemed to, more or less, look out for him ever since back when he had been an overseer of slaves. After adopting Hou Ran, he had been giving off a somewhat “fatherly” atmosphere, which had given Orba and Shique a good laugh.

And he was suggesting that it might be necessary to kill a girl who was around the same age as his “daughter” in order to seal her mouth. This too was a distortion caused by Orba – by the likes of a slave of unknown origin – pretending to be the crown prince.

Orba tore up the letter and went back to the ramparts once again. Pashir silently followed along.

=== Part 3 ===

The sun was setting.

Fields spread out both within and beyond the ramparts. The soil around Nedain was not particularly fertile, but through effort and ingenuity, the people of the fief had continuously improved it; and so, for example, the grapes from this area were contenders for producing the first or second best wine within Mephius.

Lines of soldiers armed with spears and swords could be seen patrolling around the fields. Airships were dotted around here and there, ready to swiftly carry information. Carriers were also stationed at all four corners of the ramparts.

Orba’s gaze suddenly turned towards the east. For a while, he looked hard beyond the pale pink sky.

“How long has it been?”

At those words, which had unintentionally burst from his mouth, Orba felt as though he was seeing clear to his own mind for the first time. Before Pashir could enquire what he meant, he continued, “right, it’s not like it’s got nothing to do with you. Ever since Zaat Quark’s rebellion. When I prevented it and left for Apta with you.”

“Are you talking about Solon?” Pashir asked. “You can’t possibly be thinking of responding to the emperor’s invitation?”

“You were also listening at the council of war, weren’t you? If I stay like this without making a move, I’ll damage my cause and be letting Allion do whatever they please. Apta, Birac, and Nedain would eventually turn against me. The result would just be me bringing about my own ruin. And besides…”

“Besides?”

“Allion is obviously a threat to Mephius but… this could also be taken as a once in a lifetime ‘opportunity’.”

At those words, which had unintentionally burst from his mouth, Orba felt as though he was seeing clear to his own mind for the first time. Before Pashir could enquire what he meant, he continued, “right, it’s not like it’s got nothing to do with you. Ever since Zaat Quark’s rebellion. When I prevented it and left for Apta with you.”

“Are you talking about Solon?” Pashir asked. “You can’t possibly be thinking of responding to the emperor’s invitation?”

“You were also listening at the council of war, weren’t you? If I stay like this without making a move, I’ll damage my cause and be letting Allion do whatever they please. Apta, Birac, and Nedain would eventually turn against me. The result would just be me bringing about my own ruin. And besides…”

“Besides?”

“Allion is obviously a threat to Mephius but… this could also be taken as a once in a lifetime ‘opportunity’.”

Orba was saying that being pressed by Allion meant being helplessly cornered into destroying a favourable situation. And yet, he declared that it was also an “opportunity”. Pashir could not understand his thoughts.

He did not understand, but –

“You’re not saying that you’re planning on just handing over your life, right?” There was one thing that he single-mindedly could not let go of.

“I’m not planning on going there to let myself be killed.”

“Same thing. Have you forgotten the assassination attempt in Birac? It’s obvious the emperor had a hand in it.”

“Now that he’s openly summoned me, he won’t be thinking of using assassination.”

“Don’t be stupid,” yet a smile flitted across Pashir’s slightly bruised and battered face. “Hasn’t the emperor of Mephius lost touch with common sense? That’s why people like General Rogue or General Folker are willing to follow you.”

“Yeah. But somehow, I feel like I understand.”

“You understand?”

“What Guhl was thinking when he summoned me.”

At this point, the emperor was probably feeling that they had reached a stalemate. Mephius’ centre of trade had been stolen from him and, following closely on the heels of that defeat, his loyal subject, Simon, had died, which in turn had started to sow dissent among his retainers. The emperor had then been unable to dispatch the reinforcements he had planned to send to Nedain, as a result of which, even that town had fallen to the crown prince’s side. Assassination – his last resort – had also failed, and he could no longer use the same method for fear of rumours spreading to Solon.

In terms of the military potential that each held, the emperor still had the advantage. However, a ‘wind’ which was not so easy to overturn was blowing throughout all of Mephius. It had been raised by Orba himself who had successively taken Apta, Birac, and Nedain; it had been supported by Rogue, Odyne and Folker, who had aided his advance; and finally, it had been protected by Princess Vileena, who had turned back Salamand, an invader into Mephian territory.

In a way, from when he had decided to rise up as the crown prince in Apta, what Orba had set his sights on was – ''how can I stir up more ‘wind’ and ‘waves’?'' For now, it could be said that he had accomplished that goal.

And the emperor desired a meeting with Gil simply because he could no longer afford to ignore that influence. ''Since things have turned out this way, I should meet him in person and show the retainers our difference in might'' – was probably what he was thinking.

In a sense, it would be a duel.

“You say you understand?” Pashir spoke half in exasperation. “What do you understand? You weren’t born to royalty and Guhl’s not your real father. In the first place, you’re not even that well-acquainted with Guhl.”

Orba deliberately did not answer. Just as Pashir had pointed out, the environment in which Orba and Guhl had been born and raised were as different as heaven and earth. It was a fact that they were fighting like this simply because their thoughts and their vision of the future were at odds.

Yet even so, Orba felt that – ''I would think the same thing if I was in Guhl’s situation''.

Neither moving troops nor killing in secret. In a situation where the wind was blowing in the enemy’s favour daily, and Allion, a powerful outside foe, was approaching, he too would want a direct confrontation. He also would, after baiting the newcomer jeopardising his position, use the authority of his own accumulated achievements and experience, in front of the assembled retainers, to verbally corner his opponent.

''The final gamble'' – he too shared that thought.

For all that he said that it was great opportunity, he privately thought that his own strength might not be enough. Beyond that, he could only leave things to the ‘wave’ that he had himself raised.
The messenger that Guhl had sent proved that he had successfully managed to move ‘time’. It was time to see the conclusion through with his own eyes.

“Don’t be stupid,” repeated Pashir. “You think the retainers, who’ve shut their eyes to Guhl’s tyranny this long, are suddenly going to awaken to a sense of honour? That the nobles that you used to hate enough to kill are now going to protect you from the emperor? That soft way of thinking isn’t like you.”

“Guess not,” Orba answered shortly, then laughed unintentionally. He thought it had been a long time since his gladiator self had been in contact with Pashir. “But you know, Pashir… The ones who carry a country are its people. Is it really so foolish to entrust your life and future to those people’s feelings?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I won’t go unprepared. Even if something happens to me, I’ll get ready what’s needed to prevent a war between Mephius and the west, and to drive the emperor further into a corner.”

Orba’s expression looked strangely refreshed. With the fervour for fighting gone from it, his appearance truly matched his age and he looked like a boy who had thought up a way of pulling a silly prank. It seemed to just fan the flames of Pashir’s anger though.

“If something happens,” the long-serving swordsman’s voice grew harsh. “When anything happens to you, it’ll mean ruin for all the rest of us. For the generals and soldiers who joined you because they believe in you, obviously, but also for their families who’ll be put in danger again.”

“I know. And it’s a gamble. But no matter what, we can’t stay in a stand-off with the capital like this. I’ve already said it, but if we draw things out now, we’ll lose the moral high ground and allow Allion to do whatever it likes. I chose to go to war with the emperor so as to protect Taúlia. This time, I’ve got to go to Solon to protect Mephius. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing. There’s got to be another way.”

“Pashir, this isn’t a fight which will be over once the emperor has been brought down. Looking at what happens after that, then no matter what…”

“It’s too dangerous. For everyone. So I can’t let you carry on like that. ‘No matter what’.”

His expression still harsh, Pashir started to draw the sword at his waist. His intention was clear.
Orba however made no move in response. He gave a half-smile.

“And, what are you going to do? Kill me? You’re the one who said that everyone will be annihilated if I die, right?”

“Yeah, I won’t kill you. But I can cut off your arms and legs so that you can’t just do as you please,” said Pashir. “And after that, I’ll pull your tongue out. So that you won’t be able to say too much afterwards.”

“…”

Hearing the stern verdict, Orba wiped the amused expression from his face. Pashir was saying that he only needed to be alive. He was saying that the crown prince’s figure and life alone were enough to be a flag for those who followed him.

Pashir continued his now half-unsheathed sword. “What is it. Not saying anything? Don’t you have enough resolve to step over my corpse?”

“Pashir.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v11 061.jpg|thumb]]

Orba softly called out. He quietly stretched out his hand and touched Pashir’s sinewy, log-like arm. He had once been known as “Strong-armed”, an undefeated gladiator.

“I’m going,” Orba was almost whispering. “If you have things you want to protect enough to step over my corpse to do so, then you can just slash me in the back. I won’t resist.”

After he had finished speaking, he turned his back towards Pashir.

He walked one step, then two.

Behind him, he could feel Pashir’s presence like a scorching wind. Any moment now, it might transform into steel and rain down on Orba from above.

''Right, this is the final gamble'' – thought Orba, as he continued to walk further and further away.

In the distance, he could hear what seemed to be the voices of young men and women singing a popular song.

''If I can’t move ‘time’ from here on out, nothing will change''.

He and Mephius would perish together… In choosing to see things that way, Orba was urging on his own resolve and actions.

His feet arrived at the staircase. The presence was still there, ferocity rolling like flames from it, but, in the end, Pashir had not moved from where he was.

Just before the sun had finished fully setting, Orba, having left Pashir, went to see Fedom, who had arrived in Nedain just the other day. Nedain was geographically closer to the capital and the lord of Birac was desperate to gather information there.

“A letter came from Indolph.” Fedom’s tone made clear his pride in this achievement. “It looks like that man will soon have resolved himself to finally take action. It’ll be exactly as I said. When Indolph’s forces also make their move, and threaten the capital from the rear, the other lords will have no choice but to clarify their standpoint.”

Fedom Aulin’s eyes were gleaming. The long-cherished desire that he had concealed in his breast was now right before his eyes; and in his current frame of mind, he felt as though he was conscious when sleeping, and dreaming when awake.

Actually, it was clear from his appearance that he was hardly sleeping at all. And because he was in that state, when he first heard Orba say “even so, I’m thinking of leaving here tomorrow and going to the capital,” after first gaping at him, Fedom then burst out laughing as though he had just heard a good joke.

But when it gradually dawned on him that Orba was serious, his face flushed bright red with rage. His ferocity was every bit as intense as Pashir’s, who had drawn a steel sword to stop Orba, and it seemed as though, at any moment, he might reach out his thick arms to seize him by the neck and strangle him to death.

“T-This is the limit,” Fedom screamed, wheezing and gasping for breath. “I’m not letting you do whatever you like, you bastard. What do you think you’re saying at this point? You can’t just do whatever you like right before my greatest ambition comes true! Bah, I won’t listen to anything more you say. You’re not going even if I have to tie you down!”

“Now, now, calm down.”

''You’re the one trying to do whatever you like'' – thought Orba, although he did not actually say it out loud.

“I don’t think it would bad for you, though.”

“W-What?”

“Your worry is that after I nonchalantly stroll into the capital, my real identity will be exposed and I’ll be killed, right?”

“Of course it is. If your past as a gladiator became known at this point in time, not only would you lose your life, but all the resolve and expectations gathered around you would all come to nothing!”

“I wonder…” Orba brushed his hair back. “Saying that everything would be spoiled seems like such an exaggeration.”

“Bastard, what are you saying, even now you’re not taking your position into…”

“Even if I died, ''you’re'' in the crown prince’s camp, aren’t you? You, Fedom Aulin.”

“W-What?”

Orba faced the lord of Birac, who was blinking in confusion.

“Apta, Birac, Nedain. Even if I die, their strength won’t just abruptly fall to the emperor’s side. On the contrary, if you raise the cry for a war of revenge for the crown prince, even more soldiers than now will gather, and it might even give rise to conspirators within Solon itself. Right – after the crown prince’s death, all the soldiers assembled in the three cities would become yours.”

“…”

“And the hero who would take command of that entire army to take Solon and at long last liberate Mephius from the unjust emperor would be none other than you, Fedom Aulin. That could be what happens.”

Fedom gulped. Having swallowed too much of his own saliva, he was seized by a brief but violent coughing fit.

“R-Ridiculous,” his eyes were still teary. “If your real identity is revealed in the capital, that’ll be the end of it. Who would rally to a war of revenge for the likes of a slave?”

“There are as many possible explanations as you like. For example: ‘to show his contempt for the crown prince who had become a threat to him, the emperor deliberately had him murdered then branded his back so as to lie about his real identity.’ After that, well, Fedom, you’re a guy who’s usually proud of your own abilities. Wouldn’t you be able to convince everyone to follow you through your words and attitude? The emperor’s cruel and inhuman behaviour would be highlighted even further than before my death, and would actually make it easier to take action. You of all people aren’t going to tell me that’s impossible, right?”

Fedom was still breathing raggedly, but the reason for that seemed to be somewhat different from earlier. He peered closely into Orba’s face.

“You said ‘even further than before my death’…? You’re talking exactly as though you didn’t care in the slightest about your own life.”

“Wasn’t I originally picked up by you? If you hadn’t appeared at Tarkas’ Gladiator Group back then, riding a Tengo in such a great hurry – back when it wouldn’t have occurred to me for even a second that you had the outrageous plan of using a slave to replace the crown prince – I would still be wielding a sword every day as a gladiator, drenched in sweat and fighting desperate, bloody battles. Or no, after close to two years of that, maybe my devil’s luck would already have run out and the sand of the coliseum would be absorbing my blood around about now.”

“…”

“Say, this is getting tedious: forget my enemies, I’m even being doubted by my allies. More importantly, it would be best for you to take action. Isn’t that right? Lord Fedom?”

Orba gazed almost affectionately at the man in front of him. Right, as a matter of fact, he did feel affection for this man, Fedom Aulin.

Just as he himself had said, if this man had not existed, he himself would not be where he was now.

''If this man was smarter than he actually is, or even just a little bit less prudent…'' Then that overly-ambitious plan would have collapsed in no time, and Orba and Fedom’s severed heads would have been lining the road to Solon by now, each adorning the tip of a spear.

Although, of course, there would be no end to it if one were to discuss that sort of thing. If, at that time, his prediction had been off even by a little; if, at that time, he had not met that person; if, at that time, the sword had slipped in his sweaty hands…

Out of the tens of thousands of possible paths, the he who was here now had picked only one to follow to the end.

Orba engraved that awareness into his mind.

That evening, Orba summoned Rogue, Odyne, and Folker to Nedain Castle.

It took him about twice as long to explain the same thing that he had told Pashir. General Rogue of the Dawnlight Wings Division opposed it with the vehemence of a raging fire. General Odyne of the Silver Axe Division revealed a distressed and conflicted expression, while General Folker of the Black Steel Sword Division remained silent from beginning to end.

“Y-Your Highness, that is the one thing… the one thing you must not do,” Rogue Saian repeated it time and time again.

In that, it was similar to the times with Pashir and Fedom. Naturally, Orba had not been expecting them to just silently see him off. He listened to the veteran general’s spirited persuasion for a while, then –

“Rogue,” he addressed him softly. “What do you think is the one thing that we cannot lose sight of in this fight of ours?”

“That…” Rogue Saian’s voice choked up, “the banner that we raised.”

“Right. And that is not me myself,” asserted Orba. “It isn’t me but the cause that impels me to take action. If the hearts of the people doubt our cause, then we are already as good as defeated. We will be letting Guhl Mephius ridicule us without even putting up a fight, and we will bear the disgrace of being remembered in history, I as the Impostor Crown Prince, and you as rebels.”

The generals had not, of course, imagined that the crown prince would choose of his own free will to travel to the imperial capital.

At the same time, however, the three of them were not as inflexible in their opposition to his going to Solon as Pashir and Fedom had been. After all, none of Mephius’ stalwart generals knew the real name of the man before them. They believed that he was the legitimate inheritor of the imperial family’s bloodline, Gil Mephius. And so, at no point had they experienced the fear that Pashir and Fedom held about his real identity being exposed.

“This is no longer the time to raise our swords against our fellow countrymen. It’s been a harsh road up until now because of that. From now on, what we need to do is to demonstrate our resolve. Rogue, don’t take me for a plague-ridden coward. Don’t take me for a mere fool who continues to make a show of savage courage without knowing how to read the signs of the times. Don’t take me for a criminal who continues to spill the blood of his countrymen. Well, there’s no helping whatever future historians might say, but now, here and now, here and now, we cannot lose the hearts and trust of the people.”

Rogue’s eyes were glistening with tears. He was, of course, well able to read the signs of the times. Up until now, he had been desperately racking his brains to try and come up with a way to improve the situation other than by having the crown prince personally go to Solon. However, no matter what new plan or strategy he came up with, he could not find in it that which Gil Mephius himself had just spoken of: the very “cause” that Rogue also adhered to.

In the end, he had no choice but to despairingly nod in consent.

Gazing at his despondently drooping head of white hair, Orba remained deliberately expressionless, then rose from his seat.

“Rogue, Odyne, Folker – you will stay here in Nedain and ensure its defence along with Raymond Peacelow. Yuriah’s fleet, bolstered by Walt’s ground forces, will regroup in Birac.”

The generals stood up and clicked their heels before the “Crown Prince”.

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume11_Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin_no_Monshou:Volume11_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume11 Chapter1

2017-12-08T18:12:33Z

Double Check: giving up my (citation from raw needed) & duplicate sentence.

==Chapter 1: Rumblings==

=== Part 1 ===

The city of Dairan, at the northernmost tip of Ende, was defended by high ramparts that protected it from invasion by the nomadic northern tribes. These nomadic tribes were divided into numerous clans and usually lived as they pleased. However, they would occasionally commit piracy along their southern coast, and occasionally attempt to trample into Ende’s territory. The trend to their movements was utterly unfathomable: sometimes they would go a year or two without taking any action, while at other times, there would be two attacks within a month.

Eric Le Doria, who was to be the next Grand Duke of Ende, had often fought them beyond Dairan’s protective ramparts. From a very young age, he had been entrusted to the care of the Plutos family – who had governed Dairan for generation after generation – and in that wild and rough land, he had fought to his utmost with sword and gun, and had learned of that joy that was second to none; of gathering with his comrades around the campfire after battle, still covered in the blood of his foes, to boast together of their feats.

Given this particularity, Dairan was clearly at odds with the “aristocratic” traits that were prized by other Endeans – traits such as dressing splendidly or never ostensibly injuring another person, but instead preferring to exchange verbal quips laced with lethal doses of poison.

To take other examples, Safia, the capital of the Grand Duchy, was known throughout the world as the “Water Capital” and was recognised as a city of great artistic value. The high walls that surrounded Dairan, however, were rough-hewn and inelegant, and the people who came and went from the city wore simple clothes. In Safia, men and women alike weaved their long hair into whatever complicated style they preferred, but here, that was rare.

In plain words, it was the sticks, and among the nobles that filled Safia, many mocked Dairan as a “remote frontier” and a “land of savages”.

Walking through Dairan, everywhere you went, you would hear the yells of men training in the military arts, and under the eaves of the houses, you would frequently see women doing laundry or peeling vegetables.

Just then, the men, dripping with sweat, suddenly halted their arms that were swinging spears. The women, who had been trampling the spread-out laundry, also stopped the movement of their white legs, and the young girls hurriedly corrected their seating posture.

“Lord Eric,” voices called out all along the street, and Eric answered them with a smile.

The Second Prince always openly asserted that Dairan was his home. His personality was much closer to that of a warrior of the Plutos House than to one of Ende’s leading aristocrat; and on top of that, he had only recently exterminated the wild dragons that that had attacked Dairan. And so, the people there adored him.

When they heard that he had been chosen as the next Grand Duke, this rustic town, with its simple and unaffected creeds and its lingering scent of earth, was engulfed in three days and three nights of revelry, its people delirious with joy.

It did not even last ten days.

The people had particularly rejoiced at the fact that the future Grand Duke would be visiting Dairan. Eric, however, did not come to his “home” dressed in fine clothes for a triumphal return. Because they were well-aware of this, Dairan’s populace did not create more of a fanfare than necessary.

War is coming.

Moreover, it was not because of an attack by the nomadic tribes. The great eastern country of Allion had dispatched its troops; and far from there being any reason to celebrate, Dairan, or better said, Ende itself, was facing an unprecedented crisis.

Allion’s air carriers were already moored to the north of Ende, in the port city of Zonga. These were probably no more than an advance supply unit, but a force of two thousand led by Kaseria Jamil was said to currently be at sea.

Right now, all of Ende was focused on getting ready for the impending war. Eric had come to Dairan to prepare for when Allion’s troops would depart from northern Zonga, but he could not remain there indefinitely.

In the old days, all he needed to focus on when war was about to break out was the war itself. Back when he had fought the nomadic tribes or planned the invasion of Garbera, he would only worry about organising the troops, ensuring provisions, or various concerns related to weapons inspection or maintaining his comrades’ morale.

Now however, Eric was the future Grand Duke. Other than the preparations directly involving battle, there was a pile of things he needed to attend to. Beyond the battlefield, he needed to extend his gaze to all of Ende and keep a close eye on the surrounding countries.

On top of that, although he had been nominated as the next Grand Duke upon the death of his father, it could not be said that he was standing on firm footing. Having spent more time in Dairan than in Safia, Eric felt considerably estranged from the leading figures who supported the country.

Naturally, he had no choice but to travel back and forth to the capital. He had arrived in Dairan just the day before yesterday, but would soon be returning to Safia.

''Kaseria. Just how serious are you about taking Ende, you bastard?'' His enemy’s true feelings and intentions were as yet impossible to know.

He had already obtained information that, while his older brother, Jeremie, had implored its help by claiming that “the descendants of the Magic Dynasty should be brought together,” not all of Allion welcomed this situation which had given them a good pretext for invading Ende. Or rather, it seemed that only Allion’s First Prince, Kaseria Jamil, was enthusiastic about this war.

''Are they simply intending to demonstrate Allion’s influence at the centre of the continent through one battle, or is Kaseria the vanguard, with Allion’s entire army set to move after all?''

At no point, while out in public, did Eric wipe off his forthright smile, but in the depths of night, alone in his bed, there was a distinct crease between his brows.

One of the reasons for that was that their last ray of hope – the response from the northern coastal countries – was slow to arrive. It had been almost ten days since they had sent a request for help by fast air carrier, but they had still received no answer.

''Has Allion already gotten to them or are they like me, they don’t know what Allion’s real intention is?''

It was the same for Garbera and Mephius as well. From intelligence sent by spies, he understood that problems had arisen in both of those countries. Forget about sending aid to Ende, it would not be strange if fighting were to break out between the two of them.

In the worst possible situation, Ende would have to confront Kaseria’s troops alone and under the sole command of Eric, who had not yet even become ruler.

''The enemy has two thousand at sea. There doesn’t seem to have been any further activity in Allion’s ports, and reinforcements probably wouldn’t come by the overland route''.

The country of Ryalide stretched out between Ende and Allion. Although militarily, it was only a small country, he did not believe that Allion would want to increase the number of its enemies on its way to Ende.

“In that case…”

They just needed to be prepared.

Eric dragged his sword near his pillow and fell asleep hugging its sheath. It was a habit he had developed over the last ten days.

Early the next morning, Eric awoke with his eyes wide open and headed out of the Plutos mansion. He was going to a well near the stable to wash his face. The elderly soldier guarding the stable looked sleepy, but he seemed surprised and stood at attention when he saw Eric. He was a long-time acquaintance from his childhood, and Eric grinned at him and stopped to exchange some idle chit-chat.

“Lord Eric,” a voice called out then. It was not that of a soldier. Turning around, he saw two young sisters.

“Thil, Reen,” Eric smiled as he said their names.

The two of them gave him deep bows. Bowing deeply to nobles was the custom in Ende, but as neither of them was ten years old yet, their movements were an exaggerated imitation of what adults did. The younger sister bent so far forward that her back was almost parallel to the ground.

They were the daughters of Darowkin Plutos, the eldest son of Kayness Plutos, the current head of the family. For Eric, who had spent so long in Dairan, Kayness was like a second father to him, and so, he thought of the two little girls practically as his own nieces.

“You have risen very early, Prince,” Thil, the older sister, spoke with punctilious courtesy.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v11 029.jpg|thumb]]

“You can’t call him ‘Prince’ anymore. Because he’s already become the Grand Duke,” Reen, the younger sister, pointed out.

Of the two sisters, the older often acted like a grown-up. And when Reen always took her up on any mistakes, Thil would then protest with faint tears in her eyes. Such was the relationship between them. Eric smiled involuntarily.

“Neither is wrong. I’m still a prince, but I also bear the duties of the next Grand Duke.”

“Right, you see, Reen. I wasn’t wrong after all.”

“That’s because adults always take Thil’s side.”

“I don’t want to fight in front of the prince. Go play over there. I’ll even lend you my doll.”

“Those are two different things!”

Reen galloped off, laughing. Even if she pretended to be an adult, she was still only seven years old. Her steps were always light, and she was always cheerful.

Left behind, her older sister, Thil, once again bowed towards Eric.

“Prince, will Dairan become a battlefield again?” She asked with a serious expression.

For all that she was young, she was a daughter of the Plutos House. There was no doubt that she had been quick to sense that a war was approaching, and that it would be harsher and more violent than usual. Eric’s expression also changed. He was a man who could not deceive anyone, not even children.

“I don’t plan to let that happen. But a good warrior prepares for every situation. All the men in Dairan are like that. If it does happen though, you have to protect your little sister Reen.”

“Yes,” Thil meekly nodded her head.

The same day, at dusk, they received new information from a reconnaissance party that had been sent to Zonga.

“The troops led by Prince Kaseria will apparently arrive at the port of Zonga the day after tomorrow.”

''Is this it?'' Eric braced himself as all of Dairan came under grew tense. ''Will they start by sending a messenger to keep the appearance of a just cause? Or is Kaseria so desperate for blood that he’ll advance regardless?''

Simply waiting did not suit his personality and his impatience was getting worse. He felt the impulse to sally forth and attack right now, however –

“The first thing you need to do is set your priorities, Lord Eric.” Kayness Plutos, the current lord of Dairan, spoke calmly. “Determine what is important and laugh off what is trivial. The ruler of a country and the commander of an army are two different things. It would be best to display composure and return to Safia for a while.”

“But, Sir Kayness…”

“Otherwise, the grandees in Safia will forget your face, Lord Eric,” Kaynes gave a soft chuckle. “First, there are things that need getting used to. Such as the mutual relationship between lord and retainer.”

Certainly, being away from the capital for too long also left Eric feeling anxious. Among the retainers who had remained at the palace, not a few of them had previously supported his brother, Jeremie. In order not to create an unfavourable atmosphere, and also for the sake of once more gathering information about the two countries of Mephius and Garbera, he conceded that he needed to return to Safia for a while.

Entrusting the command of the defence force to Kayness, Eric boarded an air carrier. Immediately upon arriving at Safia, he found another piece of information awaiting him.

“Allion’s second wave of troops?” Eric unconsciously repeated the contents out loud.

A second unit was crossing from the east by the overland route. The country of Ryalide should have been an obstacle to any military expedition, but it had apparently thrown open all the barriers along its highways and was allowing a troop of three thousand of Allion’s soldiers to pass through.

“Did they yield under pressure?”

If they did not comply, those troops could be used to set a small country like Ryalide ablaze – had that kind of threat been applied?

Eric, however, had genuinely believed that Allion would not push forward with that kind of violent diplomatic pressure. No matter how powerful a country was, displaying such a high-handed attitude was dangerous. One step wrong and they would induce a sense of impending crisis, which might lead their surroundings to spread an encircling net around Allion, which in turn would hinder them not only militarily, but would also disrupt their trade.

''Which means…''

Kaseria Jamil was serious?

Eric was aware of cold sweat trickling beneath his undershirt.

There might be more to follow. For now however, there were five thousand in all. If they focused on defence, that was by no means a difficult number to drive back.

Eric was still young. Whatever Allion’s true intentions were, the cause of all this was his older brother, Jeremie. When their father, the Grand Duke, passed away, and the position of successor to the throne was snatched away by his younger brother, Jeremie had stolen and made off with the flag of the Magic Dynasty, then begged a powerful country, with which they had ancient ties, to send troops.

Therefore, looking at things from a different angle, this was basically a problem internal to Ende. And so, Eric also felt like having Ende sweep away that number of enemies all by itself, and showing Garbera, Mephius, as well as those coastal countries that were deliberately staying quiet, that ‘there is a new Ende now’.

No, even more than to a group of foreigners, the ones that Eric felt the most strongly that way about was towards those retainers who still doubted his ability.

At that same time, west of Ende’s borders, there was a young man who was facing the same kind of trouble as Eric was.

He was equally in a position where he was poised to shoulder the responsibility of an entire country, he could not fathom his opponent’s real intentions, and he too was hesitant about what attitude to take.

The young man’s name was Gil Mephius.

The reminder is not needed, but his real identity was that of Orba, a former gladiator.

He had only just taken the city of Nedain when an envoy from the emperor had come to see him in person. The message he carried was that: “Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius is invited to come to Solon.”

=== Part 2 ===

Just before seeing the imperial envoy, Orba had met with a different visitor. An unexpected guest, at that.

Late the previous night, a group had turned up in Nedain. All of them were young men. They were dressed in rags, but all were muscular and their speech was rough. The guards at the gate assumed that they were some of the bandits who normally caused chaos along the surrounding highways but who, hearing about the crown prince’s victory, had decided to change jobs and had come to hire themselves out as mercenaries. However –

“Let me see the Imperial Crown Prince at once,” the youth who seemed to be the leader airily said something inconceivable. “I’m an acquaintance of His Highness’,” he insisted, his face dusty and slightly dirt-stained.

“How could a guy like you be acquainted with His Highness? If your mercenary applicants, go straight down this street, then at the end…”

“You’re kind of dim, huh? I told you I want to see him right now. His Highness will rake you over the coals later, you know.”

The gatekeepers were perplexed, but, just as when the former Imperial Guard Alnakk had visited the port city of Birac, Orba had given strict orders to be passed on to every single soldier – “It doesn’t matter how trivial it is. If something catches your attention, report it to your superior.” That posture had already been explained here in Nedain.

Even so, it had not been long since Gil Mephius had arrived in that town. In the end, the report did not reach him until the next day.

It was just after Orba had finished breakfast. When he heard the name by which the young men’s leader had introduced himself, he suddenly seemed lost in thought.

“It appears that this morning as well, they barged their way to the front of the mansion,” said the commander of the guards. “Should we send them away?”

“No, it seems interesting. I’ll see him,” Orba gave his permission.

On top of that, he announced that he would see him, just the two of them. People were surprised, but seeing Gil’s impish smile, they concluded that ''it must be some kind of whim''. There was no longer anyone who called Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius a “fool” – at least not here in Nedain – but there was never any lack of people who judged him to be “eccentric.”

The only one who objected was Pashir, who was currently ensuring Gil’s personal safety virtually single-handedly, but when Orba whispered something in his ear, he immediately withdrew his comment.

A few minutes later, the young man was allowed into the room which had been ordered clear of people.

“Heya, things got really heavy back there,” was the first thing that the very rough-and-tumble youth said upon entering. “That’s a real load of hassle, even just to see an old friend. Oh well, can’t be helped. You’re the crown prince of Mephius now.”

Sharp eyes and a characteristic aquiline nose. He was certainly an “old friend” – of Orba’s, the boy from an arid valley.

Orba himself did not say a word, but the young man sat himself down on a sofa in the room without asking and continued talking excitedly.

“Sorry for being so late. Obviously, I’ve known about the rumours for a while now. That the crown prince of Mephius has risen in revolt against Emperor Guhl. And, also obviously, I’d figured that you were that Crown Prince. Same thing when I first heard about your death: I realised from the start that you’d definitely gone into hiding.”

“...”

“But yeah, that’s Orba for you: not satisfied with being a body-double, you started moving to take over the whole country. That really got my blood pumping. So I wanted to gather some people and rush over at once, but some of the soldiers at Birac’s garrison might know my face. We kind of kicked up a lot of dust around there, you know? Just while I was wondering what to do, suddenly, Nedain had fallen. That was a chance not to be missed, so I just gathered a hundred and we came flying from the village.”

The young man’s name was Doug.

He was a year older than Orba, and in their childhood, they had spent their entire time quarrelling with each other. They shared the same past of having had the Mephian general Oubary Bilan attack their birthplace. Separated for six years, the two of them had met once more in that same native area.

One as the body-double to the crown prince of Mephius.

The other as the leader of bandits who had sworn revenge on Mephius.

The interests and goals of the two of them were aligned, so they lured Oubary Bilan and his troops to the village, killed the soldiers who had fallen into their trap, and captured Oubary himself.

How much time had passed again since then?

Doug looked at Orba with a cheerful expression. At which point, Orba opened his mouth for the first time.

“Why are you here?”

“Why?” For a moment, Doug’s eyes opened round, then immediately afterwards, he laughed, showing his teeth. “Because isn’t it interesting, Orba? I thought that killing those nobles and generals still wouldn’t have been enough to bring satisfaction, but now every single one of them will become your retainers. They’ll obey your orders and offer their lives for you. The quarrelsome brat from that arid valley will become the great emperor of Mephius. What could be more interesting than that? Let me take part in it. An ally knowing your real identity could be useful in an emergency. Officially, of course, I’ll serve as your loyal subordinate. Heh, Orba, I’ll have to call you Crown Prince and even Emperor. Still…”

“''Who are you?''” Orba asked once more. He stared expressionlessly at Doug, who this time was at a loss for words. “Who are you, and who is this Orba whose name you keep using? Who have you been talking about since earlier?”

“I-I get it. I get it. I won’t call you Orba in public. Like I’ve been saying, officially…”

“Ah, I remember,” Orba said unsmilingly. “Aren’t you that bandit from back then? And? It’s true that I borrowed your help to defeat Oubary so have you come to extort a reward? What is it you want: money or women? Just say what you’d like.”

“Wh-What did you say?” Suddenly bursting with anger, Doug got up from the sofa and drew up towards Orba. “Come to extort you? Bullshit. Oi, don’t push it, Orba.”

“I told you that I don’t know that name.” Orba spoke with complete calm, the exact opposite of Doug, whose entire body seemed to be burning like a ball of fire. He took the sword that was at his waist. “Leave at once and never appear before me again. If you defy me, Peasant, know that I’ll throw not just you but also your family and everyone close to you to the fire. Do you understand?”

More than the threats, more than the gleam of the sword taken from its sheath, what caused Doug’s body to freeze instantly was because from up close, there was no trace of warmth in his gaze. Those eyes truly seemed to be looking at a complete stranger, and moreover, they were looking down in utter contempt at the young man whose position was so clearly different from his own.

Orba clapped his hands and summoned Pashir, the only guard he had allowed to remain outside the door.

“Take him away,” he ordered. “Afterwards, have the guards memorise his face. If he shows up again around here, then too bad, he’s to be cut down without mercy.”

“Aye,” answered Pashir, and, seizing Doug by the arm, he forced him to leave.

Although having said that, Doug showed no signs of resisting. He looked towards Orba one last time, but Orba’s attention had already moved on to the documents on the desk.

The door closed.

Left alone, Orba stayed a while without stirring. Inwardly, however, he murmured, Doug?
Maybe he had been dreaming.

Not Doug, for aiming to go up in life – Orba himself.

Now, just before the point when he was about to step on a tightrope from which he could no longer look back, a nostalgic and familiar face had appeared before him, bringing with it the warmth of his home village.

After that, he could have treated him to a drink, and they could have laughed together, reminiscing about old times.

Or else, he could have clapped him on the shoulder, saying, “it’s a real help that you came,” then, with that shoulder to rely on, they could have crossed the tightrope together.

Orba however did neither of those things. Doug was one of those who knew his real identity. You could even call him a person who could affect his fate. The thought even flitted across his mind that as a last resort he could secretly kill him.

But –

''I don’t know anyone called Doug''.

Orba had played dumb.

Since he did not know him, he had sent him away out of hand; since he did not know him, he would not pay any attention to his existence.

''That was just a dream''.

Picking up the sword that he had, for a moment, placed on the desk, Orba gave a small, an ever so small, sigh.

Orba had posted soldiers throughout Nedain and had also personally gone to its outskirts and had them take up defensive positions. This was because they were in a situation in which they did not know when the emperor might dispatch a subjugation force. The circumstances, however, were different than what they had been in Apta or in Birac. In both of those towns, the people’s faces had been tinged with the worry that they might get swallowed up in a large-scale conflict. In Nedain’s case, on the other hand, having just been released from the oppression of the Abigoal family, both the people and the soldiers were full of fighting spirit and were ready to drive away any enemy that might come.

It was at such a time that the emperor’s envoy arrived.

Moreover, he brought not an order demanding that the impostor claiming to be the crown prince deliver up his own head, but an invitation for the “Gil Mephius” who was currently in Nedain to enter Solon, on the grounds that his identity had been thoroughly recognised.

Their side was in turmoil.

If the emperor had sent a host of ten thousand against them, the crown prince’s soldiers gathered in Nedain, as well as its people would, as stated earlier, probably have united as one. But the emperor had clearly ‘backed down’. Perhaps he had realised that the momentum from the crown prince’s side could no longer be stemmed and had grown timid; but, even more than the conviction that they could win, what this had brought was the hope that they would be able to avoid any more useless fighting.

They no longer needed to fight and spill the blood of fellow Mephians. Once that thought emerged, even ever so fleetingly, the wish for peace would easily erode the will to fight, and people’s opinions would come to be divided.

And naturally, among those opinions –

“It’s a trap.”

There was also the one that Rogue Saian had just expressed.

In Nedain Castle, the main officers from the crown prince’s side were gathered in the rectangular room that had once served as Jairus Abigoal’s office.

“I cannot believe that His Majesty would change his mind so suddenly. There is no doubt that this is a trap designed to cause unrest in our camp.”

“Definitely,” Odyne Lorgo agreed. “And in fact, having heard about it, the emotions of the soldiers and the people are swaying. While there are those who are saying that His Majesty is planning to have His Highness assassinated, just as back then in Birac, there are others who claim that to avoid civil war, the crown prince should allow himself to be persuaded to go to Solon.”

“And as soon as the invitation is accepted, His Highness will be captured and executed, without being given a chance to explain or vindicate himself. While we, of course, will be denounced as traitors who supported an impostor.”

“As His Majesty is now, he might just do that.”

“Having said that,” Folker Baran interrupted in a soft tone that yet managed to cut through everyone else, “if he refuses His Majesty’s invitation without a good reason, His Highness will lose the moral high ground.”

Rogue maintained a sullen silence. What had just been pointed out was not something that he had not thought of before. And naturally, Orba shared Folker’s concerns.

Up until now, the emperor had decisively dispatched soldiers against the impostor. Gil Mephius’ cause had become attacking Guhl, presented as “a statesman who does not listen to others”. However, now that he had recognised the prince and had officially summoned him, just as Folker had said, if he refused without a reason that the whole could accept as legitimate, Gil would turn into a traitor bent on devastating the land. And again, naturally, this was no doubt one of the aims on Guhl’s side.

It was for the same reason that he had once left Salamand Fogel to do as he pleased.

Both Rogue and Odyne understood it. Or better said, the “trap” spoken of earlier included that meaning.

“In any case, attending an audience in Solon is too dangerous. We cannot let Your Highness go through with it.”

“Should we send an envoy too?”

“We could suggest a conference somewhere at equal distance between Solon and Nedain.”

“No, that wouldn’t be practical.”

The discussion showed no sign of ending.

Orba had the meeting adjourned for the time being. In the end, he had barely expressed any opinion of his own. However, those who, starting with Rogue, had decided to serve the crown prince were getting used to the personality of their new lord. When he did not say anything, it was because Gil Mephius was deep in thought. At the same time, and while looking entirely expressionless and uninterested, he would carefully listen to his subordinates’ opinions.

And so, everyone stood to attention to see Gil out without a trace of grumbling or discontent.
They could not, however, completely conceal their anxiety and concern about the future.

Orba left the building.

Pashir followed so close behind him that they were almost stuck together. He had also been at the meeting but, like Orba, he had not expressed an opinion. His purpose was purely to be Gil’s guard.

Normally, Orba would irritably shake him off, but now, there had been the incident in Birac. If Pashir had not been there to pay attention to the surroundings, Orba would have died under an assassin’s blade. Although he seemed gloomy about it, Orba could not therefore outright order Pashir to go away.

Pashir suddenly pushed Orba aside and stepped out to stand in front of him.

“What is it?” He barked as three soldiers rushed forward towards them.

They were all different ages, but from their equipment, they seemed to be soldiers serving at Nedain Castle. They all knelt together.

“Please forgive our rudeness, Your Imperial Highness,” the grey-haired soldier breathlessly spoke first. “Everyone is talking about it. That for the sake of we soldiers and of the people, and to avoid war, you intend to go to Solon.”

“I-If you go, His Majesty the emperor will have you killed,” the young and pale-faced soldier said, following which, the soldier in the prime of life cried with a desperately resolute expression –
“Please, if you would, stay here and govern Nedain. All of us are ready to offer our lives to defend you as Your Highness’ spears and shields.”

Pashir quite literally kicked aside their hands, which seemed about to reach out towards Orba’s boots any moment now.

“Get back, you insolent curs. The likes of you lowly soldiers dare to interfere?”

“Wait, Pashir.” Orba quietly caught his massive shoulder. He then bestowed a smile upon the soldiers. “This is proof that everyone is thinking about the future of this country. I am different from my father. I wish to create a country in which everyone can express their opinions without reserve.”

“Aye,” Pashir drew back.

Orba turned to the soldiers next and spoke directly to them. “I don’t plan on giving up my life without resistance. Don’t worry.”

The soldiers lowered their heads as far as they could go. You could sense resolve from each of them, and the older soldier had been moved to tears.

Afterwards, Orba and Pashir climbed up to the top of the ramparts that surrounded Nedain. Sentries were placed on duty here and there, but they were some distance from them.

While enjoying the gentle wind beneath the pale sky, Orba sent Pashir a sidelong glare.

“Don’t force yourself into an act you can’t pull off.”

“You’re the one who got me mixed up in it. It felt like my face was going red.”

“Everyone’s uneasy. If the prince’s attitude isn’t seen to be indomitable, it could create enemies from within.”

Pashir had deliberately taken the role of a savage warrior who could not understand the feelings of the common people.

“It doesn’t suit you,” Orba shook his head. “If it comes to it, I’ll look for a better role for you. You’re a gladiator who climbed up to being an Imperial Guard. It’d be a problem rather if you didn’t have the support of the people and soldiers.”

“Hmm,” Pashir gave a vague nod then. “Was it that bad?” He asked with a serious expression.

Orba turned his head towards the back to stop himself from laughing. A man who was a skilful fighter and an able commander in a battle, but who was not deft by nature; hence why he felt that it ''didn’t suit''. As to who that was referring to, it went without saying.

They climbed down from the ramparts and inspected various points around Nedain. Just before the afternoon, messengers arrived from different quarters, carrying the regular reports from Apta, Birac and Solon. There was no noteworthy new information. According to what he heard from Solon, however, there was a rumour that Kaseria Jamil’s forces would soon arrive at the port of Zonga, north of Ende.

Ende had recently lost its Grand Duke and it was the second prince, Eric, who was to become the successor. When he had first heard that information, not even Orba had been able to conceal his surprise.

''That guy?''

He had fought him in Garbera’s territory. And afterwards, they had met along with the Garberan prince, Zenon.

''He’s young'' – he thought, without actually taking his own age into account. Still, in these turbulent times, there was nothing strange about a young warrior in his twenties becoming a reigning lord from one day to the next.

''If it’s him, will he be able to lead Ende’s army against Allion?''

There was a sequel to the information from Solon: it seemed that Prince Eric of Ende had sent messengers begging Mephius and Garbera for reinforcements. So far, Emperor Guhl had given no sign of replying. Which could be said to be completely natural, given that Mephius was in the middle of a civil war that had split the country in half. They did not have the leeway to help other countries.

There was still more information related to Allion.

Apparently, Allion was approaching Dairan not only by sea, but also overland. Just as Eric had when he had received the news, Orba could not hide his astonishment and groaned inwardly.

When he closed his eyes, it felt as though he could hear the tramping of army boots coming from the east. This was not going to be a transient event.

''There’ll be a large-scale war'' – he felt.

If even just a part of Ende were to be seized, Allion would then have foothold from which to launch an all-out advance on the centre of the continent. The surrounding countries could not indefinitely continue labelling this as someone else’s problem.

With that being said, Mephius and Garbera had yet to recover from the wounds of a decade of war. Would they be able to withstand a war between countries?

''No matter what, Eric has to win this first battle against Allion'' – thought Orba, while he mentally sorted out the information from all the various quarters. If it was for that, he would even consider lending his help by riding to Ende’s assistance himself.

But – first, there was Mephius.

They could not afford a long face-off, like they had after taking Birac. Prolonging the civil war would cause ruin for the people. And if the country was weakened, it would not be able to oppose the increasingly large and carnivorous beast that was Allion. The end result would be that they would be swallowed up, and even the titles of emperor and crown prince, held by the two currently competing, would lose all meaning.

While Orba silently continued to mull over his thoughts, the messenger from Birac held out a letter, saying, “Sir Gowen entrusted me with this.”

The elderly soldier had remained in Birac, where he was organising troops consisting mainly of the new recruits.

His acquaintance with Gowen went back a long way, but this was the first time he had received a letter from him. To be frank, he did not even know if Gowen could read and write. When he unsealed the letter, he saw handwriting about as bad as his own. A wry smile involuntarily crossed his face, but as he read the contents, his expression quickly reverted back to being serious.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Pashir, who was, as usual, sticking close by. “Has there been some kind of movement in Birac?”

“No… It’s about Layla.”

The name was not without relevance to Pashir. He nodded with deliberation.

She who was supposed to be a lady’s maid to Princess Vileena of Garbera had, one evening, lured Crown Prince Gil to an isolated tower and had attempted to kill him with a poisoned dagger. In the process, she had also ushered in quite a few of her comrades. As mentioned previously, if Pashir had not been keeping a close eye on the prince and on Layla, Orba would currently be laid out as a cold corpse.

And yet, at the very last minute, that same Layla had thrown herself in front of him to protect from the assassins’ blades.

''Layla''.

It was a name that Orba had heard even before then. On the very day of her wedding, the crown prince before Orba – in other words, the real Gil Mephius – had claimed the right to the first night from her. He had certainly never expected to meet her like that.

To be more precise, they had met for the first time in a western village. What had a Mephian like her been doing there and how had she come to work as a lady’s maid for the princess?

There were too many puzzling points about it.

More importantly, Orba instinctively sensed that any information she had about the crown prince might prove fatal to him.

Out of necessity, Orba had decided to keep Layla confined in a room in the tower. There had been the option of executing her as the instigator of the assassination attempt, but she was also someone who had once been a lady’s maid to the Garberan princess. He wanted to try and get a detailed explanation from her.

It seemed, however, that Gowen shared his opinion about the threat posed by whatever information Layla might have.

“Given the circumstances, we’ve kept the number of guards at the minimum, but I believe that we can’t continue that way,” said the letter. It then went on to suggest that she be executed.

For a moment, Orba was left speechless by the appealing contents of the note. He felt as though he was seeing a different side to his long-time acquaintance. It was probably not Gowen’s real wish though. In a way, it was similar to the resolve that Orba himself carried.

''You’ll have to bear the burden of an entire country while deceiving everyone around you'' – That also meant being prepared to use any means necessary to protect his secret.

Orba conjured up a mental image of the elderly warrior who had always seemed to, more or less, look out for him ever since back when he had been an overseer of slaves. After adopting Hou Ran, he had been giving off a somewhat “fatherly” atmosphere, which had given Orba and Shique a good laugh.

And he was suggesting that it might be necessary to kill a girl who was around the same age as his “daughter” in order to seal her mouth. This too was a distortion caused by Orba – by the likes of a slave of unknown origin – pretending to be the crown prince.

Orba tore up the letter and went back to the ramparts once again. Pashir silently followed along.

=== Part 3 ===

The sun was setting.

Fields spread out both within and beyond the ramparts. The soil around Nedain was not particularly fertile, but through effort and ingenuity, the people of the fief had continuously improved it; and so, for example, the grapes from this area were contenders for producing the first or second best wine within Mephius.

Lines of soldiers armed with spears and swords could be seen patrolling around the fields. Airships were dotted around here and there, ready to swiftly carry information. Carriers were also stationed at all four corners of the ramparts.

Orba’s gaze suddenly turned towards the east. For a while, he looked hard beyond the pale pink sky.

“How long has it been?”

At those words, which had unintentionally burst from his mouth, Orba felt as though he was seeing clear to his own mind for the first time. Before Pashir could enquire what he meant, he continued, “right, it’s not like it’s got nothing to do with you. Ever since Zaat Quark’s rebellion. When I prevented it and left for Apta with you.”

“Are you talking about Solon?” Pashir asked. “You can’t possibly be thinking of responding to the emperor’s invitation?”

“You were also listening at the council of war, weren’t you? If I stay like this without making a move, I’ll damage my cause and be letting Allion do whatever they please. Apta, Birac, and Nedain would eventually turn against me. The result would just be me bringing about my own ruin. And besides…”

“Besides?”

“Allion is obviously a threat to Mephius but… this could also be taken as a once in a lifetime ‘opportunity’.”

At those words, which had unintentionally burst from his mouth, Orba felt as though he was seeing clear to his own mind for the first time. Before Pashir could enquire what he meant, he continued, “right, it’s not like it’s got nothing to do with you. Ever since Zaat Quark’s rebellion. When I prevented it and left for Apta with you.”

“Are you talking about Solon?” Pashir asked. “You can’t possibly be thinking of responding to the emperor’s invitation?”

“You were also listening at the council of war, weren’t you? If I stay like this without making a move, I’ll damage my cause and be letting Allion do whatever they please. Apta, Birac, and Nedain would eventually turn against me. The result would just be me bringing about my own ruin. And besides…”

“Besides?”

“Allion is obviously a threat to Mephius but… this could also be taken as a once in a lifetime ‘opportunity’.”

Orba was saying that being pressed by Allion meant being helplessly cornered into destroying a favourable situation. And yet, he declared that it was also an “opportunity”. Pashir could not understand his thoughts.

He did not understand, but –

“You’re not saying that you’re planning on just handing over your life, right?” There was one thing that he single-mindedly could not let go of.

“I’m not planning on going there to let myself be killed.”

“Same thing. Have you forgotten the assassination attempt in Birac? It’s obvious the emperor had a hand in it.”

“Now that he’s openly summoned me, he won’t be thinking of using assassination.”

“Don’t be stupid,” yet a smile flitted across Pashir’s slightly bruised and battered face. “Hasn’t the emperor of Mephius lost touch with common sense? That’s why people like General Rogue or General Folker are willing to follow you.”

“Yeah. But somehow, I feel like I understand.”

“You understand?”

“What Guhl was thinking when he summoned me.”

At this point, the emperor was probably feeling that they had reached a stalemate. Mephius’ centre of trade had been stolen from him and, following closely on the heels of that defeat, his loyal subject, Simon, had died, which in turn had started to sow dissent among his retainers. The emperor had then been unable to dispatch the reinforcements he had planned to send to Nedain, as a result of which, even that town had fallen to the crown prince’s side. Assassination – his last resort – had also failed, and he could no longer use the same method for fear of rumours spreading to Solon.

In terms of the military potential that each held, the emperor still had the advantage. However, a ‘wind’ which was not so easy to overturn was blowing throughout all of Mephius. It had been raised by Orba himself who had successively taken Apta, Birac, and Nedain; it had been supported by Rogue, Odyne and Folker, who had aided his advance; and finally, it had been protected by Princess Vileena, who had turned back Salamand, an invader into Mephian territory.

In a way, from when he had decided to rise up as the crown prince in Apta, what Orba had set his sights on was – ''how can I stir up more ‘wind’ and ‘waves’?'' For now, it could be said that he had accomplished that goal.

And the emperor desired a meeting with Gil simply because he could no longer afford to ignore that influence. ''Since things have turned out this way, I should meet him in person and show the retainers our difference in might'' – was probably what he was thinking.

In a sense, it would be a duel.

“You say you understand?” Pashir spoke half in exasperation. “What do you understand? You weren’t born to royalty and Guhl’s not your real father. In the first place, you’re not even that well-acquainted with Guhl.”

Orba deliberately did not answer. Just as Pashir had pointed out, the environment in which Orba and Guhl had been born and raised were as different as heaven and earth. It was a fact that they were fighting like this simply because their thoughts and their vision of the future were at odds.

Yet even so, Orba felt that – ''I would think the same thing if I was in Guhl’s situation''.

Neither moving troops nor killing in secret. In a situation where the wind was blowing in the enemy’s favour daily, and Allion, a powerful outside foe, was approaching, he too would want a direct confrontation. He also would, after baiting the newcomer jeopardising his position, use the authority of his own accumulated achievements and experience, in front of the assembled retainers, to verbally corner his opponent.

''The final gamble'' – he too shared that thought.

For all that he said that it was great opportunity, he privately thought that his own strength might not be enough. Beyond that, he could only leave things to the ‘wave’ that he had himself raised.
The messenger that Guhl had sent proved that he had successfully managed to move ‘time’. It was time to see the conclusion through with his own eyes.

“Don’t be stupid,” repeated Pashir. “You think the retainers, who’ve shut their eyes to Guhl’s tyranny this long, are suddenly going to awaken to a sense of honour? That the nobles that you used to hate enough to kill are now going to protect you from the emperor? That soft way of thinking isn’t like you.”

“Guess not,” Orba answered shortly, then laughed unintentionally. He thought it had been a long time since his gladiator self had been in contact with Pashir. “But you know, Pashir… The ones who carry a country are its people. Is it really so foolish to entrust your life and future to those people’s feelings?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I won’t go unprepared. Even if something happens to me, I’ll get ready what’s needed to prevent a war between Mephius and the west, and to drive the emperor further into a corner.”

Orba’s expression looked strangely refreshed. With the fervour for fighting gone from it, his appearance truly matched his age and he looked like a boy who had thought up a way of pulling a silly prank. It seemed to just fan the flames of Pashir’s anger though.

“If something happens,” the long-serving swordsman’s voice grew harsh. “When anything happens to you, it’ll mean ruin for all the rest of us. For the generals and soldiers who joined you because they believe in you, obviously, but also for their families who’ll be put in danger again.”

“I know. And it’s a gamble. But no matter what, we can’t stay in a stand-off with the capital like this. I’ve already said it, but if we draw things out now, we’ll lose the moral high ground and allow Allion to do whatever it likes. I chose to go to war with the emperor so as to protect Taúlia. This time, I’ve got to go to Solon to protect Mephius. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing. There’s got to be another way.”

“Pashir, this isn’t a fight which will be over once the emperor has been brought down. Looking at what happens after that, then no matter what…”

“It’s too dangerous. For everyone. So I can’t let you carry on like that. ‘No matter what’.”

His expression still harsh, Pashir started to draw the sword at his waist. His intention was clear.
Orba however made no move in response. He gave a half-smile.

“And, what are you going to do? Kill me? You’re the one who said that everyone will be annihilated if I die, right?”

“Yeah, I won’t kill you. But I can cut off your arms and legs so that you can’t just do as you please,” said Pashir. “And after that, I’ll pull your tongue out. So that you won’t be able to say too much afterwards.”

“…”

Hearing the stern verdict, Orba wiped the amused expression from his face. Pashir was saying that he only needed to be alive. He was saying that the crown prince’s figure and life alone were enough to be a flag for those who followed him.

Pashir continued his now half-unsheathed sword. “What is it. Not saying anything? Don’t you have enough resolve to step over my corpse?”

“Pashir.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v11 061.jpg|thumb]]

Orba softly called out. He quietly stretched out his hand and touched Pashir’s sinewy, log-like arm. He had once been known as “Strong-armed”, an undefeated gladiator.

“I’m going,” Orba was almost whispering. “If you have things you want to protect enough to step over my corpse to do so, then you can just slash me in the back. I won’t resist.”

After he had finished speaking, he turned his back towards Pashir.

He walked one step, then two.

Behind him, he could feel Pashir’s presence like a scorching wind. Any moment now, it might transform into steel and rain down on Orba from above.

''Right, this is the final gamble'' – thought Orba, as he continued to walk further and further away.

In the distance, he could hear what seemed to be the voices of young men and women singing a popular song.

''If I can’t move ‘time’ from here on out, nothing will change''.

He and Mephius would perish together… In choosing to see things that way, Orba was urging on his own resolve and actions.

His feet arrived at the staircase. The presence was still there, ferocity rolling like flames from it, but, in the end, Pashir had not moved from where he was.

Just before the sun had finished fully setting, Orba, having left Pashir, went to see Fedom, who had arrived in Nedain just the other day. Nedain was geographically closer to the capital and the lord of Birac was desperate to gather information there.

“A letter came from Indolph.” Fedom’s tone made clear his pride in this achievement. “It looks like that man will soon have resolved himself to finally take action. It’ll be exactly as I said. When Indolph’s forces also make their move, and threaten the capital from the rear, the other lords will have no choice but to clarify their standpoint.”

Fedom Aulin’s eyes were gleaming. The long-cherished desire that he had concealed in his breast was now right before his eyes; and in his current frame of mind, he felt as though he was conscious when sleeping, and dreaming when awake.

Actually, it was clear from his appearance that he was hardly sleeping at all. And because he was in that state, when he first heard Orba say “even so, I’m thinking of leaving here tomorrow and going to the capital,” after first gaping at him, Fedom then burst out laughing as though he had just heard a good joke.

But when it gradually dawned on him that Orba was serious, his face flushed bright red with rage. His ferocity was every bit as intense as Pashir’s, who had drawn a steel sword to stop Orba, and it seemed as though, at any moment, he might reach out his thick arms to seize him by the neck and strangle him to death.

“T-This is the limit,” Fedom screamed, wheezing and gasping for breath. “I’m not letting you do whatever you like, you bastard. What do you think you’re saying at this point? You can’t just do whatever you like right before my greatest ambition comes true! Bah, I won’t listen to anything more you say. You’re not going even if I have to tie you down!”

“Now, now, calm down.”

''You’re the one trying to do whatever you like'' – thought Orba, although he did not actually say it out loud.

“I don’t think it would bad for you, though.”

“W-What?”

“Your worry is that after I nonchalantly stroll into the capital, my real identity will be exposed and I’ll be killed, right?”

“Of course it is. If your past as a gladiator became known at this point in time, not only would you lose your life, but all the resolve and expectations gathered around you would all come to nothing!”

“I wonder…” Orba brushed his hair back. “Saying that everything would be spoiled seems like such an exaggeration.”

“Bastard, what are you saying, even now you’re not taking your position into…”

“Even if I died, ''you’re'' in the crown prince’s camp, aren’t you? You, Fedom Aulin.”

“W-What?”

Orba faced the lord of Birac, who was blinking in confusion.

“Apta, Birac, Nedain. Even if I die, their strength won’t just abruptly fall to the emperor’s side. On the contrary, if you raise the cry for a war of revenge for the crown prince, even more soldiers than now will gather, and it might even give rise to conspirators within Solon itself. Right – after the crown prince’s death, all the soldiers assembled in the three cities would become yours.”

“…”

“And the hero who would take command of that entire army to take Solon and at long last liberate Mephius from the unjust emperor would be none other than you, Fedom Aulin. That could be what happens.”

Fedom gulped. Having swallowed too much of his own saliva, he was seized by a brief but violent coughing fit.

“R-Ridiculous,” his eyes were still teary. “If your real identity is revealed in the capital, that’ll be the end of it. Who would rally to a war of revenge for the likes of a slave?”

“There are as many possible explanations as you like. For example: ‘to show his contempt for the crown prince who had become a threat to him, the emperor deliberately had him murdered then branded his back so as to lie about his real identity.’ After that, well, Fedom, you’re a guy who’s usually proud of your own abilities. Wouldn’t you be able to convince everyone to follow you through your words and attitude? The emperor’s cruel and inhuman behaviour would be highlighted even further than before my death, and would actually make it easier to take action. You of all people aren’t going to tell me that’s impossible, right?”

Fedom was still breathing raggedly, but the reason for that seemed to be somewhat different from earlier. He peered closely into Orba’s face.

“You said ‘even further than before my death’…? You’re talking exactly as though you didn’t care in the slightest about your own life.”

“Wasn’t I originally picked up by you? If you hadn’t appeared at Tarkas’ Gladiator Group back then, riding a Tengo in such a great hurry – back when it wouldn’t have occurred to me for even a second that you had the outrageous plan of using a slave to replace the crown prince – I would still be wielding a sword every day as a gladiator, drenched in sweat and fighting desperate, bloody battles. Or no, after close to two years of that, maybe my devil’s luck would already have run out and the sand of the coliseum would be absorbing my blood around about now.”

“…”

“Say, this is getting tedious: forget my enemies, I’m even being doubted by my allies. More importantly, it would be best for you to take action. Isn’t that right? Lord Fedom?”

Orba gazed almost affectionately at the man in front of him. Right, as a matter of fact, he did feel affection for this man, Fedom Aulin.

Just as he himself had said, if this man had not existed, he himself would not be where he was now.

''If this man was smarter than he actually is, or even just a little bit less prudent…'' Then that overly-ambitious plan would have collapsed in no time, and Orba and Fedom’s severed heads would have been lining the road to Solon by now, each adorning the tip of a spear.

Although, of course, there would be no end to it if one were to discuss that sort of thing. If, at that time, his prediction had been off even by a little; if, at that time, he had not met that person; if, at that time, the sword had slipped in his sweaty hands…

Out of the tens of thousands of possible paths, the he who was here now had picked only one to follow to the end.

Orba engraved that awareness into his mind.

That evening, Orba summoned Rogue, Odyne, and Folker to Nedain Castle.

It took him about twice as long to explain the same thing that he had told Pashir. General Rogue of the Dawnlight Wings Division opposed it with the vehemence of a raging fire. General Odyne of the Silver Axe Division revealed a distressed and conflicted expression, while General Folker of the Black Steel Sword Division remained silent from beginning to end.

“Y-Your Highness, that is the one thing… the one thing you must not do,” Rogue Saian repeated it time and time again.

In that, it was similar to the times with Pashir and Fedom. Naturally, Orba had not been expecting them to just silently see him off. He listened to the veteran general’s spirited persuasion for a while, then –

“Rogue,” he addressed him softly. “What do you think is the one thing that we cannot lose sight of in this fight of ours?”

“That…” Rogue Saian’s voice choked up, “the banner that we raised.”

“Right. And that is not me myself,” asserted Orba. “It isn’t me but the cause that impels me to take action. If the hearts of the people doubt our cause, then we are already as good as defeated. We will be letting Guhl Mephius ridicule us without even putting up a fight, and we will bear the disgrace of being remembered in history, I as the Impostor Crown Prince, and you as rebels.”

The generals had not, of course, imagined that the crown prince would choose of his own free will to travel to the imperial capital.

At the same time, however, the three of them were not as inflexible in their opposition to his going to Solon as Pashir and Fedom had been. After all, none of Mephius’ stalwart generals knew the real name of the man before them. They believed that he was the legitimate inheritor of the imperial family’s bloodline, Gil Mephius. And so, at no point had they experienced the fear that Pashir and Fedom held about his real identity being exposed.

“This is no longer the time to raise our swords against our fellow countrymen. It’s been a harsh road up until now because of that. From now on, what we need to do is to demonstrate our resolve. Rogue, don’t take me for a plague-ridden coward. Don’t take me for a mere fool who continues to make a show of savage courage without knowing how to read the signs of the times. Don’t take me for a criminal who continues to spill the blood of his countrymen. Well, there’s no helping whatever future historians might say, but now, here and now, here and now, we cannot lose the hearts and trust of the people.”

Rogue’s eyes were glistening with tears. He was, of course, well able to read the signs of the times. Up until now, he had been desperately racking his brains to try and come up with a way to improve the situation other than by having the crown prince personally go to Solon. However, no matter what new plan or strategy he came up with, he could not find in it that which Gil Mephius himself had just spoken of: the very “cause” that Rogue also adhered to.

In the end, he had no choice but to despairingly nod in consent.

Gazing at his despondently drooping head of white hair, Orba remained deliberately expressionless, then rose from his seat.

“Rogue, Odyne, Folker – you will stay here in Nedain and ensure its defence along with Raymond Peacelow. Yuriah’s fleet, bolstered by Walt’s ground forces, will regroup in Birac.”

The generals stood up and clicked their heels before the “Crown Prince”.

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume11_Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin_no_Monshou:Volume11_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume11 Chapter1

2017-12-08T17:20:27Z

Double Check: Present continuous. Duplicate sentences.

==Chapter 1: Rumblings==

=== Part 1 ===

The city of Dairan, at the northernmost tip of Ende, was defended by high ramparts that protected it from invasion by the nomadic northern tribes. These nomadic tribes were divided into numerous clans and usually lived as they pleased. However, they would occasionally commit piracy along their southern coast, and occasionally attempt to trample into Ende’s territory. The trend to their movements was utterly unfathomable: sometimes they would go a year or two without taking any action, while at other times, there would be two attacks within a month.

Eric Le Doria, who was to be the next Grand Duke of Ende, had often fought them beyond Dairan’s protective ramparts. From a very young age, he had been entrusted to the care of the Plutos family – who had governed Dairan for generation after generation – and in that wild and rough land, he had fought to his utmost with sword and gun, and had learned of that joy that was second to none; of gathering with his comrades around the campfire after battle, still covered in the blood of his foes, to boast together of their feats.

Given this particularity, Dairan was clearly at odds with the “aristocratic” traits that were prized by other Endeans – traits such as dressing splendidly or never ostensibly injuring another person, but instead preferring to exchange verbal quips laced with lethal doses of poison.

To take other examples, Safia, the capital of the Grand Duchy, was known throughout the world as the “Water Capital” and was recognised as a city of great artistic value. The high walls that surrounded Dairan, however, were rough-hewn and inelegant, and the people who came and went from the city wore simple clothes. In Safia, men and women alike weaved their long hair into whatever complicated style they preferred, but here, that was rare.

In plain words, it was the sticks, and among the nobles that filled Safia, many mocked Dairan as a “remote frontier” and a “land of savages”.

Walking through Dairan, everywhere you went, you would hear the yells of men training in the military arts, and under the eaves of the houses, you would frequently see women doing laundry or peeling vegetables.

Just then, the men, dripping with sweat, suddenly halted their arms that were swinging spears. The women, who had been trampling the spread-out laundry, also stopped the movement of their white legs, and the young girls hurriedly corrected their seating posture.

“Lord Eric,” voices called out all along the street, and Eric answered them with a smile.

The Second Prince always openly asserted that Dairan was his home. His personality was much closer to that of a warrior of the Plutos House than to one of Ende’s leading aristocrat; and on top of that, he had only recently exterminated the wild dragons that that had attacked Dairan. And so, the people there adored him.

When they heard that he had been chosen as the next Grand Duke, this rustic town, with its simple and unaffected creeds and its lingering scent of earth, was engulfed in three days and three nights of revelry, its people delirious with joy.

It did not even last ten days.

The people had particularly rejoiced at the fact that the future Grand Duke would be visiting Dairan. Eric, however, did not come to his “home” dressed in fine clothes for a triumphal return. Because they were well-aware of this, Dairan’s populace did not create more of a fanfare than necessary.

War is coming.

Moreover, it was not because of an attack by the nomadic tribes. The great eastern country of Allion had dispatched its troops; and far from there being any reason to celebrate, Dairan, or better said, Ende itself, was facing an unprecedented crisis.

Allion’s air carriers were already moored to the north of Ende, in the port city of Zonga. These were probably no more than an advance supply unit, but a force of two thousand led by Kaseria Jamil was said to currently be at sea.

Right now, all of Ende was focused on getting ready for the impending war. Eric had come to Dairan to prepare for when Allion’s troops would depart from northern Zonga, but he could not remain there indefinitely.

In the old days, all he needed to focus on when war was about to break out was the war itself. Back when he had fought the nomadic tribes or planned the invasion of Garbera, he would only worry about organising the troops, ensuring provisions, or various concerns related to weapons inspection or maintaining his comrades’ morale.

Now however, Eric was the future Grand Duke. Other than the preparations directly involving battle, there was a pile of things he needed to attend to. Beyond the battlefield, he needed to extend his gaze to all of Ende and keep a close eye on the surrounding countries.

On top of that, although he had been nominated as the next Grand Duke upon the death of his father, it could not be said that he was standing on firm footing. Having spent more time in Dairan than in Safia, Eric felt considerably estranged from the leading figures who supported the country.

Naturally, he had no choice but to travel back and forth to the capital. He had arrived in Dairan just the day before yesterday, but would soon be returning to Safia.

''Kaseria. Just how serious are you about taking Ende, you bastard?'' His enemy’s true feelings and intentions were as yet impossible to know.

He had already obtained information that, while his older brother, Jeremie, had implored its help by claiming that “the descendants of the Magic Dynasty should be brought together,” not all of Allion welcomed this situation which had given them a good pretext for invading Ende. Or rather, it seemed that only Allion’s First Prince, Kaseria Jamil, was enthusiastic about this war.

''Are they simply intending to demonstrate Allion’s influence at the centre of the continent through one battle, or is Kaseria the vanguard, with Allion’s entire army set to move after all?''

At no point, while out in public, did Eric wipe off his forthright smile, but in the depths of night, alone in his bed, there was a distinct crease between his brows.

One of the reasons for that was that their last ray of hope – the response from the northern coastal countries – was slow to arrive. It had been almost ten days since they had sent a request for help by fast air carrier, but they had still received no answer.

''Has Allion already gotten to them or are they like me, they don’t know what Allion’s real intention is?''

It was the same for Garbera and Mephius as well. From intelligence sent by spies, he understood that problems had arisen in both of those countries. Forget about sending aid to Ende, it would not be strange if fighting were to break out between the two of them.

In the worst possible situation, Ende would have to confront Kaseria’s troops alone and under the sole command of Eric, who had not yet even become ruler.

''The enemy has two thousand at sea. There doesn’t seem to have been any further activity in Allion’s ports, and reinforcements probably wouldn’t come by the overland route''.

The country of Ryalide stretched out between Ende and Allion. Although militarily, it was only a small country, he did not believe that Allion would want to increase the number of its enemies on its way to Ende.

“In that case…”

They just needed to be prepared.

Eric dragged his sword near his pillow and fell asleep hugging its sheath. It was a habit he had developed over the last ten days.

Early the next morning, Eric awoke with his eyes wide open and headed out of the Plutos mansion. He was going to a well near the stable to wash his face. The elderly soldier guarding the stable looked sleepy, but he seemed surprised and stood at attention when he saw Eric. He was a long-time acquaintance from his childhood, and Eric grinned at him and stopped to exchange some idle chit-chat.

“Lord Eric,” a voice called out then. It was not that of a soldier. Turning around, he saw two young sisters.

“Thil, Reen,” Eric smiled as he said their names.

The two of them gave him deep bows. Bowing deeply to nobles was the custom in Ende, but as neither of them was ten years old yet, their movements were an exaggerated imitation of what adults did. The younger sister bent so far forward that her back was almost parallel to the ground.

They were the daughters of Darowkin Plutos, the eldest son of Kayness Plutos, the current head of the family. For Eric, who had spent so long in Dairan, Kayness was like a second father to him, and so, he thought of the two little girls practically as his own nieces.

“You have risen very early, Prince,” Thil, the older sister, spoke with punctilious courtesy.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v11 029.jpg|thumb]]

“You can’t call him ‘Prince’ anymore. Because he’s already become the Grand Duke,” Reen, the younger sister, pointed out.

Of the two sisters, the older often acted like a grown-up. And when Reen always took her up on any mistakes, Thil would then protest with faint tears in her eyes. Such was the relationship between them. Eric smiled involuntarily.

“Neither is wrong. I’m still a prince, but I also bear the duties of the next Grand Duke.”

“Right, you see, Reen. I wasn’t wrong after all.”

“That’s because adults always take Thil’s side.”

“I don’t want to fight in front of the prince. Go play over there. I’ll even lend you my doll.”

“Those are two different things!”

Reen galloped off, laughing. Even if she pretended to be an adult, she was still only seven years old. Her steps were always light, and she was always cheerful.

Left behind, her older sister, Thil, once again bowed towards Eric.

“Prince, will Dairan become a battlefield again?” She asked with a serious expression.

For all that she was young, she was a daughter of the Plutos House. There was no doubt that she had been quick to sense that a war was approaching, and that it would be harsher and more violent than usual. Eric’s expression also changed. He was a man who could not deceive anyone, not even children.

“I don’t plan to let that happen. But a good warrior prepares for every situation. All the men in Dairan are like that. If it does happen though, you have to protect your little sister Reen.”

“Yes,” Thil meekly nodded her head.

The same day, at dusk, they received new information from a reconnaissance party that had been sent to Zonga.

“The troops led by Prince Kaseria will apparently arrive at the port of Zonga the day after tomorrow.”

''Is this it?'' Eric braced himself as all of Dairan came under grew tense. ''Will they start by sending a messenger to keep the appearance of a just cause? Or is Kaseria so desperate for blood that he’ll advance regardless?''

Simply waiting did not suit his personality and his impatience was getting worse. He felt the impulse to sally forth and attack right now, however –

“The first thing you need to do is set your priorities, Lord Eric.” Kayness Plutos, the current lord of Dairan, spoke calmly. “Determine what is important and laugh off what is trivial. The ruler of a country and the commander of an army are two different things. It would be best to display composure and return to Safia for a while.”

“But, Sir Kayness…”

“Otherwise, the grandees in Safia will forget your face, Lord Eric,” Kaynes gave a soft chuckle. “First, there are things that need getting used to. Such as the mutual relationship between lord and retainer.”

Certainly, being away from the capital for too long also left Eric feeling anxious. Among the retainers who had remained at the palace, not a few of them had previously supported his brother, Jeremie. In order not to create an unfavourable atmosphere, and also for the sake of once more gathering information about the two countries of Mephius and Garbera, he conceded that he needed to return to Safia for a while.

Entrusting the command of the defence force to Kayness, Eric boarded an air carrier. Immediately upon arriving at Safia, he found another piece of information awaiting him.

“Allion’s second wave of troops?” Eric unconsciously repeated the contents out loud.

A second unit was crossing from the east by the overland route. The country of Ryalide should have been an obstacle to any military expedition, but it had apparently thrown open all the barriers along its highways and was allowing a troop of three thousand of Allion’s soldiers to pass through.

“Did they yield under pressure?”

If they did not comply, those troops could be used to set a small country like Ryalide ablaze – had that kind of threat been applied?

Eric, however, had genuinely believed that Allion would not push forward with that kind of violent diplomatic pressure. No matter how powerful a country was, displaying such a high-handed attitude was dangerous. One step wrong and they would induce a sense of impending crisis, which might lead their surroundings to spread an encircling net around Allion, which in turn would hinder them not only militarily, but would also disrupt their trade.

''Which means…''

Kaseria Jamil was serious?

Eric was aware of cold sweat trickling beneath his undershirt.

There might be more to follow. For now however, there were five thousand in all. If they focused on defence, that was by no means a difficult number to drive back.

Eric was still young. Whatever Allion’s true intentions were, the cause of all this was his older brother, Jeremie. When their father, the Grand Duke, passed away, and the position of successor to the throne was snatched away by his younger brother, Jeremie had stolen and made off with the flag of the Magic Dynasty, then begged a powerful country, with which they had ancient ties, to send troops.

Therefore, looking at things from a different angle, this was basically a problem internal to Ende. And so, Eric also felt like having Ende sweep away that number of enemies all by itself, and showing Garbera, Mephius, as well as those coastal countries that were deliberately staying quiet, that ‘there is a new Ende now’.

No, even more than to a group of foreigners, the ones that Eric felt the most strongly that way about was towards those retainers who still doubted his ability.

At that same time, west of Ende’s borders, there was a young man who was facing the same kind of trouble as Eric was.

He was equally in a position where he was poised to shoulder the responsibility of an entire country, he could not fathom his opponent’s real intentions, and he too was hesitant about what attitude to take.

The young man’s name was Gil Mephius.

The reminder is not needed, but his real identity was that of Orba, a former gladiator.

He had only just taken the city of Nedain when an envoy from the emperor had come to see him in person. The message he carried was that: “Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius is invited to come to Solon.”

=== Part 2 ===

Just before seeing the imperial envoy, Orba had met with a different visitor. An unexpected guest, at that.

Late the previous night, a group had turned up in Nedain. All of them were young men. They were dressed in rags, but all were muscular and their speech was rough. The guards at the gate assumed that they were some of the bandits who normally caused chaos along the surrounding highways but who, hearing about the crown prince’s victory, had decided to change jobs and had come to hire themselves out as mercenaries. However –

“Let me see the Imperial Crown Prince at once,” the youth who seemed to be the leader airily said something inconceivable. “I’m an acquaintance of His Highness’,” he insisted, his face dusty and slightly dirt-stained.

“How could a guy like you be acquainted with His Highness? If your mercenary applicants, go straight down this street, then at the end…”

“You’re kind of dim, huh? I told you I want to see him right now. His Highness will rake you over the coals later, you know.”

The gatekeepers were perplexed, but, just as when the former Imperial Guard Alnakk had visited the port city of Birac, Orba had given strict orders to be passed on to every single soldier – “It doesn’t matter how trivial it is. If something catches your attention, report it to your superior.” That posture had already been explained here in Nedain.

Even so, it had not been long since Gil Mephius had arrived in that town. In the end, the report did not reach him until the next day.

It was just after Orba had finished breakfast. When he heard the name by which the young men’s leader had introduced himself, he suddenly seemed lost in thought.

“It appears that this morning as well, they barged their way to the front of the mansion,” said the commander of the guards. “Should we send them away?”

“No, it seems interesting. I’ll see him,” Orba gave his permission.

On top of that, he announced that he would see him, just the two of them. People were surprised, but seeing Gil’s impish smile, they concluded that ''it must be some kind of whim''. There was no longer anyone who called Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius a “fool” – at least not here in Nedain – but there was never any lack of people who judged him to be “eccentric.”

The only one who objected was Pashir, who was currently ensuring Gil’s personal safety virtually single-handedly, but when Orba whispered something in his ear, he immediately withdrew his comment.

A few minutes later, the young man was allowed into the room which had been ordered clear of people.

“Heya, things got really heavy back there,” was the first thing that the very rough-and-tumble youth said upon entering. “That’s a real load of hassle, even just to see an old friend. Oh well, can’t be helped. You’re the crown prince of Mephius now.”

Sharp eyes and a characteristic aquiline nose. He was certainly an “old friend” – of Orba’s, the boy from an arid valley.

Orba himself did not say a word, but the young man sat himself down on a sofa in the room without asking and continued talking excitedly.

“Sorry for being so late. Obviously, I’ve known about the rumours for a while now. That the crown prince of Mephius has risen in revolt against Emperor Guhl. And, also obviously, I’d figured that you were that Crown Prince. Same thing when I first heard about your death: I realised from the start that you’d definitely gone into hiding.”

“...”

“But yeah, that’s Orba for you: not satisfied with being a body-double, you started moving to take over the whole country. That really got my blood pumping. So I wanted to gather some people and rush over at once, but some of the soldiers at Birac’s garrison might know my face. We kind of kicked up a lot of dust around there, you know? Just while I was wondering what to do, suddenly, Nedain had fallen. That was a chance not to be missed, so I just gathered a hundred and we came flying from the village.”

The young man’s name was Doug.

He was a year older than Orba, and in their childhood, they had spent their entire time quarrelling with each other. They shared the same past of having had the Mephian general Oubary Bilan attack their birthplace. Separated for six years, the two of them had met once more in that same native area.

One as the body-double to the crown prince of Mephius.

The other as the leader of bandits who had sworn revenge on Mephius.

The interests and goals of the two of them were aligned, so they lured Oubary Bilan and his troops to the village, killed the soldiers who had fallen into their trap, and captured Oubary himself.

How much time had passed again since then?

Doug looked at Orba with a cheerful expression. At which point, Orba opened his mouth for the first time.

“Why are you here?”

“Why?” For a moment, Doug’s eyes opened round, then immediately afterwards, he laughed, showing his teeth. “Because isn’t it interesting, Orba? I thought that killing those nobles and generals still wouldn’t have been enough to bring satisfaction, but now every single one of them will become your retainers. They’ll obey your orders and offer their lives for you. The quarrelsome brat from that arid valley will become the great emperor of Mephius. What could be more interesting than that? Let me take part in it. An ally knowing your real identity could be useful in an emergency. Officially, of course, I’ll serve as your loyal subordinate. Heh, Orba, I’ll have to call you Crown Prince and even Emperor. Still…”

“''Who are you?''” Orba asked once more. He stared expressionlessly at Doug, who this time was at a loss for words. “Who are you, and who is this Orba whose name you keep using? Who have you been talking about since earlier?”

“I-I get it. I get it. I won’t call you Orba in public. Like I’ve been saying, officially…”

“Ah, I remember,” Orba said unsmilingly. “Aren’t you that bandit from back then? And? It’s true that I borrowed your help to defeat Oubary so have you come to extort a reward? What is it you want: money or women? Just say what you’d like.”

“Wh-What did you say?” Suddenly bursting with anger, Doug got up from the sofa and drew up towards Orba. “Come to extort you? Bullshit. Oi, don’t push it, Orba.”

“I told you that I don’t know that name.” Orba spoke with complete calm, the exact opposite of Doug, whose entire body seemed to be burning like a ball of fire. He took the sword that was at his waist. “Leave at once and never appear before me again. If you defy me, Peasant, know that I’ll throw not just you but also your family and everyone close to you to the fire. Do you understand?”

More than the threats, more than the gleam of the sword taken from its sheath, what caused Doug’s body to freeze instantly was because from up close, there was no trace of warmth in his gaze. Those eyes truly seemed to be looking at a complete stranger, and moreover, they were looking down in utter contempt at the young man whose position was so clearly different from his own.

Orba clapped his hands and summoned Pashir, the only guard he had allowed to remain outside the door.

“Take him away,” he ordered. “Afterwards, have the guards memorise his face. If he shows up again around here, then too bad, he’s to be cut down without mercy.”

“Aye,” answered Pashir, and, seizing Doug by the arm, he forced him to leave.

Although having said that, Doug showed no signs of resisting. He looked towards Orba one last time, but Orba’s attention had already moved on to the documents on the desk.

The door closed.

Left alone, Orba stayed a while without stirring. Inwardly, however, he murmured, Doug?
Maybe he had been dreaming.

Not Doug, for aiming to go up in life – Orba himself.

Now, just before the point when he was about to step on a tightrope from which he could no longer look back, a nostalgic and familiar face had appeared before him, bringing with it the warmth of his home village.

After that, he could have treated him to a drink, and they could have laughed together, reminiscing about old times.

Or else, he could have clapped him on the shoulder, saying, “it’s a real help that you came,” then, with that shoulder to rely on, they could have crossed the tightrope together.

Orba however did neither of those things. Doug was one of those who knew his real identity. You could even call him a person who could affect his fate. The thought even flitted across his mind that as a last resort he could secretly kill him.

But –

''I don’t know anyone called Doug''.

Orba had played dumb.

Since he did not know him, he had sent him away out of hand; since he did not know him, he would not pay any attention to his existence.

''That was just a dream''.

Picking up the sword that he had, for a moment, placed on the desk, Orba gave a small, an ever so small, sigh.

Orba had posted soldiers throughout Nedain and had also personally gone to its outskirts and had them take up defensive positions. This was because they were in a situation in which they did not know when the emperor might dispatch a subjugation force. The circumstances, however, were different than what they had been in Apta or in Birac. In both of those towns, the people’s faces had been tinged with the worry that they might get swallowed up in a large-scale conflict. In Nedain’s case, on the other hand, having just been released from the oppression of the Abigoal family, both the people and the soldiers were full of fighting spirit and were ready to drive away any enemy that might come.

It was at such a time that the emperor’s envoy arrived.

Moreover, he brought not an order demanding that the impostor claiming to be the crown prince deliver up his own head, but an invitation for the “Gil Mephius” who was currently in Nedain to enter Solon, on the grounds that his identity had been thoroughly recognised.

Their side was in turmoil.

If the emperor had sent a host of ten thousand against them, the crown prince’s soldiers gathered in Nedain, as well as its people would, as stated earlier, probably have united as one. But the emperor had clearly ‘backed down’. Perhaps he had realised that the momentum from the crown prince’s side could no longer be stemmed and had grown timid; but, even more than the conviction that they could win, what this had brought was the hope that they would be able to avoid any more useless fighting.

They no longer needed to fight and spill the blood of fellow Mephians. Once that thought emerged, even ever so fleetingly, the wish for peace would easily erode the will to fight, and people’s opinions would come to be divided.

And naturally, among those opinions –

“It’s a trap.”

There was also the one that Rogue Saian had just expressed.

In Nedain Castle, the main officers from the crown prince’s side were gathered in the rectangular room that had once served as Jairus Abigoal’s office.

“I cannot believe that His Majesty would change his mind so suddenly. There is no doubt that this is a trap designed to cause unrest in our camp.”

“Definitely,” Odyne Lorgo agreed. “And in fact, having heard about it, the emotions of the soldiers and the people are swaying. While there are those who are saying that His Majesty is planning to have His Highness assassinated, just as back then in Birac, there are others who claim that to avoid civil war, the crown prince should allow himself to be persuaded to go to Solon.”

“And as soon as the invitation is accepted, His Highness will be captured and executed, without being given a chance to explain or vindicate himself. While we, of course, will be denounced as traitors who supported an impostor.”

“As His Majesty is now, he might just do that.”

“Having said that,” Folker Baran interrupted in a soft tone that yet managed to cut through everyone else, “if he refuses His Majesty’s invitation without a good reason, His Highness will lose the moral high ground.”

Rogue maintained a sullen silence. What had just been pointed out was not something that he had not thought of before. And naturally, Orba shared Folker’s concerns.

Up until now, the emperor had decisively dispatched soldiers against the impostor. Gil Mephius’ cause had become attacking Guhl, presented as “a statesman who does not listen to others”. However, now that he had recognised the prince and had officially summoned him, just as Folker had said, if he refused without a reason that the whole could accept as legitimate, Gil would turn into a traitor bent on devastating the land. And again, naturally, this was no doubt one of the aims on Guhl’s side.

It was for the same reason that he had once left Salamand Fogel to do as he pleased.

Both Rogue and Odyne understood it. Or better said, the “trap” spoken of earlier included that meaning.

“In any case, attending an audience in Solon is too dangerous. We cannot let Your Highness go through with it.”

“Should we send an envoy too?”

“We could suggest a conference somewhere at equal distance between Solon and Nedain.”

“No, that wouldn’t be practical.”

The discussion showed no sign of ending.

Orba had the meeting adjourned for the time being. In the end, he had barely expressed any opinion of his own. However, those who, starting with Rogue, had decided to serve the crown prince were getting used to the personality of their new lord. When he did not say anything, it was because Gil Mephius was deep in thought. At the same time, and while looking entirely expressionless and uninterested, he would carefully listen to his subordinates’ opinions.

And so, everyone stood to attention to see Gil out without a trace of grumbling or discontent.
They could not, however, completely conceal their anxiety and concern about the future.

Orba left the building.

Pashir followed so close behind him that they were almost stuck together. He had also been at the meeting but, like Orba, he had not expressed an opinion. His purpose was purely to be Gil’s guard.

Normally, Orba would irritably shake him off, but now, there had been the incident in Birac. If Pashir had not been there to pay attention to the surroundings, Orba would have died under an assassin’s blade. Although he seemed gloomy about it, Orba could not therefore outright order Pashir to go away.

Pashir suddenly pushed Orba aside and stepped out to stand in front of him.

“What is it?” He barked as three soldiers rushed forward towards them.

They were all different ages, but from their equipment, they seemed to be soldiers serving at Nedain Castle. They all knelt together.

“Please forgive our rudeness, Your Imperial Highness,” the grey-haired soldier breathlessly spoke first. “Everyone is talking about it. That for the sake of we soldiers and of the people, and to avoid war, you intend to go to Solon.”

“I-If you go, His Majesty the emperor will have you killed,” the young and pale-faced soldier said, following which, the soldier in the prime of life cried with a desperately resolute expression –
“Please, if you would, stay here and govern Nedain. All of us are ready to offer our lives to defend you as Your Highness’ spears and shields.”

Pashir quite literally kicked aside their hands, which seemed about to reach out towards Orba’s boots any moment now.

“Get back, you insolent curs. The likes of you lowly soldiers dare to interfere?”

“Wait, Pashir.” Orba quietly caught his massive shoulder. He then bestowed a smile upon the soldiers. “This is proof that everyone is thinking about the future of this country. I am different from my father. I wish to create a country in which everyone can express their opinions without reserve.”

“Aye,” Pashir drew back.

Orba turned to the soldiers next and spoke directly to them. “I don’t plan on giving up my without resistance. Don’t worry.”

The soldiers lowered their heads as far as they could go. You could sense resolve from each of them, and the older soldier had been moved to tears.

Afterwards, Orba and Pashir climbed up to the top of the ramparts that surrounded Nedain. Sentries were placed on duty here and there, but they were some distance from them.

While enjoying the gentle wind beneath the pale sky, Orba sent Pashir a sidelong glare.

“Don’t force yourself into an act you can’t pull off.”

“You’re the one who got me mixed up in it. It felt like my face was going red.”

“Everyone’s uneasy. If the prince’s attitude isn’t seen to be indomitable, it could create enemies from within.”

Pashir had deliberately taken the role of a savage warrior who could not understand the feelings of the common people.

“It doesn’t suit you,” Orba shook his head. “If it comes to it, I’ll look for a better role for you. You’re a gladiator who climbed up to being an Imperial Guard. It’d be a problem rather if you didn’t have the support of the people and soldiers.”

“Hmm,” Pashir gave a vague nod then. “Was it that bad?” He asked with a serious expression.

Orba turned his head towards the back to stop himself from laughing. A man who was a skilful fighter and an able commander in a battle, but who was not deft by nature; hence why he felt that it ''didn’t suit''. As to who that was referring to, it went without saying.

They climbed down from the ramparts and inspected various points around Nedain. Just before the afternoon, messengers arrived from different quarters, carrying the regular reports from Apta, Birac and Solon. There was no noteworthy new information. According to what he heard from Solon, however, there was a rumour that Kaseria Jamil’s forces would soon arrive at the port of Zonga, north of Ende.

Ende had recently lost its Grand Duke and it was the second prince, Eric, who was to become the successor. When he had first heard that information, not even Orba had been able to conceal his surprise.

''That guy?''

He had fought him in Garbera’s territory. And afterwards, they had met along with the Garberan prince, Zenon.

''He’s young'' – he thought, without actually taking his own age into account. Still, in these turbulent times, there was nothing strange about a young warrior in his twenties becoming a reigning lord from one day to the next.

''If it’s him, will he be able to lead Ende’s army against Allion?''

There was a sequel to the information from Solon: it seemed that Prince Eric of Ende had sent messengers begging Mephius and Garbera for reinforcements. So far, Emperor Guhl had given no sign of replying. Which could be said to be completely natural, given that Mephius was in the middle of a civil war that had split the country in half. They did not have the leeway to help other countries.

There was still more information related to Allion.

Apparently, Allion was approaching Dairan not only by sea, but also overland. Just as Eric had when he had received the news, Orba could not hide his astonishment and groaned inwardly.

When he closed his eyes, it felt as though he could hear the tramping of army boots coming from the east. This was not going to be a transient event.

''There’ll be a large-scale war'' – he felt.

If even just a part of Ende were to be seized, Allion would then have foothold from which to launch an all-out advance on the centre of the continent. The surrounding countries could not indefinitely continue labelling this as someone else’s problem.

With that being said, Mephius and Garbera had yet to recover from the wounds of a decade of war. Would they be able to withstand a war between countries?

''No matter what, Eric has to win this first battle against Allion'' – thought Orba, while he mentally sorted out the information from all the various quarters. If it was for that, he would even consider lending his help by riding to Ende’s assistance himself. But – first, there was Mephius.

Ende’s assistance himself. But – first, there was Mephius.

They could not afford a long face-off, like they had after taking Birac. Prolonging the civil war would cause ruin for the people. And if the country was weakened, it would not be able to oppose the increasingly large and carnivorous beast that was Allion. The end result would be that they would be swallowed up, and even the titles of emperor and crown prince, held by the two currently competing, would lose all meaning.

While Orba silently continued to mull over his thoughts, the messenger from Birac held out a letter, saying, “Sir Gowen entrusted me with this.”

The elderly soldier had remained in Birac, where he was organising troops consisting mainly of the new recruits.

His acquaintance with Gowen went back a long way, but this was the first time he had received a letter from him. To be frank, he did not even know if Gowen could read and write. When he unsealed the letter, he saw handwriting about as bad as his own. A wry smile involuntarily crossed his face, but as he read the contents, his expression quickly reverted back to being serious.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Pashir, who was, as usual, sticking close by. “Has there been some kind of movement in Birac?”

“No… It’s about Layla.”

The name was not without relevance to Pashir. He nodded with deliberation.

She who was supposed to be a lady’s maid to Princess Vileena of Garbera had, one evening, lured Crown Prince Gil to an isolated tower and had attempted to kill him with a poisoned dagger. In the process, she had also ushered in quite a few of her comrades. As mentioned previously, if Pashir had not been keeping a close eye on the prince and on Layla, Orba would currently be laid out as a cold corpse.

And yet, at the very last minute, that same Layla had thrown herself in front of him to protect from the assassins’ blades.

''Layla''.

It was a name that Orba had heard even before then. On the very day of her wedding, the crown prince before Orba – in other words, the real Gil Mephius – had claimed the right to the first night from her. He had certainly never expected to meet her like that.

To be more precise, they had met for the first time in a western village. What had a Mephian like her been doing there and how had she come to work as a lady’s maid for the princess?

There were too many puzzling points about it.

More importantly, Orba instinctively sensed that any information she had about the crown prince might prove fatal to him.

Out of necessity, Orba had decided to keep Layla confined in a room in the tower. There had been the option of executing her as the instigator of the assassination attempt, but she was also someone who had once been a lady’s maid to the Garberan princess. He wanted to try and get a detailed explanation from her.

It seemed, however, that Gowen shared his opinion about the threat posed by whatever information Layla might have.

“Given the circumstances, we’ve kept the number of guards at the minimum, but I believe that we can’t continue that way,” said the letter. It then went on to suggest that she be executed.

For a moment, Orba was left speechless by the appealing contents of the note. He felt as though he was seeing a different side to his long-time acquaintance. It was probably not Gowen’s real wish though. In a way, it was similar to the resolve that Orba himself carried.

''You’ll have to bear the burden of an entire country while deceiving everyone around you'' – That also meant being prepared to use any means necessary to protect his secret.

Orba conjured up a mental image of the elderly warrior who had always seemed to, more or less, look out for him ever since back when he had been an overseer of slaves. After adopting Hou Ran, he had been giving off a somewhat “fatherly” atmosphere, which had given Orba and Shique a good laugh.

And he was suggesting that it might be necessary to kill a girl who was around the same age as his “daughter” in order to seal her mouth. This too was a distortion caused by Orba – by the likes of a slave of unknown origin – pretending to be the crown prince.

Orba tore up the letter and went back to the ramparts once again. Pashir silently followed along.

=== Part 3 ===

The sun was setting.

Fields spread out both within and beyond the ramparts. The soil around Nedain was not particularly fertile, but through effort and ingenuity, the people of the fief had continuously improved it; and so, for example, the grapes from this area were contenders for producing the first or second best wine within Mephius.

Lines of soldiers armed with spears and swords could be seen patrolling around the fields. Airships were dotted around here and there, ready to swiftly carry information. Carriers were also stationed at all four corners of the ramparts.

Orba’s gaze suddenly turned towards the east. For a while, he looked hard beyond the pale pink sky.

“How long has it been?”

At those words, which had unintentionally burst from his mouth, Orba felt as though he was seeing clear to his own mind for the first time. Before Pashir could enquire what he meant, he continued, “right, it’s not like it’s got nothing to do with you. Ever since Zaat Quark’s rebellion. When I prevented it and left for Apta with you.”

“Are you talking about Solon?” Pashir asked. “You can’t possibly be thinking of responding to the emperor’s invitation?”

“You were also listening at the council of war, weren’t you? If I stay like this without making a move, I’ll damage my cause and be letting Allion do whatever they please. Apta, Birac, and Nedain would eventually turn against me. The result would just be me bringing about my own ruin. And besides…”

“Besides?”

“Allion is obviously a threat to Mephius but… this could also be taken as a once in a lifetime ‘opportunity’.”

At those words, which had unintentionally burst from his mouth, Orba felt as though he was seeing clear to his own mind for the first time. Before Pashir could enquire what he meant, he continued, “right, it’s not like it’s got nothing to do with you. Ever since Zaat Quark’s rebellion. When I prevented it and left for Apta with you.”

“Are you talking about Solon?” Pashir asked. “You can’t possibly be thinking of responding to the emperor’s invitation?”

“You were also listening at the council of war, weren’t you? If I stay like this without making a move, I’ll damage my cause and be letting Allion do whatever they please. Apta, Birac, and Nedain would eventually turn against me. The result would just be me bringing about my own ruin. And besides…”

“Besides?”

“Allion is obviously a threat to Mephius but… this could also be taken as a once in a lifetime ‘opportunity’.”

Orba was saying that being pressed by Allion meant being helplessly cornered into destroying a favourable situation. And yet, he declared that it was also an “opportunity”. Pashir could not understand his thoughts.

He did not understand, but –

“You’re not saying that you’re planning on just handing over your life, right?” There was one thing that he single-mindedly could not let go of.

“I’m not planning on going there to let myself be killed.”

“Same thing. Have you forgotten the assassination attempt in Birac? It’s obvious the emperor had a hand in it.”

“Now that he’s openly summoned me, he won’t be thinking of using assassination.”

“Don’t be stupid,” yet a smile flitted across Pashir’s slightly bruised and battered face. “Hasn’t the emperor of Mephius lost touch with common sense? That’s why people like General Rogue or General Folker are willing to follow you.”

“Yeah. But somehow, I feel like I understand.”

“You understand?”

“What Guhl was thinking when he summoned me.”

At this point, the emperor was probably feeling that they had reached a stalemate. Mephius’ centre of trade had been stolen from him and, following closely on the heels of that defeat, his loyal subject, Simon, had died, which in turn had started to sow dissent among his retainers. The emperor had then been unable to dispatch the reinforcements he had planned to send to Nedain, as a result of which, even that town had fallen to the crown prince’s side. Assassination – his last resort – had also failed, and he could no longer use the same method for fear of rumours spreading to Solon.

In terms of the military potential that each held, the emperor still had the advantage. However, a ‘wind’ which was not so easy to overturn was blowing throughout all of Mephius. It had been raised by Orba himself who had successively taken Apta, Birac, and Nedain; it had been supported by Rogue, Odyne and Folker, who had aided his advance; and finally, it had been protected by Princess Vileena, who had turned back Salamand, an invader into Mephian territory.

In a way, from when he had decided to rise up as the crown prince in Apta, what Orba had set his sights on was – ''how can I stir up more ‘wind’ and ‘waves’?'' For now, it could be said that he had accomplished that goal.

And the emperor desired a meeting with Gil simply because he could no longer afford to ignore that influence. ''Since things have turned out this way, I should meet him in person and show the retainers our difference in might'' – was probably what he was thinking.

In a sense, it would be a duel.

“You say you understand?” Pashir spoke half in exasperation. “What do you understand? You weren’t born to royalty and Guhl’s not your real father. In the first place, you’re not even that well-acquainted with Guhl.”

Orba deliberately did not answer. Just as Pashir had pointed out, the environment in which Orba and Guhl had been born and raised were as different as heaven and earth. It was a fact that they were fighting like this simply because their thoughts and their vision of the future were at odds.

Yet even so, Orba felt that – ''I would think the same thing if I was in Guhl’s situation''.

Neither moving troops nor killing in secret. In a situation where the wind was blowing in the enemy’s favour daily, and Allion, a powerful outside foe, was approaching, he too would want a direct confrontation. He also would, after baiting the newcomer jeopardising his position, use the authority of his own accumulated achievements and experience, in front of the assembled retainers, to verbally corner his opponent.

''The final gamble'' – he too shared that thought.

For all that he said that it was great opportunity, he privately thought that his own strength might not be enough. Beyond that, he could only leave things to the ‘wave’ that he had himself raised.
The messenger that Guhl had sent proved that he had successfully managed to move ‘time’. It was time to see the conclusion through with his own eyes.

“Don’t be stupid,” repeated Pashir. “You think the retainers, who’ve shut their eyes to Guhl’s tyranny this long, are suddenly going to awaken to a sense of honour? That the nobles that you used to hate enough to kill are now going to protect you from the emperor? That soft way of thinking isn’t like you.”

“Guess not,” Orba answered shortly, then laughed unintentionally. He thought it had been a long time since his gladiator self had been in contact with Pashir. “But you know, Pashir… The ones who carry a country are its people. Is it really so foolish to entrust your life and future to those people’s feelings?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I won’t go unprepared. Even if something happens to me, I’ll get ready what’s needed to prevent a war between Mephius and the west, and to drive the emperor further into a corner.”

Orba’s expression looked strangely refreshed. With the fervour for fighting gone from it, his appearance truly matched his age and he looked like a boy who had thought up a way of pulling a silly prank. It seemed to just fan the flames of Pashir’s anger though.

“If something happens,” the long-serving swordsman’s voice grew harsh. “When anything happens to you, it’ll mean ruin for all the rest of us. For the generals and soldiers who joined you because they believe in you, obviously, but also for their families who’ll be put in danger again.”

“I know. And it’s a gamble. But no matter what, we can’t stay in a stand-off with the capital like this. I’ve already said it, but if we draw things out now, we’ll lose the moral high ground and allow Allion to do whatever it likes. I chose to go to war with the emperor so as to protect Taúlia. This time, I’ve got to go to Solon to protect Mephius. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing. There’s got to be another way.”

“Pashir, this isn’t a fight which will be over once the emperor has been brought down. Looking at what happens after that, then no matter what…”

“It’s too dangerous. For everyone. So I can’t let you carry on like that. ‘No matter what’.”

His expression still harsh, Pashir started to draw the sword at his waist. His intention was clear.
Orba however made no move in response. He gave a half-smile.

“And, what are you going to do? Kill me? You’re the one who said that everyone will be annihilated if I die, right?”

“Yeah, I won’t kill you. But I can cut off your arms and legs so that you can’t just do as you please,” said Pashir. “And after that, I’ll pull your tongue out. So that you won’t be able to say too much afterwards.”

“…”

Hearing the stern verdict, Orba wiped the amused expression from his face. Pashir was saying that he only needed to be alive. He was saying that the crown prince’s figure and life alone were enough to be a flag for those who followed him.

Pashir continued his now half-unsheathed sword. “What is it. Not saying anything? Don’t you have enough resolve to step over my corpse?”

“Pashir.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v11 061.jpg|thumb]]

Orba softly called out. He quietly stretched out his hand and touched Pashir’s sinewy, log-like arm. He had once been known as “Strong-armed”, an undefeated gladiator.

“I’m going,” Orba was almost whispering. “If you have things you want to protect enough to step over my corpse to do so, then you can just slash me in the back. I won’t resist.”

After he had finished speaking, he turned his back towards Pashir.

He walked one step, then two.

Behind him, he could feel Pashir’s presence like a scorching wind. Any moment now, it might transform into steel and rain down on Orba from above.

''Right, this is the final gamble'' – thought Orba, as he continued to walk further and further away.

In the distance, he could hear what seemed to be the voices of young men and women singing a popular song.

''If I can’t move ‘time’ from here on out, nothing will change''.

He and Mephius would perish together… In choosing to see things that way, Orba was urging on his own resolve and actions.

His feet arrived at the staircase. The presence was still there, ferocity rolling like flames from it, but, in the end, Pashir had not moved from where he was.

Just before the sun had finished fully setting, Orba, having left Pashir, went to see Fedom, who had arrived in Nedain just the other day. Nedain was geographically closer to the capital and the lord of Birac was desperate to gather information there.

“A letter came from Indolph.” Fedom’s tone made clear his pride in this achievement. “It looks like that man will soon have resolved himself to finally take action. It’ll be exactly as I said. When Indolph’s forces also make their move, and threaten the capital from the rear, the other lords will have no choice but to clarify their standpoint.”

Fedom Aulin’s eyes were gleaming. The long-cherished desire that he had concealed in his breast was now right before his eyes; and in his current frame of mind, he felt as though he was conscious when sleeping, and dreaming when awake.

Actually, it was clear from his appearance that he was hardly sleeping at all. And because he was in that state, when he first heard Orba say “even so, I’m thinking of leaving here tomorrow and going to the capital,” after first gaping at him, Fedom then burst out laughing as though he had just heard a good joke.

But when it gradually dawned on him that Orba was serious, his face flushed bright red with rage. His ferocity was every bit as intense as Pashir’s, who had drawn a steel sword to stop Orba, and it seemed as though, at any moment, he might reach out his thick arms to seize him by the neck and strangle him to death.

“T-This is the limit,” Fedom screamed, wheezing and gasping for breath. “I’m not letting you do whatever you like, you bastard. What do you think you’re saying at this point? You can’t just do whatever you like right before my greatest ambition comes true! Bah, I won’t listen to anything more you say. You’re not going even if I have to tie you down!”

“Now, now, calm down.”

''You’re the one trying to do whatever you like'' – thought Orba, although he did not actually say it out loud.

“I don’t think it would bad for you, though.”

“W-What?”

“Your worry is that after I nonchalantly stroll into the capital, my real identity will be exposed and I’ll be killed, right?”

“Of course it is. If your past as a gladiator became known at this point in time, not only would you lose your life, but all the resolve and expectations gathered around you would all come to nothing!”

“I wonder…” Orba brushed his hair back. “Saying that everything would be spoiled seems like such an exaggeration.”

“Bastard, what are you saying, even now you’re not taking your position into…”

“Even if I died, ''you’re'' in the crown prince’s camp, aren’t you? You, Fedom Aulin.”

“W-What?”

Orba faced the lord of Birac, who was blinking in confusion.

“Apta, Birac, Nedain. Even if I die, their strength won’t just abruptly fall to the emperor’s side. On the contrary, if you raise the cry for a war of revenge for the crown prince, even more soldiers than now will gather, and it might even give rise to conspirators within Solon itself. Right – after the crown prince’s death, all the soldiers assembled in the three cities would become yours.”

“…”

“And the hero who would take command of that entire army to take Solon and at long last liberate Mephius from the unjust emperor would be none other than you, Fedom Aulin. That could be what happens.”

Fedom gulped. Having swallowed too much of his own saliva, he was seized by a brief but violent coughing fit.

“R-Ridiculous,” his eyes were still teary. “If your real identity is revealed in the capital, that’ll be the end of it. Who would rally to a war of revenge for the likes of a slave?”

“There are as many possible explanations as you like. For example: ‘to show his contempt for the crown prince who had become a threat to him, the emperor deliberately had him murdered then branded his back so as to lie about his real identity.’ After that, well, Fedom, you’re a guy who’s usually proud of your own abilities. Wouldn’t you be able to convince everyone to follow you through your words and attitude? The emperor’s cruel and inhuman behaviour would be highlighted even further than before my death, and would actually make it easier to take action. You of all people aren’t going to tell me that’s impossible, right?”

Fedom was still breathing raggedly, but the reason for that seemed to be somewhat different from earlier. He peered closely into Orba’s face.

“You said ‘even further than before my death’…? You’re talking exactly as though you didn’t care in the slightest about your own life.”

“Wasn’t I originally picked up by you? If you hadn’t appeared at Tarkas’ Gladiator Group back then, riding a Tengo in such a great hurry – back when it wouldn’t have occurred to me for even a second that you had the outrageous plan of using a slave to replace the crown prince – I would still be wielding a sword every day as a gladiator, drenched in sweat and fighting desperate, bloody battles. Or no, after close to two years of that, maybe my devil’s luck would already have run out and the sand of the coliseum would be absorbing my blood around about now.”

“…”

“Say, this is getting tedious: forget my enemies, I’m even being doubted by my allies. More importantly, it would be best for you to take action. Isn’t that right? Lord Fedom?”

Orba gazed almost affectionately at the man in front of him. Right, as a matter of fact, he did feel affection for this man, Fedom Aulin.

Just as he himself had said, if this man had not existed, he himself would not be where he was now.

''If this man was smarter than he actually is, or even just a little bit less prudent…'' Then that overly-ambitious plan would have collapsed in no time, and Orba and Fedom’s severed heads would have been lining the road to Solon by now, each adorning the tip of a spear.

Although, of course, there would be no end to it if one were to discuss that sort of thing. If, at that time, his prediction had been off even by a little; if, at that time, he had not met that person; if, at that time, the sword had slipped in his sweaty hands…

Out of the tens of thousands of possible paths, the he who was here now had picked only one to follow to the end.

Orba engraved that awareness into his mind.

That evening, Orba summoned Rogue, Odyne, and Folker to Nedain Castle.

It took him about twice as long to explain the same thing that he had told Pashir. General Rogue of the Dawnlight Wings Division opposed it with the vehemence of a raging fire. General Odyne of the Silver Axe Division revealed a distressed and conflicted expression, while General Folker of the Black Steel Sword Division remained silent from beginning to end.

“Y-Your Highness, that is the one thing… the one thing you must not do,” Rogue Saian repeated it time and time again.

In that, it was similar to the times with Pashir and Fedom. Naturally, Orba had not been expecting them to just silently see him off. He listened to the veteran general’s spirited persuasion for a while, then –

“Rogue,” he addressed him softly. “What do you think is the one thing that we cannot lose sight of in this fight of ours?”

“That…” Rogue Saian’s voice choked up, “the banner that we raised.”

“Right. And that is not me myself,” asserted Orba. “It isn’t me but the cause that impels me to take action. If the hearts of the people doubt our cause, then we are already as good as defeated. We will be letting Guhl Mephius ridicule us without even putting up a fight, and we will bear the disgrace of being remembered in history, I as the Impostor Crown Prince, and you as rebels.”

The generals had not, of course, imagined that the crown prince would choose of his own free will to travel to the imperial capital.

At the same time, however, the three of them were not as inflexible in their opposition to his going to Solon as Pashir and Fedom had been. After all, none of Mephius’ stalwart generals knew the real name of the man before them. They believed that he was the legitimate inheritor of the imperial family’s bloodline, Gil Mephius. And so, at no point had they experienced the fear that Pashir and Fedom held about his real identity being exposed.

“This is no longer the time to raise our swords against our fellow countrymen. It’s been a harsh road up until now because of that. From now on, what we need to do is to demonstrate our resolve. Rogue, don’t take me for a plague-ridden coward. Don’t take me for a mere fool who continues to make a show of savage courage without knowing how to read the signs of the times. Don’t take me for a criminal who continues to spill the blood of his countrymen. Well, there’s no helping whatever future historians might say, but now, here and now, here and now, we cannot lose the hearts and trust of the people.”

Rogue’s eyes were glistening with tears. He was, of course, well able to read the signs of the times. Up until now, he had been desperately racking his brains to try and come up with a way to improve the situation other than by having the crown prince personally go to Solon. However, no matter what new plan or strategy he came up with, he could not find in it that which Gil Mephius himself had just spoken of: the very “cause” that Rogue also adhered to.

In the end, he had no choice but to despairingly nod in consent.

Gazing at his despondently drooping head of white hair, Orba remained deliberately expressionless, then rose from his seat.

“Rogue, Odyne, Folker – you will stay here in Nedain and ensure its defence along with Raymond Peacelow. Yuriah’s fleet, bolstered by Walt’s ground forces, will regroup in Birac.”

The generals stood up and clicked their heels before the “Crown Prince”.

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| Forward to [[Rakuin_no_Monshou:Volume11_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume10 Chapter2

2017-10-24T14:53:10Z

Double Check: Minor typo.

==Chapter 2: Nedain==

=== Part 1 ===

Solon, the capital of Mephius.

Although there had been no magnificent and ceremonial departure, the populace was, of course, aware that an army led by Folker Baran had started off on its march some time earlier. It was headed towards Apta Fortress by way of Birac to go and suppress the fool that was arrogantly pretending to be Crown Prince Gil – who had been assassinated by the West – and the Generals Rogue Saian and Odyne Lorgo, who had shown signs of rebellion.

But it lost.

The Mephian host, organised by the emperor himself, had been defeated in battle against the impostor crown prince and even Birac, the centre for foreign trade, had been taken. Fedom Aulin, the lord of Birac, had whole-heartedly welcomed the crown prince and it was even said that “Birac treated it like the return of a true king.”

The people trembled.

Although the omens indicated that the fires of war might swallow the whole of Mephius, what they feared even more than that was Emperor Guhl Mephius. From their manner, it was as though they truly dreaded that the emperor’s fury might transform at any moment into dark clouds swirling over Solon from which bolts of lightning would come crashing.

Endless rumours were already being whispered throughout the city.

They said that in his unabating rage, the emperor had taken more than half of the soldiers who had escaped and had thrown them to the dragons.

They said that the emperor’s sycophantic vassal lords had presented him with a hundred slaves each and that in retaliation for having lost the battle, the emperor had personally cut off each of their heads until the temple of the Dragon Gods’ faith had been steeped in blood.

They said that the emperor intended to soon call up Mephius’ entire army, including the border garrisons, to Solon and send all of it to attack Birac.

The Emperor’s behaviour had recently been tyrannical, and a terrifying image of him was firmly taking root among the people.

For them, because so many projects had been put off in favour of constructing the Dragon Gods’ temple, the emperor and the Dragon Gods’ faith were one and the same. They dreaded that, in the depths of the temple, where none of them were ever allowed to tread, sinister schemes were, even now, moving forward.

“What will happen from now on?” They asked each other when they met.

Fundamentally, in Apta, Birac, Solon, and the rest of Mephius, the people shared the same unfathomable fear for the future.

Just as the rumours said, Guhl Mephius was certainly enraged. Those who were gathered at the main palace all had their heads lowered, like a group of apostates fearing the wrath of a god.

However, the emperor, separated from them by a long flight of stairs, neither burst into angry words nor struck the ground before him with his crystal-ornamented staff.

“So Folker lost as well?” Facing the people who always gathered for the morning council, the emperor spoke in the same tone as if nothing had happened the previous day. “And moreover, Folker, Yuriah and Zaas are all three being held captive in Birac? Has there been any demand for ransom from the enemy, Colyne?”

“Yes. I-I mean, no, that is... not yet.” Not even Colyne Isphan, the noble who was currently closest to the emperor, dared to look him full in the face.

“So they can’t even assess how much the defeated generals are worth in ransom money. Even for them, that’s disappointing.”

He spoke dispassionately as he sat on his throne, but that in itself seemed to call down a silence as still as death within the audience chamber.

Emperor Guhl Mephius had not killed slaves or soldiers with his own hands, as was whispered in the city.

“Rogue and Odyne’s families are being detained in Solon, are they not?” Guhl asked Colyne just as he rose from the throne, exactly as though he were getting confirmation on some trivial matter.

“Y-Yes!”

“Lock them up in the dungeons of the Tower of Four Wings. The two generals will of course have been prepared for at least that much.”

“Is he serious?”

After the emperor had left the audience hall, the nobles and military men who had remained behind talked in hushed voices.

“Is His Majesty really planning to execute the families of the generals?”

“Of course not. It’s just a threat.”

“Then what if Rogue and the others don’t let themselves be intimidated by that threat?”

“Then at that point…”

They gulped. There was a silence in which each seemed to shrink into themselves.

“If only Lord Simon were here at a time like this.”

“Don’t.”

“No, it’s not too late, even now. We can talk with Lord Rodloom and ask him to write a letter to His Majesty.”

“How would we talk with him? Lord Simon is under house arrest. His estate is under watch and you can be sure that His Majesty receives reports about every person who comes or leaves from it.”

Silence once more.

The principal lords and military commanders of Mephius had naturally received a shock when Birac was seized. They were curious about the person who claimed to be the crown prince and also felt an indistinct anxiety about the future. But what prevailed above all other emotions was, unsurprisingly, fear of the emperor.

What the real feelings of the Dragon-hearted Emperor – as Guhl Mephius was called in both awe and derision – were at this time not easy to guess. Guhl had immediately hurried the reorganisation of his forces, but at the same time, he seemed concerned that if he pursued the brute force approach any further, the insurrection would spread.

As proof of his worry, after giving his order to the retainers, he summoned a certain group.

The place was a corner of the temple of the Dragon Gods’ faith. The time was late at night.

There was a strange group of six. All of them had hoods drawn low over their faces. All of them were silently kneeling on one knee on the floor cut from rock. They looked for all the world like sacrifices waiting quietly for the moment when their heads were to be ceremonially severed.

All of them had arrived in Solon only a few days before. Each, however, through a different process.

This one, for example, had been serving as a mercenary in the defence forces at Idoro, but had slipped away like a deserter and had arrived in Solon seven days ago. That other one had established himself in one of the poor villages in the north that dotted the buffer zone with Zonga, living there with his family; but then, again about seven days ago, he and his family had suddenly appeared to have vanished, only for him to show up in Solon. Besides them, there were those who had been in the east until half a month ago, one working as a tool craftsman in Garbera, another as a pedlar wandering between villages in Ende.

The truth was that they were secret agents, in service to the emperor since their youth. Their main duty was to gather intelligence throughout the land and in foreign countries; and so they were sent to live and take root in those various areas. There were those among them who had families in foreign countries who had been living there for generations.

Of those, six who were particularly competent had been summoned.

Within the flickering light from a single candle, a man with a stooped back, his face also hidden by a hood, appeared before the group that crouched silently and motionlessly.

“We have received a secret letter,” he told them.

The document was unfolded under the light and six pairs of eyes converged towards it.

''Steal into Birac and gather information'' – it read.

The scale of the military forces, the movements of the generals, confirmation of the Garberan princess’ survival, the layout of the guards, the atmosphere within the city – the list of items was endless.

They also included ones about the crown prince, Gil Mephius. They were to verify his identity of course, but also –

“If you see an opportunity, kill him.” Just as the man with the bent back had said with his viscous voice, this too was written in the letter.

In other words, an order of assassination.

“However, His Majesty’s involvement is not to be divulged. Killing him with poison is out of the question. Frame it as the deed of a loyalist distressed by the country’s internal chaos.”

Nobody said a word.

Which meant that they had not a single question or hesitation towards this difficult mission.

“Now then. You will act at the peril of your lives for His Majesty the Emperor.”

“We will.”

It was the first time that they spoke, and the six voices did so in perfect unison.

At that same moment, and also in the Dragon Gods’ temple in Solon, another meeting was being held in great secrecy.

Although it was late at night, the leading members of the Dragon Gods’ faith were all assembled in a room in the deepest recesses of the temple. At its centre was a crystal table.

It was only the barest of light which illuminated the faces of the old men, but when someone gave the order “Put it out,” the room was plunged into darkness.

But only for an instant.

Had a new light been lit beneath the table? Innumerable pale luminous points glowed within the crystal slab. At first one, then two lit up at a leisurely pace, but the speed with which they appeared gradually increased until finally they were multiplying in a literal flash.

A starry night sky seemed to be appearing before the elders.

The same old man who had given the order to “put out” the light placed his hands on that sky and rose from his seat. He was comparatively young among the elders but everyone there looked at him with reverence.

“We are small,” the old man spoke again. “Terribly small and weak existences. If they were to be compared to this sky, the strength of each individual would amount to no more than that of stars that are invisible to the eye.” He pointed to a space on the long table. There, a point of light was glimmering, so faintly that you could only make it out by straining your eyes.

“However, if, for example, we can serve to guide a different, much stronger light,” the old man moved his finger to another spot, where a much brighter light was shining. As the elder pressed down hard with his finger, the luminous point shook greatly, then started to move along with the finger. While leaving behind it a faint trail, it approached the other light and, perhaps because both were being illuminated, both lights shone more clearly.

The old man nimbly moved both hands and, sometimes gathering the scattered lights together, sometimes pulling them apart, he drew countless glimmering trails across the illusionary sky.

“If we guide one, another will be caught up, and that other will pull along a great many other fates.”

There was a certain artistry to it. Whenever the old man waved a finger, the brilliance of the stars increased, whenever he pulled his finger along, the trail emitted light, constructing some kind of figure.
“This is a diagram of fate. Even without nudging it from outside, because these fates are in resonance, they will eventually start to move by themselves in search of the golden mean and will build the ideal world that I imagine. Soon this world will be waxing full with of ether, which will allow us to oppose ‘that’ which plans to hold sovereignty over it.”

The crystal now shone with a blueish light so bright that it was impossible to look at it directly. The elders closed their eyes as though dazzled, or perhaps it was out of awe, as the mysterious, impossible light washed over their faces.

But –

The lights suddenly vanished. Like the flames of a row of candles, blown out in a strong breeze. Some of the stars just barely managed to resist and continue twinkling, but before long, their feeble, struggling light died out just as the others had.

In a world that had once more been plunged into darkness, as though waiting for the elders to open their eyes –

“''Gil Mephius''.”

The same man whispered a name that echoed eerily. “Strange. A star which should already have vanished has come and is emitting an unexpected radiance. More than unexpected. Great enough to throw into disarray the diagram of fate centred around Guhl that we had constructed for Mephius.”

“An impostor,” one of the elders said in a hoarse voice. “…He must be. Without a doubt. The crown prince of yore did not have a radiance that could affect the diagram of fate to that extent.”

“Just what have you been looking at until now?” Another interposed. “A person’s radiance can change easily. Among those that we have guided, there have been many who have similarly changed.”

“It doesn’t matter whether he is an impostor or the real thing,” yet another gravely interrupted. He looked up towards the first elder. “Let us extinguish him.”

The others followed in agreement but –

“We cannot directly intervene with those who already emit such radiance,” the old man’s words were strange. “It has already started to guide a great many other fates. Perhaps this too is the result of having moved the stars with our own hands but, no, we cannot speak of there being one single cause. If we forcefully intervene, the resonance of fates will collapse and we will have to build everything up again from scratch.”

Hatred burned clearly in the old man’s eyes that were usually like empty pits.

“When we were going to extinguish Ax, we wasted a great many stars and their surrounding trails. And the result was that it ended in failure. Thanks to that, we lost a considerable amount of influence in the west. That damnable Barbaroi, their intervention was faster than anticipated.”

“Then, could the crown prince possibly have been involved in that?”

“No. Even if it was not completely unrelated, I intend to find out at whose instigation that was. For those reasons, we cannot use ether and have to leave the crown prince’s fate to the workings of humans. …Don’t worry, there are many number of ways of doing it.”

When the old man spoke, he once again extended his finger towards the lower edge of the table from which all the lights had died out. Lights like small grains of sands then appeared there.

“We will set our hands to guiding new destinies. These were originally people who were unnecessary to the diagram that we drew, but… there’s no help for it. We will guide them. Guide them, and then…” The old man’s tone once more returned to something reminiscent of nothingness. “We will have them kill Gil Mephius.”

=== Part 2 ===

The Emperor had imprisoned the families of Generals Rogue and Odyne in the undergrounds of the tower.

It did not take long for that information to reach Birac. It was no more than a rumour, but the emperor did nothing to either deny that rumour or halt its spread. Rather, one of his goals had been for that ‘rumour’ to be reported in Birac.

Although this was well within predictions, Orba could not remain indifferent.

He had personally met Rogue’s wife and son at their residence. He was also acquainted with Odyne’s youngest daughter. He remembered how Odyne’s daughter, Lannie, made fun of Rogue’s son, Romus, for so often spending time at Hou Ran’s side.

They were now locked up within cold stone walls. Spending each day fearing that their execution would be held the next, or the day after that. How long would twelve, thirteen-year-old children be able to endure that? No, in his present state, the emperor might really separate their young heads from the rest of their bodies.

His chest felt as though it were seething. He had never been good at simply waiting without doing anything. He wanted to seize the grip of his sword and march onto Solon Palace right this second. ''The nobles and soldiers who would follow this bastard are nothing but fools'' – how good it would feel to fling that directly at them.

But of course, he could not act hastily now. He bore the responsibility for a great many lives. And not only lives but also for immeasurable hopes and resolve, amongst which were those of Rogue and Odyne themselves.

The two generals came to see him together. To submit the charts of the changes they had made within their troops and to talk about the future.

Rogue had bought a number of ships through Zaj Haman, thereby increasing their war potential. They were, however, lacking in people who knew how to handle them. It was obviously not something that could be left to neophytes and mercenaries. The ships and carriers were flying every day in the skies over Birac so as to train the newcomers in his group.

Odyne had purchased some new model cannons. As well as having reinforced Birac’s battery positions, he was making its assembled militia undergo firearm drills until they were dripping with sweat.

“We gained valuable time,” they both agreed. In the atmosphere particular to that period before the outbreak of fighting, the soldiers were improving at a rate visible to the naked eye.

“A man I thought was never going to be of any use is now serving as a squadron leader.”

“Is it the same for you General Saian? For me too, ever since Tolinea, the number of my men that I seemed to have misjudged is endless.”

In front of the two of them whose faces were as firm and radiant as though they had freshly been scrubbed clean, Orba remained taciturn.

“Your Highness,” smiled Rogue. It was right after the sun had set and Dinn had lit the lamps in the room. Bathed in their light, the old general’s eyes were shining like a boy’s. “I understand your sentiments so much that it hurts. As time wears on, the people are thrown into turmoil and the country risks ruin. But it is as Your Highness told us at the beginning, what matters now is to wait.”

“Exactly,” Odyne nodded, “when country lapses into chaos, there will inevitably be victims. To risk a great fire simply to save a minority of victims would be the height of folly. When standing at one of the great junctions of history, one must always keep the whole picture in mind.”

Implicit in their allusions was the fact that their families were included among those “victims”. Orba clenched his fists tightly beneath the table.

Even if the reason for action was to prevent there being many victims, there would without fail be those who fell wounded or dead because of it. Even though he understood that, Orba’s decisions could no longer be for his sake alone.

Waiting was the only way.

Looking at the broader picture, Orba temporarily halting his advance in Birac was an effective policy. What Guhl was the most cautious of was preventing the crack within Mephius from spreading any wider, but also of the Impostor crown prince having a personal connection to the West.

''Is he trying to lure us to him by deliberately stopping there?'' Guhl would be sure to wonder.

For the emperor, what was more dangerous even than the recent defeat would be leaving the economic cornerstone that was Birac as it was. It not only risked causing the people to lose sympathy for the emperor as they were won over by a new hero, but also risked alienating the nobles and military from him.

As such, he would have no choice other than to be cautious. Capturing Birac would not be possible without arranging for a sufficient number of his best forces, gathering enough information about the enemy and, of course, choosing a suitable time to attack.

And so, both Orba and Guhl’s lives were currently spent in a succession of war councils.

With the second coming of the crown prince and his capture of Birac, history was violently shaken. This had created a succession of ripples, both large and small, which in an instant, turned into a wave of ‘change’ that was poised to sweep through all of Mephius, or even the entire centre of the continent.`

But in truth, even though the ripples were like those produced by a large earthquake and were spreading wider and wider, time was unnaturally standing still. Just as Orba had feared, this was because it was difficult for both the crown prince and the emperor to guess even a single move that the other would make. And on both sides, there was also the calculation that this could not take too much time.

''Advance, walk, move.''

No matter how much he feigned composure when addressing the soldiers as they trained, or the people of Birac as they plied their trade, inwardly, he was incessantly repeating these words like a mantra.

''Wait, advance.''

And then –

About half a month after Orba had taken Birac, things finally started to budge.

Nedain in the east was a city that stood halfway between Birac and Solon, the capital. It had been built around an air carrier relay base that had been established several hundred years ago, when there had still been trade with the west. After a war with the northern city-state of Io, it had then developed into a fortress town; but now, its vitality had faded and the region was synonymous for “provincial” even in Mephius, which was known for being rustic.

A certain situation had arisen in Nedain since before the crown prince’s resuscitation in Apta. At the time of the slave revolt in Kilro, and probably because he believed that it risked arousing hot-blooded youths, the lord of Nedain, Jairus Abigoal, had visibly overreacted.

One of the slaves from a long-established merchant house had murdered his master and escaped. The slave, who then fled to one of the neighbouring villages, was still only a boy. Perhaps taking pity on his youth, the villagers had sheltered him while knowing practically nothing of his circumstances.

Jairus had dispatched an armed troop. The village, with its people and the boy still inside, was burned to the ground. The lord of Nedain was determined to avoid a repeat of Kilro by trampling any flicker of rebellion underfoot.

This however caused no little resentment.

The first to protest against the city-lord’s actions was a young aristocrat named Raymond Peacelow. He was a young man who served under Jairus and who was in charge of supervising the security and management of the surrounding villages.

Raymond had proceeded towards Solon and had revealed Jairus actions to the emperor. The Emperor of Mephius however had shown little interest in the matter. And as a result, Raymond had been captured by Jairus, taken back to Nedain and imprisoned.

At around the same time, an unexpected guest had visited Nedain. The Princess of Garbera, Vileena Owell, herself.

She had brought up the subject of Raymond whilst seated at a meal with Jairus. Even though her words were brief, the princess successfully coerced Jairus by implying that her words were in accordance with the emperor’s thoughts.

Raymond was released.

Since the young man was gentle by nature and had many opportunities to regularly come into contact with the populace, he was greatly loved by the townspeople of Nedain and by the inhabitants of the surrounding villages. Those villages had jointly organised a congratulatory banquet in his honour.

There were signs that a disturbance was once more creeping up on Nedain.

As soon as Boyce Abigoal noticed the Peacelow siblings walking along the pathway from the other direction, he and his companions came to a halt.

“Oh, well now. I haven’t seen you in quite some time, Raymond.”

Raymond and his younger sister Louise stopped. They bowed.

“Lord Boyce.”

Boyce was a well-built young man and, despite being a year younger than the twenty-six-year-old Raymond, he was a head taller. As his name indicated, he was the lord of Nedain, Jairus’, only son. His face that was glistening with sweat was full of vigour and, coupled with his powerful physique, the impression he gave was a bit like that of a wild beast. From what he explained, they seemed to be returning from a hunt.

“Lord Boyce brought down three deer,” one of his hangers-on bared his teeth as he laughed.

Behind Raymond, Louise’s expression turned sombre but, perhaps not noticing it, Boyce brought his face up close towards the siblings.

“I’m thinking of grilling the meat in the garden and eating it right away. How about you two come as well? I’ve just gotten some good liquor from one of the merchants too.”

“Thank you, but the likes of us are…”

“Right, wasn’t it that the believers of Badyne can’t eat meat?”

“No,” Raymond shook his head with a sour expression, “there is nothing that we cannot eat but we must consecrate the animal whose life we are about to take to God. After praying morning and evening for three days, we can then eat it.”

“How stupid,” Boyce said scornfully. “Eat when you want to eat, drink when you want to drink. There’s no better happiness than that.”

“If I’m not wrong, women of the Badyne faith can only share a bed with their chosen man, right?”

“Ahaha. The god of Badyne really likes putting people in shackles. Only the sort of people that like being oppressed are fit to be his believers.”

His companions opened their mouths wide as they laughed. An angry expression flashed across Raymond’s face. But a slender white hand clasped his clenched fist from behind. Raymond just barely managed to avoid exposing his emotions by bending down his head.

Raymond came from a powerful family native to a territory that was currently in Garbera’s possession. It had fallen under Mephian control for a time, during which, the Peacelow family had obtained the status of Mephian nobles. In accordance with the customs of that region, the family had belonged to the Badyne faith for generations.

Because of that, he had often felt small and humiliated in Mephius, where the Dragon Gods faith had become the state religion. He had frequently experienced scenes like these in which he was looked down on or scorned.

“Anyway, what kind of business did you have with Father to come to the mansion today?”

“It was merely for our regular consultation.”

“That so? And here I thought for sure that Sir Raymond’s bad habit was rearing up again,” Boyce’s thick lips twisted into a smile.

“My bad habit?”

“Your habit, Sir Raymond, of going on endlessly about small issues. Last time, there was that quarrel involving that one slave brat. Who knows if you won’t kick up a fuss directly before His Majesty even now.”

Raymond remained silent.

Just the other day, Jairus Abigoal, lord of Nedain, had once again harmed his own people.

It was just after the rumour had reached them that a person claiming to be the crown prince had appeared in Apta to the southwest, and had sent a letter to the emperor in Solon. Several young men had been discussing the topic in a tavern. All of them were very drunk.

“It’s not surprising that a hero would be immortal.”

And so on.

“Defending the West really does seem like something the crown prince, who righteously honoured the pledge with Garbera, would do.”

And so on, until finally, they all reached fever pitch.

“Let’s approach Lord Jairus and ask him to definitely cooperate with the crown prince.”

“No, would the crown prince, who honours righteousness, have any kind feelings for our lord? Lord Jairus is more likely to be scared of being condemned and run away.”

They had said, laughing.

Jairus heard about it.

In his rage, he had them dragged before him. Of the five who stood in a row, their faces pale, four had fallen to their knees and had pleaded that the alcohol had run away with their tongues. Only one of them, even though the blood had also drained from his face, had openly declared –

“Your Excellency. The crown prince has righteousness on his side. Please think about the future of Mephius.”

Three days later, he was hung in Nedain’s town square. Because they had deliberately chosen to do so in the opening hour for the morning market, his corpse had been there for many of the fief’s people to see.

That was what Boyce Abigoal was bringing up.

“Were you not going to honour Father with your advice again?”

“No. I have nothing in particular to say to Lord Jairus about it. Please excuse us.” Raymond bowed again and, seeming to be pulling his sister by the hand, left Boyce’s presence.

Just as they passed one another, Boyce gaze fell on Louise’s profile. She was seventeen. Boyce’s gleaming eyes crawled from her face to her body, clinging to her like a spider’s thread.

“What’s with that, so lame,” when the two of them were still in sight, one of his hangers-on said out loud, intending to be heard.

Another of Boyce’s friends nodded empathetically, “Last time, he had a lot more to say.”

“Hah, has the bold Sir Raymond had his sharpened fangs broken off?”

Boyce himself said nothing, but his lips were curved in a scornful smile.

=== Part 3 ===

That night.

To the north of Nedain there was a relatively large quarry.

It was sunk in shadows. Drinking songs carried by the wind could be heard from far away. No doubt the masons who were staying overnight were getting drunk on cheap liquor.

A person with their hood drawn down low had unexpectedly turned up there, then continued along the narrow path leading to the quarry.

“Oho, a guest?” Several masons barred the way. Walking up with tottering footsteps, they surrounded the person in the hood from both sides.

“Sorry, but this is a private party. No outsiders welcome.”

“At least bring a present. You got any booze with you?”

Since they performed heavy labour every day, they were a burly-looking bunch. The person wearing a hood however did not seem panicked and instead said something strange –

“I don’t have anything with me today. But one day we’ll share a toast in Solon.”

The drunken-seeming men promptly drew up straight.

“It’s you, Lord Raymond.”

“We were rude.”

“No,” the face that appeared when the hood was pulled back was undoubtedly that of Raymond Peacelow, “you’re being excellently thorough. It’s only if you weren’t that I’d be bothered.”

Raymond himself had decided on the exchange of passwords.

Nearly three hundred men were making merry but, when Raymond’s figure appeared in the doorway, just like the lookouts had earlier, they all stood straight to greet him.

“Everyone, at ease,” Raymond called out, but the men’s attitude remained as it was.

They wore rough, shabby clothes on their muscular bodies, and their faces were grimy and black from the sweat and dust of manual labour. But they gazed at Raymond with a fiery radiance in their eyes.

Their ages ranged between twenty and fifty years old. Their occupations were actually equally varied and only about half of them were originally masons. The remaining half were the second or third sons of craftsmen, farmers, or merchants.

One man stepped forward from among them and wordlessly took Raymond’s hand. He seemed to be somewhere in his mid-thirties. It was him however who had caused Raymond to make a certain decision.

“Lord Raymond, it was good of you to come.”

“Dolph,” Raymond spoke his name and clasped his hand firmly.

If you brought up the topic of a man named Dolph with, say, the father and son of the Abigoal family, they would undoubtedly tilt their heads in confusion, wondering who and what you were talking about. Dolph himself however held an uncommonly strong feeling towards the House of the lords of Nedain.

Hatred.

Dolph was the older brother of the young man who had recently been hung. Not only that, but his older sister had married into the village which had been set alight by the forces dispatched by Jairus Abigoal. Which meant that in a very short period of time, he had lost his sister, his brother-in-law, and his younger brother.

All at the hands of Lord Jairus Abigoal.

When the village had burned down, he had raged that “I’ll kill Jairus!” His brother had talked him out of it in tears. His younger brother, who had only just decided to get married. Of course, he too shared the agonising pain of losing their older sister, but when he clung to him, saying –

“What will those of us you’ve left behind do if we lose you now too?” Dolph had wavered. From the start, he had only had the smallest hope of being successful in his revenge.

It was at that point that Raymond, hearing about the situation, had rushed to find him.

“Please, Dolph. Endure. I am going to gallop to Solon right now. I intend to appeal directly to His Majesty about this.”

In honour of the completion of the new temple in Solon, Jairus himself also planned to go to the capital. Raymond would bring Jairus’ actions to the light under his very eyes.

“Don’t do anything hasty before I return. Have faith in me please and wait.”

Although he was young, Raymond was a noble who acted out of care for the people of the fief. When that Raymond was pleading with him with such a desperate expression, Dolph could do nothing but agree to his request.

Afterwards, Dolph’s heart was plunged into turmoil for a while as Raymond was imprisoned in punishment, but he was soon released.

And after that, it was the country that was thrown into an uproar. They had heard that there had been a battle near Apta, in the southwest, with Taúlia, and a large army brandishing spears had headed west by way of Nedain; but, just when they had been thinking that they were headed for war with Taúlia again, it turned out that these troops were going to face the impostor crown prince in Apta.

The quiet, rural town of Nedain was thrown into chaos.

Airships were sent in all directions from the town, even though it meant using what little ether they had. Raymond himself was run off his feet as he worked on intelligence gathering and plans for ensuring the people’s security.

And on top of all of that, Jairus gathered together three hundred militiamen and ordered them to man Nedain’s fortress.

''Just how many of the good people of this domain do you really think would risk their lives to protect yours?'' He almost blurted out those words but just managed to swallow them.

It was during that time that the young man had been executed. Raymond had no time to halt it. When he had heard that the youth was Dolph’s brother, he had immediately leaped on a horse.

It was the same as when the village had been burned to the ground. By the time he had arrived at the quarry, Dolph had already rushed out. He followed him without a moment’s delay. He had only just managed to catch up with him when he was already halfway to Nedain.

This time however, Dolph would not listen to him. In his hand, he was clutching a pickaxe. He raged on that he would definitely, definitely bring it down on Jairus’ neck.

Raymond, who had jumped from his horse, was practically clinging to Dolph’s back. No matter how many times he was shaken off, Raymond did not give up. In the hand that was not grasping the pickaxe, Dolph was gripping a small box.

He did not know what was inside. But Raymond could guess. He had heard from the gossip among Dolph’s fellow workers that Dolph, who was by nature a lover of wine and women, had not gone drinking with them or gone to enjoy himself with prostitutes for several months. He had surely been saving his meagre wages in order to buy a wedding present for his little brother.

When Raymond realised that, he drew the sword that was at his waist.

“And now, are you going to kill me?” Dolph had screamed at him in tears. It was obvious from his attitude that he was prepared to resist to the bitter end, but Raymond instead grasped his hand and put the sword hilt in it. He whispered in the ear of the utterly dumbfounded Dolph –

“Kill Jairus with this sword.” Raymond had repeatedly been flung to the ground and his face was covered in sweat and dirt and tears. “But I won’t let go of its hilt either. We’ll do it together, Dolph.”

“L-Lord Raymond...”

“But not now. If we try to kill Jairus with just the two of us, we will only fail. There is no sense in that. We’ll gather enough people, wait for the right time, and we will definitely drive Jairus into a corner.”

At the moment when he said that, Raymond had neither a plan nor confidence in their chances of success. But those were not words that were simply meant to buy time either. At that time, Raymond very certainly made the decision to chase Jairus Abigoal out of Nedain.

And the current of the times was with them.

Needless to say, the faction led by the one who called himself Prince Gil and denounced the emperor’s actions had defeated the large army that had been dispatched from the capital. The lord of Birac, Fedom Aulin, immediately sent out appeals, having clearly switched to the crown prince’s side.

The effect of these was huge. With Raymond and Dolph at the centre, men who were dissatisfied with Jairus were assembled together.

“Lord Raymond, we’re glad that you often come here, but has it not been noticed?”

“It’s all right,” Dolph had entirely become the leader of the anti-Jairus group. Raymond felt no reserve about it either. The young nobleman smiled with irony, “I was under surveillance right after being released from confinement, but the others are completely reassured by now. At the time, Jairus’ son seemed to always be hunting in the nearby forest.”

“Oh? Hunting.”

“Even though to all appearances, they should not have the leisure to spare. Jairus has also been running around recently gathering soldiers. He seems to constantly be sending messengers to Solon.”

“Then…”

“Yes. An opportunity will definitely appear soon.” Raymond nodded firmly.

Excitement instantly ran through the men. So many eyes were shining brightly from the blackened faces that even Raymond felt dazzled for a moment.

Still, no matter how much energy they had piled up, they could not, of course, capture Nedain Fortress with just three hundred alone. When he saw a chance, Raymond would go to Birac where he intended to meet with the crown prince.

To ask him to dispatch troops.

At that time, the three hundred would riot within Nedain.

After he set a village alight for sheltering a single slave, and then hanged a young man for joking around when drunk, Jairus feared a revolt in his territory. Or to be more accurate, he feared that the emperor would hear of such a thing.

Since Zaat Quark’s rebellion during the Founding Festival, as well as the slaves of Kilro all rising at once, the emperor had become terrifyingly well-attuned to similar issues.

Jairus could not afford to ignore this. To prevent the fire from spreading, he would certainly use greater armed force than was necessary to beat down any men who might rise to action.

There were preparations in place for the men to escape to the stone quarry once the soldiers drew near. Jairus’ men would surely pursue after them.

Raymond would guide the crown prince there. After all, Jairus’ troops would look down on their opponents as being just rabble that was unused to using weapons, and so they would be helpless when faced with a surprise attack.

Separated from a great many of his men, Jairus would be as good as naked.

He could picture in his mind the scene of the crown prince entering Nedain in grand style. Beside him there would surely be his fiancée, Princess Vileena. Raymond Peacelow felt his chest grow warm. He had heard the rumour that, when he had been held captive, the one who had approached the lord of Nedain about his release was none other than the Garberan princess.

The Prince who honoured justice and the princess who had saved one such as himself. If these two people would also save Nedain, he felt that not only his and his companions’ future, but also the future of all of Mephius would be bright.

“But for that, we need to maintain the utmost caution. Don’t do anything hasty, Dolph.”

“Of course,” Dolph struck his fist against his rock-firm chest. “If it means being able to tie a rope around Jairus and Boyce’s necks with my own hands, I’d even sit in a fire and wait.”

''Boyce Abigoal''. Raymond recalled how they had passed one another by that evening.

When the village had been set alight, it was, of course, Jairus who had given the order, but it was actually his son Boyce who had carried out the action. He was a man who spent his time hunting from morning till night. He had aimed his gun at the people of the fief just as he would at deer or wild boars, and then raised his sword to slaughter women and children.

Raymond frequently went to the villages that surrounded Nedain. Just as those who mocked it said, the town was undeniably provincial. But because of that, the people all had simple, warm characters. And of course, those living in the village that had been set alight had all been well-known to him.

''Unforgivable'' – Raymond’s sense of that towards Boyce might be even greater than that of those who had lost family members.

“What’s that?” Asked Dolph when he saw Raymond hang something from the bracket that was used to hold a pine torch to the stone wall.

A flower. An artificial flower that seemed to have been made by folding thin sheets of paper.

“A charm,” Raymond smiled faintly. “Louise folded it for everyone last night.”

“Lady Louise did?”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v10 104.jpg|thumb]]
When they heard the name of Raymond’s younger sister, the men all crowded around the pale artificial flower.

She, just like Raymond, was very popular in the various villages. Her health was by no means robust, so she did not frequently visit the villages in person in the same way that her brother did, but her fair and unprejudiced personality was widely known among the villagers.

“Oh, it’s beautiful.”

“Idiot, don’t touch it! It’ll get broken if you touch it with your rough fingers.”

“What was that!”

The atmosphere grew boisterous.

Folding paper flowers was something like an old custom within the Peacelow family. Or rather, it was a kind of tradition that was still handed down in the northern region of Garbera that had once been their territory.

When a daughter from the Peacelow House turned fifteen years old, she received a present of high-quality paper from her mother. She was to use them to fold flowers for her friends and for the people who had taken care of her, only this time as a present from herself. And lastly, with the remaining paper, she would fold herself a bouquet once her marriage had been decided.

“Oi, Molt. Don’t stay in that corner and come see.”

“Ah, y-yeah.”

“Watch it, you’re always so clumsy, you might touch it and mess it up.”

The men were probably superimposing the image of the girl they would have seen no more than once or twice with the origami flower. Their vigour now was clearly different from the dazzle they had had until just moments ago, and Raymond smiled wryly at the scene.

The siblings’ parents had died when Raymond was young. Their father had been killed ten years ago, in the very first battle at the start of the war with Garbera. Since the Peacelow House had originally been a Garberan family, he was concerned that they would come under intense criticism and so he had taken the initiative of leading a troop and joining the battle.

Their mother’s health collapsed when she heard of their father’s death and she soon passed away. Raymond had been fifteen at the time. He succeeded as head of the household with no time to properly grieve for the loss of both his parents.

The year before last, when Louise had also reached the age of fifteen, Raymond had given her the gift of paper in their mother’s place.

The flower that was now decorating the stone wall was the first one she had folded. Since it was the first, in all honesty, it was not that good. In his memory, his mother’s paper flowers were much daintier and far more elaborate.

But still, this first flower that his little sister had painstakingly folded seemed to shine on its surroundings. It seemed to symbolise the present and future of the Peacelow House.

The perfect opportunity finally arose.

Jairus Abigoal would be leaving for the capital. He was probably going to plead directly for reinforcements, or perhaps a dispatch had already been decided and he was going there to organise the troops, including those for the garrison.

Boyce, who was in charge of defending Nedain in his father’s place until he returned, was spending his days hunting, just as he always did.

''Right'' – Raymond made up his mind. He would head for Birac when the sun set.

Since Nedain’s garrison took it in turns to watch over the highway, he would avoid that route. There was a good chance that the River Zwimm, which ran between the two cities, would also have lookouts. He followed a detour south and galloped hard, it should take him three or four days.

His preparations for food and provisions were already complete. Raymond called together the pages and stewards of the Peacelow House.

“I will be away for a short while.”

He avoided talking about his destination, but almost everyone could sense something of the situation. They all nodded with serious expressions or while shedding tears. When Raymond, the current head of the family, had been imprisoned, they had all endured the humiliation and the anxiety. None of them opposed his decision.

His sister Louise, who never spoke much, did not say anything in particular now either, as she looked at him with her large, anxious-looking eyes. But when he was finally about to depart, Louise, who seeing him off, suddenly held out her hand to him.

“Brother,” in her palm, there was a white origami. It was so small that it seemed likely to be blown away in the evening breeze. Raymond took it and tucked it in at his breast.

“Have I gotten a bit better?” Louise smiled shyly.

Raymond smiled too and shook his head. “Not there yet. You need to polish your skills much, much more before your marriage is arranged.”

When he said that, his sister blushed for a variety of reasons.

Sunset. With the dark mountain ridges behind him, Raymond was hurtling along on horseback.

''Finally.''

History was moving.

The future was changing.

And in that future, the people’s lives would be bright and he would find a partner for Louise and send her towards a happy married life. Raymond Peacelow was setting off as the first step towards that.

Without noticing the shadow that watched intently from behind him as he galloped away from the highway.

=== Part 4 ===

Raymond passed through the gates of Birac.

He had taken short breaks several times along the way to allow his horse to rest, still he had galloped almost all night. It was now early dawn of the fourth day since he had left Nedain.

Young though he was, he could not hide his exhaustion. But when he thought of his sister and companions whom he had left in Nedain, he felt that he could not possibly lie down to sleep.

Early in the morning, he proceeded towards Lord Aulin’s residence and informed the soldiers on guard at the gate of his identity. He was wondering how long he would be asked to wait but –

“I’ll see him at once,” the crown prince replied with an immediate meeting.

Two hours after arriving in Birac, Raymond was sitting directly across a table from Crown Prince Gil Mephius. Although the night had barely just given way to dawn, there was no trace of fatigue or sleepiness on the prince’s face.

''This person...''

He had known it of course, but he realised it anew seeing him directly –

''… is young.''

There was something frankly unbelievable in the fact that this crown prince, who at a glance looked like a young boy, had accomplished so many feats of arms in so little time.

However, sitting directly opposite him and facing him head on, it was also a fact that the other had a deeply impressive presence.

Immediately after they had exchanged greetings,

“So, you who is employed by the lord of Nedain, what business do you have with me, whose head is currently wanted throughout Mephius?” Gil Mephius asked. He drew his hand across his throat like a sword. “Spurred on by righteous indignation, have you come to ‘collect’ me all by yourself?”

“T-That is absurd...”

“Then speak.”

Having been caught up in the prince’s pace right from the start, Raymond talked about the current situation in Nedain and about Lord Jairus Abigoal’s evil deeds. Gil did not interrupt to say a single word. Finally, when they arrived at the main issue –

“I have brought you some food,” a voice came from the other side of the door.

“Come back later,” Gil started to say but then, for some reason, faltered partway. With a scowl, he altered his tone and his words –

“Please come in.”

The door opened and the figure of a girl with platinum hair appeared.

''Ah'' – Raymond exclaimed unthinkingly. He then stood straight, in an attitude even more at respectful attention than he had when Gil Mephius had entered the room.

With Teresia, her head lady’s maid, behind her, Princess Vileena set the food from a tray onto the table. Watching the warm steam rising from it, Prince Gil asked with a sullen expression –

“Princess, why are you here?”

“I heard that even though you had not yet had breakfast, you had already begun to work, Your Highness. It is good to be enthusiastic, but pushing yourself too hard is harmful to the health. Now then, you too Sir Peacelow.”

The Princess spoke cheerfully but, since she already knew his guest’s name, it looked like she had come to warn him – ''don’t do things sneakily''.

While Gil was sighing off to one side, the princess smiled and curtsied to Raymond.

“This is the first time I have the pleasure of seeing you.”

“Yes!” Raymond was still standing straight. “I have not forgotten for a moment that it was by your grace that I was saved at that time. However, I did not have the opportunity to express my gratitude to you before today. My impoliteness is…”

“But in what way?” The Princess personally added milk to the two men’s cups. “Now, please have some while it is warm.”

“I don’t think it’s really possible but, did you make it, Princess?”

“Not possible?” The Princess smiled and turned towards Gil. “What is not really possible, Your Highness?"

“N-Nothing.”

After a short breakfast, Raymond went into the main issue.

Incidentally, Princess Vileena had remained within the room. For a moment, Raymond had been worried about it, but Gil shook his head and urged him on, saying “don’t mind it.” He mostly looked resigned.

Raymond nodded and explained about the plan that was in motion in Nedain. When he gave the signal, a riot would immediately break out inside the town. Jairus would certainly use a large force to suppress it. They would lure those troops to the quarry, then with the prince’s help…

After hearing him out to the end, Gil drained the milk that was leftover in his cup and, in what looked like a gesture born from habit, waved the cup behind him to ask for a second serving. Since the one who stepped forward was the princess, for a second, his expression turned into a scowl again, but he meekly waited while she refilled it before saying –

“Interesting. If the plan works, we can take Nedain without any effort. Raymond, do you have experience with warfare?”

“I’m ashamed to say it, but no, none,” Raymond lowered his eyes. “Both my grandfather and my father were warriors born and bred, so I learned the basics, but there are not currently any soldiers serving the Peacelow House and I’m presently living at the mansion with my only family member. I was not favoured with any opportunity to achieve success on the battlefield.”

Who could say how much of the other’s circumstances Gil managed to grasp thanks to what he had just said. He once more drained his cup to about three-quarters empty.

“Well, Nedain Fortress might find itself in a strategic position soon,” he said offhandedly.

As for Raymond, he felt a little dizzy.

“However,” Gil’s expression and voice both changed, “I said it earlier, but I’m the one that Mephius’ Emperor has denounced as an impostor. Why did you decided to believe me?”

The way he asked the question was like he was probing the intentions of an enemy general. Raymond felt overawed but still just managed to force his voice out.

“Of course, it is because I believe that Your Highness honours justice and…”

“That has nothing to do with anything,” Gil said flatly and, for a second, Raymond averted his eyes.

“What’s the matter? Say it openly.”

“I-It may be presumptuous of me to say.” Raymond looked at the ‘crown prince’ before him with neither reverence nor dread, but only with his own resolve. “I did not believe in the prince, I believed in Her Highness, the princess, who saved me. Since she is by your side, most probably... no, certainly, there can be no mistake that you are the real crown prince.”

“Oh,” the prince and princess exchanged glances, then, “very well. Then I’ll also believe you, who believes the princess.”

A messenger had arrived from Raymond. He was a soldier from Birac Fortress who was disguised as a pedlar. Dolph’s hand shook when he received the letter from him.

It said that a military force would leave from Birac late that night. Two days from then, they would be waiting in watch by the highway, which was when they were to riot and lure Jairus’ soldiers away.

It was finally time to put their plan into action, in other words, it was time to snatch Nedain out of the hands of a foolish usurper; and for Dolph, it was time to accomplish the revenge that he been waiting for for so long.

At midnight of the next day, all of the companions gathered at the quarry. After finishing their final preparations there, they would disperse throughout Nedain in units of fifty men. They would cause disturbances, and set fire to empty houses and to stores belonging to merchants who acted as purveyors to the Abigoal House. Once the troops were sent out, they would once again assemble at the quarry. That was the planned sequence of events.

Dolph treated everyone to the wine that he had been keeping back for the occasion.

“Finally,” everyone said and clapped Dolph on the shoulder.

He drank while nodding back. He had always had a strong head for alcohol, but that night in particular, it did not get him drunk.

Weapons that they had scraped together from all over were leaning in a row within the man-made cave. There were only a few spears and swords, with the rest being pickaxes or hoes at best. Even so, in Dolph’s eyes, they represented unsurpassed strength and the symbol of victory.

There was also a single artificial flower decorating the wall. If his little brother’s wedding had been held as planned, the bride would surely have worn similar flowers in her hair.

With his wine in one hand, Dolph wept.

At around the same time, a man who was entirely concealed beneath his hooded cloak swaggered into sight at the entrance of a path that led straight to the quarry. The figures of other men in similar attire followed behind him.

The men on lookout, just as they had when they stopped Raymond, pretended to be drunk and went up to them.

“Yo, newcomers? Brought any booze with you?”

It had been arranged that about thirty men who endorsed their goals would be joining them that evening. That was an achievement which had been accomplished by Molt, a man who had participated in the plan from the first. He was originally a farmer and was not a man who usually stood out, so everyone had been astonished and had praised him tremendously for his feat on the previous evening.

That group, led by Molt, had arrived.

“We’ll drink a toast in Solon –”

Upon hearing the password, the man on watch felt reassured and started to turn back to go and inform his comrades in the quarry.

And in that second, a sword was drawn from beneath the cloak.

“– but did you think you’d be sharing it?”

The man who had been on watch fell without a sound. The blood-spattered cloak was flung aside.

“Go!”

The man in the lead yelled, brandishing his sword, and the soldiers flooded into the quarry, their rough voices reverberating.

Soon there was the uninterrupted sound of gunshots.

Screams that would have pinned a normal man to the spot if he had heard them welled up one after another. Caught in a surprise attack, ordinary people were no possible match against that troop from Nedain’s defence forces under Boyce Abigoal’s command.

The artificial cave was quickly filled with the corpses of those who had taken a bullet or a blow to the head from an axe or a sword.

“F-Fuckers.”

Wielding a sword, Dolph put up a desperate resistance, but a soldier’s sword sent both his weapon and his wrist flying through the air.

“Guah!” With a cry of pain that sounded like that of a crushed frog, Dolph crouched to the ground in pain. The blood spraying from his severed wrist stained the flower on the wall a dark red, and the secret massacre continued.

“Shouldn’t it soon be starting?”

Boyce Abigoal muttered as he looked up at the night sky filled with twinkling stars. He had not gone to the quarry. What currently lay in front of his eyes was the Peacelow mansion.

“Raymond is a fool,” Boyce’s clean-cut features wore a vicious smile.

For a while after he had been released, they had deliberately had soldiers keep him under conspicuous surveillance. But as soon as those soldiers had been removed, Raymond became completely careless. Immediately after Dolph’s brother was executed, they had once again reinforced their watch on Raymond to see if he was not getting any strange ideas again.

And Raymond had hatched a plan, just as they had thought – or rather, one that went far beyond what they had expected.

''But this is a good chance.''

Boyce had persuaded his father to make use of Raymond’s plot and to make preparations to ambush the soldiers who would be sent from Birac. Jairus going to Solon was certainly to formally request reinforcements, but it also served the purpose of giving Raymond free rein.

''If I can defeat the impostor crown prince before reinforcements arrive from Solon, His Majesty’s evaluation of the Abigoal House would all at once rise exponentially.'' He thought about how he might even receive an exceptional promotion and be made one of the twelve generals in place of Folker or Yuriah who had failed to subjugate the impostor.

That ambition dyed his heart completely black.

He was a man who had not one ounce of compassion towards those commoners. That was something he had inherited from his father. His heart did not feel so much as a twinge of pain at knowing that they were deliberately staging a rebellion and, furthermore, that their plan involved slaughtering his father and him.

Quite the opposite, he had won over the man called Molt in order to perfect the plan. Because his mother was ill, Molt urgently needed money. Boyce had paid from his own pocket to call in a doctor from Solon and had made the farmer into his spy.

By now, the quarry would have become a one-sided hunting ground. The hunt-loving Boyce did feel like wanting to go there, but he had something else to do.

''Right.''

“Let’s go,” he called out to the line of fully-armed soldiers then forcibly intruded into the Peacelow house.

By that time, a minor ruckus had broken out inside the mansion.

However, it was not because they had been able to predict the surprise attack. Rather, just in case the worse happened, Raymond had taken in about a dozen young children belonging to those who were involved in the rebellion. The children of course knew nothing about the situation. They had simply been told that it was because their fathers had to work overnight.

At first, they had been as quiet as lambs, but the children were between five and ten-years-old, and were at the ages when they most wanted to play. Even though all of them seemed to fall asleep as Louise read to them by their bedside, they were all over-excited by the change of environment and by seeing such a large mansion for the first time. Waking up again at midnight, they immediately started playing tag and hide-and-seek.

And into that –

“Where’s Raymond?” Boyce had violently come trampling into the mansion.

And of course, because men in helmets and armour had appeared, the children had run screaming.

“W-What do you want? At this hour…” A long-serving steward to the Peacelow House went to intercept them but Boyce treated him like nothing but a pain and swept him aside with a swing of his brawny arm.

“Search for Raymond! I’ll see that rebel hanged.” Shouting angrily, he smashed his way into one room after another, knocking over tables and slicing at pillars.

Boyce was, of course, well-aware that Raymond was not there.

He went up to the second floor and kicked open a door. The children had been lying hidden. Like kindling set alight, they all started crying at once.

“Lord Boyce, this is – outrageous.” Louise rushed over, her face pale.

Boyce’s eyes gleamed ferociously as turned towards her. He had had his sights on her for a long time. And especially when they had passed by each other near the Abigoal mansion recently: he could not forget how her limbs had seemed to give off heat as she had slipped quickly past him.

Already at the time, he had expected that this would happen. The ache of lust swelled until it was unbearable.

“Where is your brother, Raymond? Why isn’t he at home?”

Boyce heard her gulp. Louise’s large eyes darted around restlessly.

“M-My brother has gone to one of the neighbouring villages. There was an emergency and…”

“Hmph, don’t pretend ignorance. Did you think I didn’t know? What do you think is happening right now to the fools who gathered at the quarry?”

Louise looked startled, then her entire body started to tremble.

“You… Y-You… You can’t have…”

“Judging by your reaction, it looks like you also knew about the plan to rebel. Come! I’ll examine you in person.”

Seizing her slender arms that looked as though they might break from it, Boyce dragged Louise to an empty room.

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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume10 Chapter4

2017-10-24T14:25:26Z

Double Check: Minor typo on name.

==Chapter 4: Intervention==

=== Part 1 ===

It had been about ten days since the thousand or so soldiers from the crown prince’s army and the more than one thousand five hundred from the Mephian army had started their stand-off around Nedain.

Orba, who still remained in Birac, had received a succession of messages.

The first was about the fire that had occurred in Solon. In other words, it was about Simon Rodloom’s death.

When they received the news, Rogue and Odyne wept in secret. Although the truth about Simon’s death had, of course, been concealed, they understood what lay behind it after hearing that, on the grounds that the funeral took precedence, their families’ executions had been temporarily put on hold.

“I believed that Lord Simon would surely become a strong ally for us.”

When Odyne said that, Rogue shook his head, his eyes closed.

“No. He’d known His Majesty longer than anyone. And his principles were stronger than anyone’s. Having stood by the emperor’s side, his heart would not have allowed such a betrayal.”

''That person…'' Orba too was momentarily stunned.

They had not had any deep relationship. But because Simon had been something like the ‘previous’ Gil Mephius’ guardian, they had had several opportunities to meet face-to-face and talk.

He had been a man with a gentle manner. He did not have the kind of charisma that strongly attracted people or an explosive ability to take action. Even so, although Orba had met a great many nobles and royals in less than a year, Simon was not a man who had been buried under those other memories.

From what he had heard, whenever any kind of problem arose in Mephius, he was the first person consulted; and whenever trouble sprang up between nobles or military commanders, Simon was the first to be called upon to mediate.

Orba had felt like he could understand why that was.

And it was just such a man who had died.

Of course, Orba also realised that it had been to save Rogue and Odyne’s families. Perhaps he had also hoped that the emperor would have a change of heart because of it.

Orba realised that this man’s death had given him an unexpectedly strong shock.

It was not sentimentality.

It was undoubtedly Orba himself who had created the situation that caused Simon to incur the emperor’s displeasure. Because he had stood up for the prince when the latter had disobeyed the emperor and rushed off to Garbera with reinforcements, Simon had been punished with house arrest. It was also because of Orba’s actions, while wearing the "mask" of Gil, that Rogue and Odyne had directly opposed the emperor; and since Simon had chosen suicide as a way of saving them, Orba was also the cause of his death.

However, Orba no longer intended to go around thinking – ''this is my fault''.

Just as with the general of the Dawnlight Wings Division, Rogue, and the general of the Silver Axe Division, Odyne, Simon had held his own beliefs and principles, which he himself had acted on.

That was all.

Nevertheless, through their actions of offering up their own lives, Orba felt as though he caught a glimpse of the many heroes that he had met in the west, including a proud queen from those lands.

In the past, the Mephian soldiers and nobles had been no more than targets of hatred to him. He had wanted to burn the whole lot of them in a sea of fire. But now that his field of vision was wider, he could see that here too there were many heroes.

And when he had learned that one of them had chosen to die for Mephius’ sake, the shock had left him speechless.

Naturally, it was not only Orba or the generals, Rogue and Odyne, who felt that way; the people and the dignitaries of Mephius felt the same. It was clear to all that Simon had been one of the pillars supporting the country. Now that they had lost him, the retainers and the populace were even more anxious about the future.

At times like these, they needed something new to guide them. New blood. A new hero.

And in that sense, Simon’s death turned into a wind at Orba’s back that pushed him forward.

As proof of that, even in Solon –

“That man who claims to be His Imperial Highness…”

“Since he was able to take Birac, he’s definitely not an ordinary person.”

“They say that he didn’t take the heads of those who stood against him, Folker included. Does that really sound like just any old swindler?”

– Rumours were finally turning in his favour. And also –

“His Majesty intends to subjugate through military force, but wouldn’t it be better to send a messenger and invite him to an audience?”

“Oh, that’s right. If we could see him in person, we’d be able to tell whether he was real or an impostor. Then no one would have to fight this useless war.”

– Voices expressing that kind of sentiment started to filter through from all over.

As mentioned before, the wind was starting to blow in favour of the new hero, Gil Mephius. But all of a sudden, that wind was disturbed.

“Garbera’s troops fought against each other at Zaim?”

In his office, Orba drew his brows together. The next piece of news to reach Orba after Simon’s death was just as unexpected.

Zaim Fortress was a place that he had a deep connection. The impregnable fortress at Garbera’s northernmost border. It was the land in which Gil had led his first campaign and killed Ryucown, and also the place that he hurried to with reinforcements all the way from Apta when Garbera and Ende had clashed at the fortress.

Prince Zenon and Garbera’s troops had exchanged blows with those of a man called Salamand Fogel at Zaim. After which, Salamand had managed to break across the border and enter Mephian territory.

And his purpose – the great cause for which he was even prepared to violate the border – was to rescue the Garberan princess.

“Mephius is looking down on our country’s exalted lineage,” Salamand clamoured vociferously. “After her fiancé, Prince Gil, died, they came up with one reason after another to keep her inside the country. Because the emperor of Mephius had designs on the west, he held the princess hostage as a way of preventing my country from taking action. And to make matters worse, after having kept the princess confined, they’re now accusing her of being a traitor!”

The Mephian side was at a disadvantage there, since the Garberan princess had gone missing for a while. Rumours had spread because of the princess’ involvement in the war with the west but, once she reappeared alongside a crown prince who appeared to be linked to said west, things got complicated.

“Mephius never intended to conclude peace with us from the start. That marriage was nothing more than a temporary cover for them because it looked as though they were about to lose the war. I demand that they return the princess to us at once. After which, we can fight and settle things once and for all.”

Salamand sent an envoy to Solon carrying that message. Naturally, that envoy’s head had already been cut off at the emperor’s hands.

However, he had probably been expecting that and Salamand was now boldly occupying a village in the Vlad Plateau. He was waiting for the Mephian side to make a move while he lodged his soldiers there.

And of course, there was no way that Mephius could just ignore the situation. Having said that, it was equally obvious that Garbera would launch itself at the first hint of Salamand’s death. However, since the princess was at the crown prince’s side, it was also impossible to return her.

''Curse Garbera, seeing through our situation.''

''Isn’t it them rather, talking about peace and a wedding, using the princess and waiting until we’ve been weakened.''

Just as in Garbera, there had been many in Mephius who had been unhappy about how the ten-year war had ended. Since it had been Emperor Guhl’s decision and he was strongly inclined towards despotism, there had been few people who openly stated their opposition; however there were a great many people who would potentially be in favour of resuming war with Garbera.

In other words, both in Mephius and in Garbera, popular sentiment was being ignited because of Salamand. And that was dispelling the wind which had been favourable to Crown Prince Gil. His existence was instead becoming a hindrance.

There were no rumours about how Emperor Guhl was reacting. It was said though that he had sent a letter to the king of Garbera and that soldiers had been detached from those gathered to defend Solon in order to put Salamand down.

At any rate –

''If this carries on for long, it’ll be a problem.''

In front of his subordinates, Orba kept his expression neutral, but inwardly, he was grinding his teeth.

For Guhl, this was in a sense providential. If the crown prince and the Garberan Princess lost their unifying force, he would, for the time being, be able to bring the country together. After that, he would still need to deal with the neighbouring countries, but most statesmen would consider external threats preferable to internal ones. Since the emperor had been exploring ways to forge a connection to Ende, despite being in an alliance with Garbera, it was quite possible that now that there was a conflict between them, he could now conclude a military alliance with Ende.

“This Salamand, he could very well be acting at His Majesty’s instigation,” said Rogue. Because his expression was serious, it was hard to tell whether he was joking or not.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case,” answered Orba, also remaining deliberately grave. “Still, with this, we’ll probably have to spend even more time waiting to see what happens.”

During this time, Gilliam had returned to Birac to bring the regularly-scheduled report from the front lines. Hearing that they would be continuing to face off and wait, he looked thoroughly fed up.

“How boring.” He really was very easy to read. “That Raymond guy can’t help getting impatient. Besides, there’s his little sister and the people of Nedain... heh, if his self-control snaps, he might just march in there alone.”

“Then when that happens, put that bulky body of yours to use and stop him.”

“It’s for that reason that I’ve received such a ridiculously large body from my parents – right?”

For some reason, the two of them laughed soundlessly.

After which, Gilliam suddenly brought his face in close. “That Salamand guy’s troops are about six hundred at best. Prince, if it comes down to it, lend me two hundred men. I’m good at stirring things up with just a few people,” he laughed fearlessly.

Orba answered that he would think about it.

In fact though, whether it was the crown prince’s side or the emperor’s which defeated Salamand it would not make much difference to Garbera’s internal situation.

Orba wanted to avoid wars with any neighbouring countries for now. All the more so since he was the one who had created this political instability.

''Shit!''

After taking Birac and failing to capture Nedain, he had been forced into a ‘waiting’ attitude. But now that the situation had changed, was maintaining that attitude the best thing to do? If he made an impatient move, all the time spent up until now would most certainly be wasted; but allowing a foreign enemy to invade would only result in needless devastation to the country.

In this situation, he could neither move his soldiers, nor sit waiting.

Now that things were like this, Simon’s death was an even harder blow.

In a way, that man had undoubtedly been even more of a unifying force than the emperor. One of the plans Orba had been toying with was, if necessary, getting in touch either with Simon himself or with those who wished for his return to the centre stage of politics, and induce them to make a move from inside Solon.

But that option had now collapsed.

He did not have many hands left to play or plans that he could come up with.

A different sort of threat than that of a direct attempt on his life seemed to forming spears and swords that were now crowding around Orba’s neck.

Meanwhile –

“Salamand. I’ve never heard that name.”

The one who muttered that was Vileena Owell as she stood before an open window. Her hands on her waist and her eyes narrowed as far as they would go, she sighed, her posture every bit that of a warrior.

“Princess, please close the window.”

Which did not, however, prevent her from being scolded by Theresia from behind.

“You are already in poor shape and the night wind is terrible for the health.”

“What poor shape? In the first place, a person who damages their own health when facing an urgent situation cannot be considered a warrior. That would be something only a fool would… ''Atchoo!''”

Vileena’s utterly earnest expression twisted suddenly as she gave a ferocious sneeze. Theresia looked thoroughly exasperated.

“Princesses are not warriors, nor should they be fools. Now then, I’ve brewed some hot tea so hurry on over here.”

Vileena had been suffering from a slight cold since the previous day. She was in a land that she was not used to, which made Theresia all the more worried. Vileena meekly shut the window and took her seat at the table.

“Theresia, had you ever heard the name ‘Salamand’?”

“Well now. I don’t have anything to do with the military.”

“A man I’ve never met is using my name and hindering Mephius while preaching his own selfish version of chivalry. Actually no, it’s not only Mephius but also Garbera. I can’t stand it.”

“When you say that you cannot stand it, it sounds as though you are about to set off and kill that man Salamand.”

“Hmm. That’s a good idea,” responded Vileena, a teacup in hand.

Although outwardly she could still afford to joke about it, just like Orba’s, her inner feelings were a bit more complicated.

Theresia changed the subject.

“Speaking of which, it seems that Lord Rodloom has passed away.”

“Yes.”

While she sipped her tea, Vileena’s expression turned markedly quiet. Other than exchanging greetings, the only time she had ever really spoken with Simon Rodloom was when she went to visit him at his mansion just before she left Solon. Despite that, the news of his death had caused her heart quite a lot of pain.

He had been a gentle person, but one who went to the core of one’s body and soul. That comfortable conversation had, in a way, reminded Vileena of the time she used to spend with her grandfather.

“I’ve heard that he was something like a guardian to His Highness. I’m sure His Highness must be grieving over his death.”

“I’ve happened to catch sight several times of the people of Birac offering up prayers for Lord Rodloom. He must have been a truly splendid gentleman.”

“Ah. He maintained the dignity of the chosen right to the very end. That is true chivalry. I would like to thrust it in front of that Salamand fellow.” It looked as though the princess could not break free from that topic.

Theresia shrugged. She knew that once her mistress became emotionally wound up, she would not settle back down for a long time.

“After you have finished drinking your tea, please go and have a rest. If you damage your health, Princess, His Highness Gil will worry.”

“I get it.”

She was a princess who hated being a burden. Even if she were running a fever so high it gave her nightmares, even if her limbs ached so much it felt as though they were about to fall off, she would grit her teeth and endure it alone so that no one would realise. Theresia knew that, so she did not relentlessly pester the princess to rest.

Layla, who had been watching the exchange between the two, went shopping at Birac’s market the next day.

“Just about five days ago, a medicine seller with a really good reputation started coming to the morning market,” the woman in charge of the fish market, whom she knew by sight, had told her.

Even though it was called a common cold, every land had its own characteristics and, likewise, every land had its own characteristic cures. So Layla had asked about them.

When she went where she had been told, sure enough, there was a street stall. An elderly man had set up dried roots and jars filled with powders by the side of the road.

It was obvious at a glance that he was Zerdian. Although Layla had lived in the west, the clothes he was wearing were unfamiliar to her. Rather than Zerdian native dress, they looked like garments deliberately imitating the distorted image of what Mephians believed westerners looked like.

Maybe because that generated a feeling of goodwill, or maybe because people in Birac were used to trading with foreigners, the old, western-looking man and his stall seemed to be doing a flourishing business.

Layla headed towards it.

The man in front of her was poking around at various things while chatting with the old man as he did so. The man was apparently a soldier employed at Birac castle, and when she heard that Layla’s steps faltered for a moment. No matter how close he might be to Fedom Aulin, the man could not possibly know her face; but it was no wonder that she was overly-cautious since, if ever Fedom learned of her existence, there was no saying what he might do to her and her father.

“Oh, you’re from the castle? Then have you met the famous Crown Prince everyone is talking about?” The stall owner asked with interest.

“Well, I know what he looks like.”

“Then please be sure to introduce me to him. My skill at mixing medicine is renowned throughout the west… no, throughout the continent…”

“That’s nice and all, but His Highness is very busy. I don’t think he’d come and spend time with a show-off, you know?”

“Who’s a show-off? Right, I bet continuously waging war means His Highness has all sorts of ails and ills. You could ask about it discreetly, no? Stomach-aches, headaches, lumbago; my medicine can cure anything. When he sees how well they work, His Highness is sure to want to meet me too.”

“You sure are persistent, Gramps.”

The man enjoyed his chat with the elderly stall-owner for a while longer, then, in the end, left without buying anything.

Once he was out of sight, Layla bought some medicinal tea from the old man. Just as she was about to leave, she caught sight of a written word from the corner of her eye.

''Poison'' – proclaimed a signboard.

“You deal in poison?”

“If handled correctly, poison can be used as medicine. We do say that poison counters poison. Was there something you wanted?”

Layla hesitated. There was certainly a craving in her heart, but she was afraid that if she admitted it to herself, she would start down a road that there would be no turning back from.

The old man smiled. “How about just taking a look? I keep various things stored in that unused house over there. Even if all you take out of it is knowledge, it might always come in useful later.”

Layla was not able to go against the old man’s pushiness. She entered the house, which was a little apart from the street.

“There are stairs this way. Please be careful,” the old man said lightly as he walked on ahead. Layla took his hand without really thinking about it.

In that instant, her consciousness was cut off.

“Hmm.”

By the time she heard the old man’s low voice murmuring close to her ear, how long had it already been since she had entered the house?

“Something nice has leapt into the net.”

The cheerful appearance that he had displayed at the stall had vanished without a trace. From the piercing look in his eyes and the way he threw out his broad chest, there was a dignity about him that made it hard to believe that he was a mere merchant.

This was Zafar, the old man who had served ‘Garda’ when he had waged war on the west.

=== Part 2 ===

Malchio Le Doria had passed away.

Ende bordered both Mephius and Garbera, and was a country with a long history. He had been its Grand Duke.

Malchio had been an extremely commonplace ruler with no outstanding achievements to his name, although, taken otherwise, that also meant that he had committed no spectacular mistakes. When the war between Mephius and Garbera stretched on for ten years, he said nothing and did nothing. There were rumours that the nomadic tribes that periodically threatened the northern border area, Dairan, were receiving support from Zonga, which was even further to the north, so the relationship with Zonga had deteriorated somewhat; but even then, Malchio had simply gently chided his retainers and the matter had been settled peacefully after he had dispatched an envoy to them.

And thus, while there were voices that praised him as – ''a benevolent ruler who has brought peace to the country'', there were others that said – ''his principle of avoiding trouble at all cost is really irritating''.

Ende had inherited a flourishing culture from the Magic Dynasty. In painting and poetry, literature and architecture, it would allow itself to be second to no other country. The people however were not wealthy. Because of that, when the war had been going on for ten years, there had been those who were of the opinion that Ende should align itself with either Mephius or Garbera, and enjoy the bounty of being one of the victorious countries.

In fact, Grand Duke Malchio, who was known for his moderation, had once, and only once, taken a decisive stand. When there had been an offer to have Garbera’s Princess Vileena marry his second son, Eric Amon Doria.

Essentially, Ende did not like to accept foreign blood. It boasted that it was directly descended from the Ancient Magic Dynasty which had once nearly ruled over the entire world.

Malchio, however, knew that he did not have much longer to live. At the time, his condition had been such that for every three days of work, he would spend one day bedridden. And so, he had thought –

''I’ll take a gamble on this.''

Preparations for the wedding were pushed forward in secret. Even the army had been reorganised in anticipation of Mephius marching on them at some point in the future. And then, the proposal had been withdrawn by Garbera itself. His two sons – Jeremie, the eldest, and Eric, the one who was supposed to marry the princess – had openly voiced their fury at having Ende’s pride and history being dragged in the mud. Malchio himself however had not been particularly bothered by it.

''Ah well, that just means that I’ve lost the gamble.''

When, as a way of apologising, Garbera had sent the second prince, Zenon, as an envoy to Ende, Malchio had given him a warm reception and had exchanged vows of everlasting friendship with him.

But neither of his two sons had been satisfied.

When General Ryucown rose in rebellion in Garbera, Malchio’s eldest son, Jeremie Amon Doria, had secretly offered him assistance. Then later the younger brother, Eric, as a way of “punishing” Garbera for its lack of courtesy, had taken his troops and clashed with a combined Mephian-Garberan force in the vicinity of Zaim Fortress. For a while, he had been one step away from cornering the Garberan troops led by Prince Zenon.

The Grand Duke had already been bedridden at the time and was unable to control his sons’ actions. It was rare for him to even summon them to his bedside. Rumour had it that he was not even conscious most of the time.

Ende’s courtiers worried over whether to support the older or the younger of the brothers, endlessly wavering and hesitating over their decision. Of the two, the one who was more deeply familiar with the culture and customs of Ende was the prudent Jeremie. On the other hand, the somewhat quick-tempered Eric had proven his dynamism and military leadership during the long years he had spent in Dairan, fighting the northern nomadic tribes, but he was unfamiliar with the customs of the Court.

A shadowy and swordless feud spread throughout the country. Everyone hoped to be among those who would lead Ende during its next era; and in order to remove any obstacles to their ambitions, some used brute force to get rid of opponents, while others used their riches or words to gather allies.

The brothers harshly criticised each other and each continued to proclaim their right to be the next Grand Duke.

Their father’s voice, which should have been remonstrating with them, was nowhere to be heard.

Everyone foresaw that the time was near. And because they foresaw it, they were frantically running around, gathering like-minded allies and desperately trying to gain the trust of the prince that they had decided to support.

And when the time finally came, it did so very quietly.

Since the morning, the populace had anxiously been glancing up at the sky. In the distance, they could see Safia’s palace. Separated from the capital by a vast lake and set atop a hill, the palace usually seemed to glitter with an almost divine radiance; but that day, it stood there looking lonely and somewhat sad.

The flag of the Magic Dynasty fluttered near the highest point of the palace. It denoted the legitimacy of the grand ducal family and seemed to be flapping particularly violently. Just before noon, a bell tolled, indicating that the ruler had passed away.

The people let out wails of lamentation. All recited the names of the spirits as they prayed that the Grand Duke would sleep peacefully, and that Ende too would continue to be at peace.

The next morning, the Grand Duke’s closest aides summoned the chief retainers to the Swan Shrine – also known as the Water Shrine – which was frequently used in ceremonies.

A great crowd of the nobles gathered in Safia were present. Naturally, the two princes, Jeremie and Eric, were also standing aligned on the crystal-covered floor.

Once he judged that the time was right, one of the aides started to read the will left by the Grand Duke.

While the river could be seen flowing below through the transparent crystal, the thread of tension was stretched taut above. Some of the people there were so pale that it looked as though they might collapse at any moment. While Jeremie played with his braided hair, Eric had his arms crossed, and both were waiting impatiently for this moment.

“The name of the next Grand Duke of the Grand Duchy of Ende will be…”

What the aged attendant said next seemed to reverberate through every nook and cranny of the palace…

“Eric Le Doria.”

Instantly, the shrine was in an uproar.

The two princes stood as stiff and still as though a spell had been cast upon them, so that looking at them, it was impossible to tell who had won and who had lost. At the aide’s prompting, Eric hesitantly took a step forward. The elderly aide, who stood before him, bowed his head.

“From today onwards, you will throw away the name ‘Amon’ and call yourself by this new name. From today onwards, you will not be a private person: your figure, your voice, your thoughts, in all of these, you will be Ende. Your age and the years you have lived no longer mean anything. You shall shoulder the burden of the Magic Dynasty’s history, of its past and origins, and, under the protection of the Spirits, you…”

“Preposterous!” Prince Jeremie cried out. His somewhat flat face, which he usually improved with the use of cosmetics, now held unconcealed fury as he pointed a thin finger at his younger brother. “This miscreant is suspected of having forged Father’s words when he rode his warhorses towards Garbera. Who can say that is not what happened this time too!”

There might have been some who agreed with him, but Jeremie’s voice simply echoed unanswered within the Water Shrine. He was a man who could read a situation. In fact, he could do so far better than his younger brother. Grinding his teeth so hard he looked like a different person, he whirled around with the force of a gust of wind and left the shrine. His loyal followers hurried after him. There were less than ten of them.

Of course, many of the others there had also been Jeremie’s followers. Those of them who remained behind looked pale for a moment, but Ende had a long history and its aristocrats were proportionally cunning. Even as Jeremie was still leaving, their raised voices mingled with the cries of joy from Eric’s supporters and they looked, for all the world, as though they had long been dreaming of the day when he would become Grand Duke, raising their hands and their voices to offer him their congratulations.

That evening, in order to prepare for the ceremony in which he would be enthroned as the next Grand Duke, Eric was once again inside the same Water Shrine where the official proclamation had been made. Without eating or sleeping, he was to kneel on the wide crystal floor and pray ceaselessly.

It was a ceremony in which he was supposed to listen intently to the silent speeches from the Spirits who protected Ende, and watch their congratulatory dances from behind his closed eyelids, then emerge reborn in body and mind as the Grand Duke.

Time dragged slowly by and Eric felt as though he were melting into the darkness.

''The Grand Duke.''

''I… am going to be the Grand Duke?''

Although he had fought for it body and soul, the thought that, as of tomorrow, he would be shouldering the responsibility for the entire country simply did not seem real. His heart even felt somewhat chilled.

''Am I really worthy?''

Eric’s body had been forged in battle, yet the doubts that welled up within him made him tremble. He had never felt that way when he had been competing with Jeremie.

''Ende has a long history. A man like my brother might be a better suited to stand at the top of it after all. Wouldn’t it fit me better to assist him by staying in Dairan and continuing to ride alongside my friends there?''

It was so quiet that his own heartbeat was making his ears pound. The ceiling was studded with jewels that shone dimly under the effect of ether, filling the room with a faint phosphorescence. Their glow was reflected in the water that flowed below, throwing Eric’s agonised expression into vivid relief.

''What’s with me being this weak?''

The faces of the two men he had met in Garbera suddenly flashed through his mind: Garbera’s second prince, Zenon, and Mephius’ crown prince, Gil.

Both of them were young. Gil Mephius so much so that he could still be called a boy. Yet in spite of that, and without a single trace of fear, he had confidently negotiated with both Zenon and Eric.

When he heard that Gil had died, he had not been able to believe it.

But at the same time, he had thought – t''hat kind of man probably makes enemies easily among those who are on the same side as him.''

But then, sometime later, that self-same Gil had resurrected and split Mephius clean apart. Reports of that had, of course, also reached Eric. He did not know whether it was an impostor or the real one. When he had first heard the rumour, he had figured that it was almost certainly the former, but now, he thought –

''It’d be interesting if it was the real one''.

The boy who opposed the current regime, and who was so dangerous to it that even a retainer had aimed for his life, was now marching on the capital while gathering more and more allies to him.

He was ill-bred and uncouth, and yet... Eric felt that there was a strange similarity between that figure and he himself, who was now standing at the top of Ende, a country which clung to systems so archaic that mould was growing on them.

''It’s my duty to get rid of that mould.''

Eric straightened his posture and took a deep breath, alone and defiant in the darkness.

''When it was obvious that I would become a political opponent, my brother was willing to unleash dragons on Dairan simply to push me aside. That’s the kind of man he is. If I’d been one step late, who knows how many innocent people would’ve been torn apart by their fangs. There’s no way I’m leaving the country to a man like that.''

His emotions settled down.

However, early the next day.

Eric went out to face the morning of his coronation with unclouded feelings, but at around the same time that he had been finishing the preliminary ceremony, a huge uproar broke out within the capital, Safia.

“What!”

When he received the initial report from soldiers who practically tumbled at his feet, Eric’s expression went rigid. Jeremie Amon Doria had done the worst thing that Eric could possibly have imagined.
Just before dawn, he had taken action with just a small handful of troops. And had used force.

If Jeremie had attacked the Water Shrine, where Eric had gone into seclusion, he would probably have been able to accept it and would have thought – ''Brother, if this is the way to prevent a lingering grudge, come at me to your heart’s content.''

Instead though, Jeremie had seized the opportunity afforded by Eric being secluded in the Water Shrine and had penetrated to the highest area of the main palace, where the flag bearing the emblem of the magic Dynasty was kept. And he had stolen the flag which should have been proudly hoisted into the morning wind to preside over the coronation ceremony.

The dozen or so soldiers who guarded the flag were the first victims. Puzzled and suspicious, they had approached Jeremie to question him but, right at that moment, the First Prince had taken out some powder from at his breast and scattered it in the air. Inhaling it, the soldiers starting coughing and choking violently, causing their steps to become unsteady. Which was when soldiers under Jeremie’s command had cut them down.

Flying the flag, splattered with the blood of his victims, Jeremie had fled Safia and was attempting to cross the border.

This was as much as Eric knew but, at almost the same time that the palace was being thrown into a complete upheaval, a similar disturbance was occurring in the Bureau of Sorcery, which normally remained detached from worldly concerns.

The doors of the underground storehouse, which the Bureau had jurisdiction over, had been thrown open and a number of ‘vessels of sorcery’ taken. These had been excavated from ancient ruins and had been handed down since the Magic Dynasty; and there were some among them that not even a prince could take out without the grand duke’s express permission.

And with them, Hezel, a sorcerer affiliated to the Bureau, was equally nowhere to be found. The director of the Bureau of Sorcery, Wodan, flew into a towering rage.

Naturally, Eric ordered that the borders be blockaded, but Jeremie seemed to have gotten help from a sorcerer and had been swift to cross the border by airship. He was headed northwest to Zonga, a country with many ports…

With no time to hold the coronation – and anyway, without the Magic Dynasty’s emblematic flag, the ceremony would have no legitimacy – Eric organised a pursuit unit. Given his personality, Eric would have liked to personally lead the chase, but since there was a chance that some of his brother’s men might still be in Safia, as the next grand duke, he had no choice but to remain in the capital.

He immediately sent a letter to Zonga but, as it was a country which had once been a large commercial power thanks to its flourishing trade with the northern coastal countries, it still retained the haughty personality of those bygone days. It feigned indifference towards the petty squabbles in the central part of the continent.

''Damn you Jeremie, you’re really good at being prepared''.

He must have even planned what to do in case he was not chosen as the next grand duke. His determination was impressive, but it was also for that reason that Eric believed that his brother was better suited to being an aide than the grand duke himself.

“If you prepare a way out beforehand, then you don’t have the capacity to be a ruler,” he said, putting his thoughts into words. Still, that also meant that now that they were openly enemies, Jeremie was not an opponent that he could afford to underestimate.

The silent power struggle that had long been unfolding in Ende was finally at an end. But what had replaced it was a conflict that would ring with the clash of weapons and the roar of gunfire. Which meant that there would be blood and victims.

“He can’t possibly be intending to ally himself with Zonga and invade us, can he?”

What worried Eric more than Zonga, however, was where the flag of the Magic Dynasty was. In a way, that was sure to have a far greater effect on Ende’s future than Jeremie’s existence would.

Speaking of Jeremie, the former First Prince who had fled his country, he felt just as strongly as Eric did – or perhaps he felt it even more intensely – that his stealing the flag was the worst possible outcome.

By way of Zonga’s ports, he got into touch with the powerful eastern country, Allion.

“Eric is not worthy of carrying on the lineage of the Magic Dynasty. I have the flag of the Dynasty with me. Let us now unite our purposes under this banner,” he wrote in his letter.

Jeremie remained in Zonga and, two weeks later, a reply from Allion reached him there.

In this letter, and in the name of safeguarding the history and authority of the Magic Dynasty, the First Prince of Allion, Kaseria Jamil, promised to send him troops.

Specifically, troops from the division under Kaseria’s direct command, which was famed for mercilessly slaughtering its opponents. He would bring a fleet with two thousand of them to Zonga.

Holding the letter, Jeremie’s slender body began to tremble.

His heart was seized with a feeling of remorse so strong that anyone suddenly drawing close to him would have seen it flickering in his eyes.

Inviting in Allion’s king meant a future in which Ende would either be trampled underfoot or annexed. Allion needed a foothold in the centre of the continent. Ende’s current internal dispute was certainly something that they viewed as advantageous.

But the response had been too fast.

Jeremie’s hands fell to his side as he suddenly realised something – ''It can’t be that Hezel had already laid out the groundwork?''

The sorcerer was a long-time acquaintance of his and, when the First Prince had decided on his drastic course of action, it had also been on his advice.

Could it be that the man had connections to Allion from the start? By nature, he was someone whose passion for the study of sorcery was like his life’s blood. It was to the point that when he had heard that a sorcerer claiming to be Garda had appeared in the west, he had headed off there alone to gather information, without bothering to get permission from either the Bureau of Sorcery or from Jeremie himself.

With that in mind, he might be hoping to create a situation in which the two countries which had split away from the Magic Dynasty would be united as one, allowing him to study the history books and grimoires from both.

Nevertheless –

''At this rate, I will forever be known as a failure. Even if it’s only for a fleeting moment, I must become Grand Duke and leave my name behind in the records of Ende’s rulers.''

Such was Jeremie’s decision.

What had already happened could no longer be changed.

Not even the greatest of sorcerers could do so.

=== Part 3 ===

The situation had changed completely.

News of Ende’s internal strife and of the imminent arrival of a fleet from Allion flew around the centre of the continent almost in an instant. And the fastest to respond to that news was Salamand Fogel’s unit, which was still waiting within Mephian territory.

They left some money by way of compensation for the village where they had been staying and set off immediately. They travelled west of the River Wendt, heading north to Idoro, which was the fortress that defended the easternmost tip of Mephius.

The lord of the domain, Julius, hurriedly sent a cable message to the capital. Julius, however, was in a weakened position since he, having wanted to make sure of which way the wind was blowing, he had come up with one reason or another to delay responding to the emperor’s call for a dispatch of troops.

''Should we go out and face them with just our own troops?'' It was not that Julius had never considered that possibility, but it was still unclear how this Salamand’s own country intended to deal with his force.

West of Salamand’s unit, as it headed north, was Kilro.

Its lord was Indolph York – an ally that Fedom, of Birac, had won over to his anti-Emperor faction. He, in turn, had been planning to rise to action in concert with Fedom and the crown prince, which left him uncertain as to how to deal with the sudden incursion by an enemy force. And as a result, he simply watched from behind as Salamand disappeared over the horizon.

“Isn’t it funny?” Salamand laughed fearlessly as he rode, his entire body shaking with mirth. “It’s as if everything is coming together to push me forward.”

Salamand Fogel only remained in Mephius in search of a place to die. At first, it had not mattered where that was, so he had intended to just clash with Mephius’ military and perish. However, now, if he used the fact that Kilro, Idoro and the capital had lost their ability to cooperate, he realised that – ''I can bring down a far bigger prey than I’d thought''.

Shaken by civil war, Mephius was like a giant whose mind and limbs no longer operated together. The very fact that Salamand’s unit had been able to remain within its territory for so long indicated how bizarre the entire situation was.

“Everyone, this is proof that General Ryucown is watching over us from the sky.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v10 208.jpg|thumb]]
Salamand raised his fist to the heavens as he yelled. His soldiers all did the same. They were all devotees of Ryucown. There were even some among them whose bearded faces were wet with tears.

“Remember this place well. One day, guided by true chivalry, what we see will become part of our beloved Garbera.”

And then, there was Ende.

Prince Eric – who could not yet claim the title of “Grand Duke” since the coronation ceremony could not be carried out – had summoned the chief courtiers and commanders to the main palace. Among them there were also Ende’s warrior priests, whose role was to call on the guardian spirits from all the various shrines in the land.

Allion’s fleet was, even now, crossing the sea. Which implied that they were saving their reserves of ether for their air carriers and airships, and that they would soon come to anchor in Zonga’s ports. Although, if Zonga were asked about it directly, they would probably deny it point blank.

''That’s the only thing in our favour'' – thought Eric.

It meant that they could not afford to transport soldiers by way of air. For all of its might, the Kingdom of Allion had only just come out of a large-scale war. And, with Allion being Allion, he had also heard rumors of trifling internal disturbances.

Even First Prince Kaseria’s troops were at less than their full contingent.

It was said that the king of Allion had not seemed particularly interested in Jeremie’s appeal, but had dispatched troops under Kaseria’s command at the prince’s fervent request.

''A beast thirsting for blood''.

So said the rumours. Kaseria Jamil enjoyed poetry and music as much as he loved women, and killed as naturally as he breathed. Rumour even claimed that he had withdrawal symptoms if he was not destroying something or slaughtering someone.

“The enemy is at about two thousand. Even if they increase their numbers, they will not go beyond double that.”

The generals were letting their ideas do the fighting across the table during the council of war.

“We’ll gather the entire army in Dairan and intercept them.”

“The entire army will be impossible. Mephius and Garbera are currently politically unstable. At a time like this, if we don’t reinforce our defences in all four directions, who knows what kind of miscreant might cross our borders.”

“Moreover,” an old admiral dressed in long-hemmed clothes blinked almost incessantly, “even if we manage to repel them, what will follow after will be tens of thousands of Allion’s troops. Is going to war really for the best?”

“The root of all this is Prince Jeremie – ah, no, sorry, he’s been stripped of his title – Jeremie. If we capture him and have him officially receive judgement, he will be recognised as a traitor against his own country. And Allion will lose just cause for intervention.”

“Just cause?” A general with a tangled mat of hair spluttered as though in amazement. “If Allion were a country that respected justice or causes, neither Holy Dytiann nor the “Silent Ruler,” Shazarn, would not have been brought to ruin. Those bastards are masters at brandishing whatever “just cause” is most convenient for them. No matter what we do, war is unavoidable!”

“The coastal countries might offer reinforcements. They’re trade nations: many of their kings will be worried about Allion gaining power in the area.”

“You want us to ally ourselves with those heathens who worship pot-bellied gods with twisted limbs? Every last one of Ende’s guardian Spirits would abandon us!”

“What are you on about at a time like this! The fate of our country is at stake!”

“It is exactly because we are in peril that we need to demonstrate our pride and dignity as a country and…”

Ende’s long history and traditions sometimes turned its people’s thought-processes a little rusty.

Prince Eric had come to understand something in this short amount of time. Up until then, the councils of war he had known had been held in tents set up on the grass-covered plains of Dairan and had merely involved discussions of how best to slaughter the enemy, how to minimise their own losses, and where to hold the victory celebration afterwards. In other words, Eric had only ever experienced councils which were extremely simple and extremely efficient; and now, as he watched while words were tossed around before him, he could not help but find a certain humour in the contrast between how light the existence of these words was, and how heavy their impact on history would be.

''Right, no matter how appalling this is, there’s still something humorous about it.''

“All of you,” Eric stretched out a hand and broke up the courtiers’ dispute which had looked like it was going to continue on endlessly.

Startled, everyone looked up towards the future grand duke, innumerable expectations and calculations flitting through them as they did so. There were people there who hoped to maintain their positions by finding favour with the next grand duke; people who wanted to see how this very young and very rustic man, who had no experience on the field except in Dairan, was going to cope with this unprecedented crisis; and people who were simply waiting impatiently, eager to go to war.

“Asking for reinforcements from the coastal countries is an excellent idea. Our ties with them go back a long way. To claim that borrowing the strength of such old friends is shameful is the same as denying our history. Is it not?”

“Aye,” the retainers nodded.

Even those who had earlier dismissed them because of their “gods and whatnot” were aware that this was the only way to avert the crisis. The words of rejection they had spoken were, perhaps also because of the weight of history, something which had to be done as a matter of form.

''For the time being'' – they had no other choice if they were to hold Allion in check. The atmosphere in the room seemed to become firmer.

“And then there’s Mephius and Garbera,” the young man who would be the next grand duke spoke words that left everyone astounded. “We will request reinforcements from them too.”
“What!”

“Mephius is being shaken by civil war. There are also signs of that in Garbera. And besides…” One of the generals abruptly stopped talking.

Troops from Garbera and Ende had clashed just a very short while ago. And it was Eric himself who had led the forces from Ende. They had valiantly set off but, in the end, Mephius had also entered the fray, leaving them no choice but to turn back. Immediately after that, wild dragons had attacked Dairan and Eric had earned renown by slaying them; but if had not been for that fact, if he had merely scurried home, he would simply have been a defeated commander and would probably have lost his candidacy for the position of grand duke.

Eric bestowed a smile upon the general.

“It’s perfectly obvious that Allion is not aiming for our country alone. Mephius and Garbera surely know that just as well as the countries by the sea do. I’m aware that they currently have their own troubles to deal with, and that we don’t know how much strength they can muster. But right now, what is important is to issue an appeal making it clear that we should share the same purpose. It will help with what’s to come.”

Once he had spoken, Eric stood up. Just as everyone else was doing the same, he continued:

“Warriors, collect swords, spears and guns. Take anything that looks usable and don’t neglect preparations when it comes to soldiers either. The civil officials will write. Naturally, you will make sure that the letters for each of the coastal countries as well as for Mephius and Garbera are individualised, and that each one is written in such a way as to strike a chord with the people of each different country. This is war. A war in which you will put your life on the line to defend your country.”

Eric was, by nature, a poor orator so the words he had just spoken had been prepared beforehand. He had not been able to completely banish his nervousness, but the speech was still effective. His gaze swept over the retainers, who all had their heads bowed before him.

“May every one of the Spirits protect us.”

“May the Spirits protect us,” everyone echoed the same words.

While Ende was still set in its ancient ways, in the Mephian territory of Birac, new blood was in the process of ushering in change.

Orba belatedly caught wind of the events surrounding Ende’s struggle for succession and of Allion’s movements. The news was already widely circulated in Solon and, since it was transmitted from there to Birac, he was also able to find out how the capital was reacting to it.

''This is bad''.

Orba paced around the room in Fedom’s mansion which had been allocated to him.

He had been waiting and waiting in Birac and, just as he thought that the wind was finally blowing his way, the situation with Salamand and then Ende had cropped up in quick succession. Voices had only just started to rise in support of the crown prince, but he was afraid that Gil Mephius would be seen as no more than a troublemaker seeding discord in a time when difficulties were piling up and the country needed to stand united.

And Gil’s situation would only get worse if Salamand were to attack one of the cities or if Allion’s troops arrive in the center of the continent in response to Jeremie’s appeal.

His plans were being upset from a direction he had never even dreamed of.

''The general's words might not have been that much of a joke'' – he thought, remembering how Rogue had previously suggested that Salamand might be acting “at His Majesty’s instigation”.

Of course, that was not the same as saying that Guhl had ushured Salamand in. But it was possible that Guhl Mephius was currently deliberately allowing Salamand to remain. The imperial family’s reputation and prestige might take a blow because of it, but he might well feel that it was more important, at least for now, to foster the country's perception that Gil Mephius was a hindrance.

According to one of the rumours in Solon, Salamand was working in collusion with the Impostor Crown Prince. The fake Gil was working with the west and with Garbera to make Mephius fall into chaos. The origin of the rumour was unknown but it would not be surprising if the emperor were pulling the strings.

A troop of a thousand soldiers was right before him in Nedain. Orba could not move forward without first dealing with this. But if he took action now, he would be branded a traitor who took advantage of the country’s difficulties to satisfy his own greedy ambitions.

“It’s a plausible story,” nodded Rogue when Orba consulted with him about it. He had, for the time being, left his vice-commander in charge of the air fleet in Nedain, and was paying his respects to Gil.

“Once you are no longer a unifying force, Your Highness, His Majesty probably intends to send out an elite force to crush Salamand. The people will then be left with the impression that the one defending the country is, after all, definitely the emperor. Even if it later leads to war with Garbera, that will only be a secondary consideration compared to civil war. And because the people are aware of Garbera’s provocative actions, in all likelihood, it will be a war which they will fully support.”

“There’s also the situation with Ende and Allion. Which means that Garbera won’t be able to start trouble easily either. If it actually comes to that.”

Garbera might prepare its weapons and turn its attention entirely to defending its own country. Which would mean that Guhl Mephius would again be seen as the one who had protected this country.

Orba had been waiting for ‘time’ to start moving, but he had never expected it to do so in such a hectic manner.

''How serious is Allion about this? Will Garbera really just ignore Salamand? And what will Guhl’s next move be?''

Orba spent his time anguishing. His thoughts were being pulled in too many directions. He needed to broaden his field of vision... yes, but Orba’s experiences and way of thinking could not yet catch up with this situation. Or rather, he did not find it easy to cope with the threat of the untold thousands of enemy troops that were fast approaching.

Orba was constantly immersed in thought; when he was eating, when he was receiving the periodic reports from his men, when he was attending strategy meetings, when he was defecating – constantly.

Even when he was spending time with the princess, and despite the fact that he strongly reminded himself that – ''when we’re together, I really have to always pay attention'' – Orba would, again and again, fail to notice that she was talking to him. And, even though he would end up thinking ''Dammit!'', he still repeated the same mistake.

Yet strangely, although he expected the princess to immediately lash out angrily or else adopt an unyieldingly distant attitude because of her fury, she did not particularly seem to mind. He wondered whether she was also exhausted of constantly giving him reminders.

“Are you listening, Your Highness?”

“Yeah,” Orba answered, looking as though he had just snapped awake.

‘Luckily’, the person standing nearby was not a fourteen-year-old girl, but rather Pashir.

“How are things going with the new recruits?”

“For now, in terms of suspicious behaviour… If we’re talking about whether they can be used as soldiers, then they have started cooperating but, well… if they were sent to battle, about half of them would run away.”

“Oh?”

“They were temporarily carried away by the heroic tale of the imperial crown prince who revived from the dead. I’m sure they were thinking that if they could work near you, they might also become heroes. But in practice, there are already more than a hundred who have run away because of how strict the training is.”

Pashir uncompromisingly looked reality straight in the eye. Yet he noticed that Orba was looking at him with a half-amused expression.

“Is there something you are wanting to say?”

“Why does a man who’s so far-sighted not run away himself?”

''Eh?'' – said the expression on Pashir’s face.

“We’re not in a situation where I’m holding Mira or your gladiator friends hostage anymore. You’d do well to escape while you can. Or is the payoff for being an imperial guard worth losing your life for?”

“… Who knows. But then, I do not think you would get into a fight that you do not believe you can win, Your Highness.”

“I wonder,” said Orba as he sunk back into thought.

In terms of looking reality in the face, Folker, whom he had fought at Tolinea, was the same. In all likelihood, both he and Pashir had reasoned out that Gil Mephius would only destroy himself if things stayed as they were...

“Should I take a trip to Solon instead?” Orba muttered and Pashir gave him a startled look. It was rare for him to look that surprised.

“That was a joke,” said Orba, getting up from his seat.

Later on, after he had gotten changed and headed outside, he thought back on it. Was that really a joke? His words had been unexpected even to himself.

Incidentally, in this case, “getting changed” did not only mean changing his clothes but fitting himself out with a black breastplate, iron gauntlets and greaves, and placing an iron mask on his face. Before leaving Apta to fight, Orba had summoned the master blacksmith Sodan and had him forge something that would go suitably with his tiger mask. So what he wore now was different from what he had in the west.

He would go around throughout Birac in his separate guises as crown prince and imperial guard. He trusted the reports from his companions, but the ‘quality’ of information obtained first-hand was different. Such was Orba’s belief. He was willing to expend great effort in widening his field of vision even if only by a fraction; and besides, although he had decided to wait, it was not in his nature to just do nothing. Moving around also helped to relieve his impatience, if only by a bit.

After having walked around the barracks, Orba went to watch the airship units’ training. One of the company commanders in Rogue’s Dawnlight Wings Division was a demon of an instructor and was working the men hard. As for the ships and carriers, many of them had been supplied by the Haman firm, so there were some among them that had been made in Garbera.

Although that was probably not the reason why –

''Oh. Attracted by the airships, of course.''

Orba felt a presence behind him. It quietly crept up to him. For a short moment, it hesitated about what to do.

And as a result…

“The prince was just asking about you.”

“Kyah!”

At a distance close enough to feel the body heat from his back, Vileena Owell let out a small scream. Turning his head over his shoulder, he saw her hurriedly try to hide a stick which was rolling about on the ground. She had probably dropped it in surprise.

“Do you strike people down when you’re bored, Princess?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Red to the tips of her ears, Vileena did her best to toss her shoulders up jauntily. She was probably embarrassed from having been caught in a surprise attack and from letting out a most uncharacteristic scream.

“Have you come to train the soldiers again?”

“Humph, don’t make fun of me.”

Vileena said with a huffy expression as she plopped down next to him. Together, they watched the columns of airships cross the sky.

Although the situation was as it was, Orba felt that her warmth beside him was oddly comforting.

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume10_Chapter3|Chapter 3]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume10_Chapter5|Chapter 5]]
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume10 Chapter2

2017-10-22T17:30:11Z

Double Check: Minor typo.

==Chapter 2: Nedain==

=== Part 1 ===

Solon, the capital of Mephius.

Although there had been no magnificent and ceremonial departure, the populace was, of course, aware that an army led by Folker Baran had started off on its march some time earlier. It was headed towards Apta Fortress by way of Birac to go and suppress the fool that was arrogantly pretending to be Crown Prince Gil – who had been assassinated by the West – and the Generals Rogue Saian and Odyne Lorgo, who had shown signs of rebellion.

But it lost.

The Mephian host, organised by the emperor himself, had been defeated in battle against the impostor crown prince and even Birac, the centre for foreign trade, had been taken. Fedom Aulin, the lord of Birac, had whole-heartedly welcomed the crown prince and it was even said that “Birac treated it like the return of a true king.”

The people trembled.

Although the omens indicated that the fires of war might swallow the whole of Mephius, what they feared even more than that was Emperor Guhl Mephius. From their manner, it was as though they truly dreaded that the emperor’s fury might transform at any moment into dark clouds swirling over Solon from which bolts of lightning would come crashing.

Endless rumours were already being whispered throughout the city.

They said that in his unabating rage, the emperor had taken more than half of the soldiers who had escaped and had thrown them to the dragons.

They said that the emperor’s sycophantic vassal lords had presented him with a hundred slaves each and that in retaliation for having lost the battle, the emperor had personally cut off each of their heads until the temple of the Dragon Gods’ faith had been steeped in blood.

They said that the emperor intended to soon call up Mephius’ entire army, including the border garrisons, to Solon and send all of it to attack Birac.

The Emperor’s behaviour had recently been tyrannical, and a terrifying image of him was firmly taking root among the people.

For them, because so many projects had been put off in favour of constructing the Dragon Gods’ temple, the emperor and the Dragon Gods’ faith were one and the same. They dreaded that, in the depths of the temple, where none of them were ever allowed to tread, sinister schemes were, even now, moving forward.

“What will happen from now on?” They asked each other when they met.

Fundamentally, in Apta, Birac, Solon, and the rest of Mephius, the people shared the same unfathomable fear for the future.

Just as the rumours said, Guhl Mephius was certainly enraged. Those who were gathered at the main palace all had their heads lowered, like a group of apostates fearing the wrath of a god.

However, the emperor, separated from them by a long flight of stairs, neither burst into angry words nor struck the ground before him with his crystal-ornamented staff.

“So Folker lost as well?” Facing the people who always gathered for the morning council, the emperor spoke in the same tone as if nothing had happened the previous day. “And moreover, Folker, Yuriah and Zaas are all three being held captive in Birac? Has there been any demand for ransom from the enemy, Colyne?”

“Yes. I-I mean, no, that is... not yet.” Not even Colyne Isphan, the noble who was currently closest to the emperor, dared to look him full in the face.

“So they can’t even assess how much the defeated generals are worth in ransom money. Even for them, that’s disappointing.”

He spoke dispassionately as he sat on his throne, but that in itself seemed to call down a silence as still as death within the audience chamber.

Emperor Guhl Mephius had not killed slaves or soldiers with his own hands, as was whispered in the city.

“Rogue and Odyne’s families are being detained in Solon, are they not?” Guhl asked Colyne just as he rose from the throne, exactly as though he were getting confirmation on some trivial matter.

“Y-Yes!”

“Lock them up in the dungeons of the Tower of Four Wings. The two generals will of course have been prepared for at least that much.”

“Is he serious?”

After the emperor had left the audience hall, the nobles and military men who had remained behind talked in hushed voices.

“Is His Majesty really planning to execute the families of the generals?”

“Of course not. It’s just a threat.”

“Then what if Rogue and the others don’t let themselves be intimidated by that threat?”

“Then at that point…”

They gulped. There was a silence in which each seemed to shrink into themselves.

“If only Lord Simon were here at a time like this.”

“Don’t.”

“No, it’s not too late, even now. We can talk with Lord Rodloom and ask him to write a letter to His Majesty.”

“How would we talk with him? Lord Simon is under house arrest. His estate is under watch and you can be sure that His Majesty receives reports about every person who comes or leaves from it.”

Silence once more.

The principal lords and military commanders of Mephius had naturally received a shock when Birac was seized. They were curious about the person who claimed to be the crown prince and also felt an indistinct anxiety about the future. But what prevailed above all other emotions was, unsurprisingly, fear of the emperor.

What the real feelings of the Dragon-hearted Emperor – as Guhl Mephius was called in both awe and derision – were at this time not easy to guess. Guhl had immediately hurried the reorganisation of his forces, but at the same time, he seemed concerned that if he pursued the brute force approach any further, the insurrection would spread.

As proof of his worry, after giving his order to the retainers, he summoned a certain group.

The place was a corner of the temple of the Dragon Gods’ faith. The time was late at night.

There was a strange group of six. All of them had hoods drawn low over their faces. All of them were silently kneeling on one knee on the floor cut from rock. They looked for all the world like sacrifices waiting quietly for the moment when their heads were to be ceremonially severed.

All of them had arrived in Solon only a few days before. Each, however, through a different process.

This one, for example, had been serving as a mercenary in the defence forces at Idoro, but had slipped away like a deserter and had arrived in Solon seven days ago. That other one had established himself in one of the poor villages in the north that dotted the buffer zone with Zonga, living there with his family; but then, again about seven days ago, he and his family had suddenly appeared to have vanished, only for him to show up in Solon. Besides them, there were those who had been in the east until half a month ago, one working as a tool craftsman in Garbera, another as a pedlar wandering between villages in Ende.

The truth was that they were secret agents, in service to the emperor since their youth. Their main duty was to gather intelligence throughout the land and in foreign countries; and so they were sent to live and take root in those various areas. There were those among them who had families in foreign countries who had been living there for generations.

Of those, six who were particularly competent had been summoned.

Within the flickering light from a single candle, a man with a stooped back, his face also hidden by a hood, appeared before the group that crouched silently and motionlessly.

“We have received a secret letter,” he told them.

The document was unfolded under the light and six pairs of eyes converged towards it.

''Steal into Birac and gather information'' – it read.

The scale of the military forces, the movements of the generals, confirmation of the Garberan princess’ survival, the layout of the guards, the atmosphere within the city – the list of items was endless.

They also included ones about the crown prince, Gil Mephius. They were to verify his identity of course, but also –

“If you see an opportunity, kill him.” Just as the man with the bent back had said with his viscous voice, this too was written in the letter.

In other words, an order of assassination.

“However, His Majesty’s involvement is not to be divulged. Killing him with poison is out of the question. Frame it as the deed of a loyalist distressed by the country’s internal chaos.”

Nobody said a word.

Which meant that they had not a single question or hesitation towards this difficult mission.

“Now then. You will act at the peril of your lives for His Majesty the Emperor.”

“We will.”

It was the first time that they spoke, and the six voices did so in perfect unison.

At that same moment, and also in the Dragon Gods’ temple in Solon, another meeting was being held in great secrecy.

Although it was late at night, the leading members of the Dragon Gods’ faith were all assembled in a room in the deepest recesses of the temple. At its centre was a crystal table.

It was only the barest of light which illuminated the faces of the old men, but when someone gave the order “Put it out,” the room was plunged into darkness.

But only for an instant.

Had a new light been lit beneath the table? Innumerable pale luminous points glowed within the crystal slab. At first one, then two lit up at a leisurely pace, but the speed with which they appeared gradually increased until finally they were multiplying in a literal flash.

A starry night sky seemed to be appearing before the elders.

The same old man who had given the order to “put out” the light placed his hands on that sky and rose from his seat. He was comparatively young among the elders but everyone there looked at him with reverence.

“We are small,” the old man spoke again. “Terribly small and weak existences. If they were to be compared to this sky, the strength of each individual would amount to no more than that of stars that are invisible to the eye.” He pointed to a space on the long table. There, a point of light was glimmering, so faintly that you could only make it out by straining your eyes.

“However, if, for example, we can serve to guide a different, much stronger light,” the old man moved his finger to another spot, where a much brighter light was shining. As the elder pressed down hard with his finger, the luminous point shook greatly, then started to move along with the finger. While leaving behind it a faint trail, it approached the other light and, perhaps because both were being illuminated, both lights shone more clearly.

The old man nimbly moved both hands and, sometimes gathering the scattered lights together, sometimes pulling them apart, he drew countless glimmering trails across the illusionary sky.

“If we guide one, another will be caught up, and that other will pull along a great many other fates.”

There was a certain artistry to it. Whenever the old man waved a finger, the brilliance of the stars increased, whenever he pulled his finger along, the trail emitted light, constructing some kind of figure.
“This is a diagram of fate. Even without nudging it from outside, because these fates are in resonance, they will eventually start to move by themselves in search of the golden mean and will build the ideal world that I imagine. Soon this world will be waxing full with of ether, which will allow us to oppose ‘that’ which plans to hold sovereignty over it.”

The crystal now shone with a blueish light so bright that it was impossible to look at it directly. The elders closed their eyes as though dazzled, or perhaps it was out of awe, as the mysterious, impossible light washed over their faces.

But –

The lights suddenly vanished. Like the flames of a row of candles, blown out in a strong breeze. Some of the stars just barely managed to resist and continue twinkling, but before long, their feeble, struggling light died out just as the others had.

In a world that had once more been plunged into darkness, as though waiting for the elders to open their eyes –

“''Gil Mephius''.”

The same man whispered a name that echoed eerily. “Strange. A star which should already have vanished has come and is emitting an unexpected radiance. More than unexpected. Great enough to throw into disarray the diagram of fate centred around Guhl that we had constructed for Mephius.”

“An impostor,” one of the elders said in a hoarse voice. “…He must be. Without a doubt. The crown prince of yore did not have a radiance that could affect the diagram of fate to that extent.”

“Just what have you been looking at until now?” Another interposed. “A person’s radiance can change easily. Among those that we have guided, there have been many who have similarly changed.”

“It doesn’t matter whether he is an impostor or the real thing,” yet another gravely interrupted. He looked up towards the first elder. “Let us extinguish him.”

The others followed in agreement but –

“We cannot directly intervene with those who already emit such radiance,” the old man’s words were strange. “It has already started to guide a great many other fates. Perhaps this too is the result of having moved the stars with our own hands but, no, we cannot speak of there being one single cause. If we forcefully intervene, the resonance of fates will collapse and we will have to build everything up again from scratch.”

Hatred burned clearly in the old man’s eyes that were usually like empty pits.

“When we were going to extinguish Ax, we wasted a great many stars and their surrounding trails. And the result was that it ended in failure. Thanks to that, we lost a considerable amount of influence in the west. That damnable Barbaroi, their intervention was faster than anticipated.”

“Then, could the crown prince possibly have been involved in that?”

“No. Even if it was not completely unrelated, I intend to find out at whose instigation that was. For those reasons, we cannot use ether and have to leave the crown prince’s fate to the workings of humans. …Don’t worry, there are any number of ways of doing it.”

When the old man spoke, he once again extended his finger towards the lower edge of the table from which all the lights had died out. Lights like small grains of sands then appeared there.

“We will set our hands to guiding new destinies. These were originally people who were unnecessary to the diagram that we drew, but… there’s no help for it. We will guide them. Guide them, and then…” The old man’s tone once more returned to something reminiscent of nothingness. “We will have them kill Gil Mephius.”

=== Part 2 ===

The Emperor had imprisoned the families of Generals Rogue and Odyne in the undergrounds of the tower.

It did not take long for that information to reach Birac. It was no more than a rumour, but the emperor did nothing to either deny that rumour or halt its spread. Rather, one of his goals had been for that ‘rumour’ to be reported in Birac.

Although this was well within predictions, Orba could not remain indifferent.

He had personally met Rogue’s wife and son at their residence. He was also acquainted with Odyne’s youngest daughter. He remembered how Odyne’s daughter, Lannie, made fun of Rogue’s son, Romus, for so often spending time at Hou Ran’s side.

They were now locked up within cold stone walls. Spending each day fearing that their execution would be held the next, or the day after that. How long would twelve, thirteen-year-old children be able to endure that? No, in his present state, the emperor might really separate their young heads from the rest of their bodies.

His chest felt as though it were seething. He had never been good at simply waiting without doing anything. He wanted to seize the grip of his sword and march onto Solon Palace right this second. ''The nobles and soldiers who would follow this bastard are nothing but fools'' – how good it would feel to fling that directly at them.

But of course, he could not act hastily now. He bore the responsibility for a great many lives. And not only lives but also for immeasurable hopes and resolve, amongst which were those of Rogue and Odyne themselves.

The two generals came to see him together. To submit the charts of the changes they had made within their troops and to talk about the future.

Rogue had bought a number of ships through Zaj Haman, thereby increasing their war potential. They were, however, lacking in people who knew how to handle them. It was obviously not something that could be left to neophytes and mercenaries. The ships and carriers were flying every day in the skies over Birac so as to train the newcomers in his group.

Odyne had purchased some new model cannons. As well as having reinforced Birac’s battery positions, he was making its assembled militia undergo firearm drills until they were dripping with sweat.

“We gained valuable time,” they both agreed. In the atmosphere particular to that period before the outbreak of fighting, the soldiers were improving at a rate visible to the naked eye.

“A man I thought was never going to be of any use is now serving as a squadron leader.”

“Is it the same for you General Saian? For me too, ever since Tolinea, the number of my men that I seemed to have misjudged is endless.”

In front of the two of them whose faces were as firm and radiant as though they had freshly been scrubbed clean, Orba remained taciturn.

“Your Highness,” smiled Rogue. It was right after the sun had set and Dinn had lit the lamps in the room. Bathed in their light, the old general’s eyes were shining like a boy’s. “I understand your sentiments so much that it hurts. As time wears on, the people are thrown into turmoil and the country risks ruin. But it is as Your Highness told us at the beginning, what matters now is to wait.”

“Exactly,” Odyne nodded, “when country lapses into chaos, there will inevitably be victims. To risk a great fire simply to save a minority of victims would be the height of folly. When standing at one of the great junctions of history, one must always keep the whole picture in mind.”

Implicit in their allusions was the fact that their families were included among those “victims”. Orba clenched his fists tightly beneath the table.

Even if the reason for action was to prevent there being many victims, there would without fail be those who fell wounded or dead because of it. Even though he understood that, Orba’s decisions could no longer be for his sake alone.

Waiting was the only way.

Looking at the broader picture, Orba temporarily halting his advance in Birac was an effective policy. What Guhl was the most cautious of was preventing the crack within Mephius from spreading any wider, but also of the Impostor crown prince having a personal connection to the West.

''Is he trying to lure us to him by deliberately stopping there?'' Guhl would be sure to wonder.

For the emperor, what was more dangerous even than the recent defeat would be leaving the economic cornerstone that was Birac as it was. It not only risked causing the people to lose sympathy for the emperor as they were won over by a new hero, but also risked alienating the nobles and military from him.

As such, he would have no choice other than to be cautious. Capturing Birac would not be possible without arranging for a sufficient number of his best forces, gathering enough information about the enemy and, of course, choosing a suitable time to attack.

And so, both Orba and Guhl’s lives were currently spent in a succession of war councils.

With the second coming of the crown prince and his capture of Birac, history was violently shaken. This had created a succession of ripples, both large and small, which in an instant, turned into a wave of ‘change’ that was poised to sweep through all of Mephius, or even the entire centre of the continent.`

But in truth, even though the ripples were like those produced by a large earthquake and were spreading wider and wider, time was unnaturally standing still. Just as Orba had feared, this was because it was difficult for both the crown prince and the emperor to guess even a single move that the other would make. And on both sides, there was also the calculation that this could not take too much time.

''Advance, walk, move.''

No matter how much he feigned composure when addressing the soldiers as they trained, or the people of Birac as they plied their trade, inwardly, he was incessantly repeating these words like a mantra.

''Wait, advance.''

And then –

About half a month after Orba had taken Birac, things finally started to budge.

Nedain in the east was a city that stood halfway between Birac and Solon, the capital. It had been built around an air carrier relay base that had been established several hundred years ago, when there had still been trade with the west. After a war with the northern city-state of Io, it had then developed into a fortress town; but now, its vitality had faded and the region was synonymous for “provincial” even in Mephius, which was known for being rustic.

A certain situation had arisen in Nedain since before the crown prince’s resuscitation in Apta. At the time of the slave revolt in Kilro, and probably because he believed that it risked arousing hot-blooded youths, the lord of Nedain, Jairus Abigoal, had visibly overreacted.

One of the slaves from a long-established merchant house had murdered his master and escaped. The slave, who then fled to one of the neighbouring villages, was still only a boy. Perhaps taking pity on his youth, the villagers had sheltered him while knowing practically nothing of his circumstances.

Jairus had dispatched an armed troop. The village, with its people and the boy still inside, was burned to the ground. The lord of Nedain was determined to avoid a repeat of Kilro by trampling any flicker of rebellion underfoot.

This however caused no little resentment.

The first to protest against the city-lord’s actions was a young aristocrat named Raymond Peacelow. He was a young man who served under Jairus and who was in charge of supervising the security and management of the surrounding villages.

Raymond had proceeded towards Solon and had revealed Jairus actions to the emperor. The Emperor of Mephius however had shown little interest in the matter. And as a result, Raymond had been captured by Jairus, taken back to Nedain and imprisoned.

At around the same time, an unexpected guest had visited Nedain. The Princess of Garbera, Vileena Owell, herself.

She had brought up the subject of Raymond whilst seated at a meal with Jairus. Even though her words were brief, the princess successfully coerced Jairus by implying that her words were in accordance with the emperor’s thoughts.

Raymond was released.

Since the young man was gentle by nature and had many opportunities to regularly come into contact with the populace, he was greatly loved by the townspeople of Nedain and by the inhabitants of the surrounding villages. Those villages had jointly organised a congratulatory banquet in his honour.

There were signs that a disturbance was once more creeping up on Nedain.

As soon as Boyce Abigoal noticed the Peacelow siblings walking along the pathway from the other direction, he and his companions came to a halt.

“Oh, well now. I haven’t seen you in quite some time, Raymond.”

Raymond and his younger sister Louise stopped. They bowed.

“Lord Boyce.”

Boyce was a well-built young man and, despite being a year younger than the twenty-six-year-old Raymond, he was a head taller. As his name indicated, he was the lord of Nedain, Jairus’, only son. His face that was glistening with sweat was full of vigour and, coupled with his powerful physique, the impression he gave was a bit like that of a wild beast. From what he explained, they seemed to be returning from a hunt.

“Lord Boyce brought down three deer,” one of his hangers-on bared his teeth as he laughed.

Behind Raymond, Louise’s expression turned sombre but, perhaps not noticing it, Boyce brought his face up close towards the siblings.

“I’m thinking of grilling the meat in the garden and eating it right away. How about you two come as well? I’ve just gotten some good liquor from one of the merchants too.”

“Thank you, but the likes of us are…”

“Right, wasn’t it that the believers of Badyne can’t eat meat?”

“No,” Raymond shook his head with a sour expression, “there is nothing that we cannot eat but we must consecrate the animal whose life we are about to take to God. After praying morning and evening for three days, we can then eat it.”

“How stupid,” Boyce said scornfully. “Eat when you want to eat, drink when you want to drink. There’s no better happiness than that.”

“If I’m not wrong, women of the Badyne faith can only share a bed with their chosen man, right?”

“Ahaha. The god of Badyne really likes putting people in shackles. Only the sort of people that like being oppressed are fit to be his believers.”

His companions opened their mouths wide as they laughed. An angry expression flashed across Raymond’s face. But a slender white hand clasped his clenched fist from behind. Raymond just barely managed to avoid exposing his emotions by bending down his head.

Raymond came from a powerful family native to a territory that was currently in Garbera’s possession. It had fallen under Mephian control for a time, during which, the Peacelow family had obtained the status of Mephian nobles. In accordance with the customs of that region, the family had belonged to the Badyne faith for generations.

Because of that, he had often felt small and humiliated in Mephius, where the Dragon Gods faith had become the state religion. He had frequently experienced scenes like these in which he was looked down on or scorned.

“Anyway, what kind of business did you have with Father to come to the mansion today?”

“It was merely for our regular consultation.”

“That so? And here I thought for sure that Sir Raymond’s bad habit was rearing up again,” Boyce’s thick lips twisted into a smile.

“My bad habit?”

“Your habit, Sir Raymond, of going on endlessly about small issues. Last time, there was that quarrel involving that one slave brat. Who knows if you won’t kick up a fuss directly before His Majesty even now.”

Raymond remained silent.

Just the other day, Jairus Abigoal, lord of Nedain, had once again harmed his own people.

It was just after the rumour had reached them that a person claiming to be the crown prince had appeared in Apta to the southwest, and had sent a letter to the emperor in Solon. Several young men had been discussing the topic in a tavern. All of them were very drunk.

“It’s not surprising that a hero would be immortal.”

And so on.

“Defending the West really does seem like something the crown prince, who righteously honoured the pledge with Garbera, would do.”

And so on, until finally, they all reached fever pitch.

“Let’s approach Lord Jairus and ask him to definitely cooperate with the crown prince.”

“No, would the crown prince, who honours righteousness, have any kind feelings for our lord? Lord Jairus is more likely to be scared of being condemned and run away.”

They had said, laughing.

Jairus heard about it.

In his rage, he had them dragged before him. Of the five who stood in a row, their faces pale, four had fallen to their knees and had pleaded that the alcohol had run away with their tongues. Only one of them, even though the blood had also drained from his face, had openly declared –

“Your Excellency. The crown prince has righteousness on his side. Please think about the future of Mephius.”

Three days later, he was hung in Nedain’s town square. Because they had deliberately chosen to do so in the opening hour for the morning market, his corpse had been there for many of the fief’s people to see.

That was what Boyce Abigoal was bringing up.

“Were you not going to honour Father with your advice again?”

“No. I have nothing in particular to say to Lord Jairus about it. Please excuse us.” Raymond bowed again and, seeming to be pulling his sister by the hand, left Boyce’s presence.

Just as they passed one another, Boyce gaze fell on Louise’s profile. She was seventeen. Boyce’s gleaming eyes crawled from her face to her body, clinging to her like a spider’s thread.

“What’s with that, so lame,” when the two of them were still in sight, one of his hangers-on said out loud, intending to be heard.

Another of Boyce’s friends nodded empathetically, “Last time, he had a lot more to say.”

“Hah, has the bold Sir Raymond had his sharpened fangs broken off?”

Boyce himself said nothing, but his lips were curved in a scornful smile.

=== Part 3 ===

That night.

To the north of Nedain there was a relatively large quarry.

It was sunk in shadows. Drinking songs carried by the wind could be heard from far away. No doubt the masons who were staying overnight were getting drunk on cheap liquor.

A person with their hood drawn down low had unexpectedly turned up there, then continued along the narrow path leading to the quarry.

“Oho, a guest?” Several masons barred the way. Walking up with tottering footsteps, they surrounded the person in the hood from both sides.

“Sorry, but this is a private party. No outsiders welcome.”

“At least bring a present. You got any booze with you?”

Since they performed heavy labour every day, they were a burly-looking bunch. The person wearing a hood however did not seem panicked and instead said something strange –

“I don’t have anything with me today. But one day we’ll share a toast in Solon.”

The drunken-seeming men promptly drew up straight.

“It’s you, Lord Raymond.”

“We were rude.”

“No,” the face that appeared when the hood was pulled back was undoubtedly that of Raymond Peacelow, “you’re being excellently thorough. It’s only if you weren’t that I’d be bothered.”

Raymond himself had decided on the exchange of passwords.

Nearly three hundred men were making merry but, when Raymond’s figure appeared in the doorway, just like the lookouts had earlier, they all stood straight to greet him.

“Everyone, at ease,” Raymond called out, but the men’s attitude remained as it was.

They wore rough, shabby clothes on their muscular bodies, and their faces were grimy and black from the sweat and dust of manual labour. But they gazed at Raymond with a fiery radiance in their eyes.

Their ages ranged between twenty and fifty years old. Their occupations were actually equally varied and only about half of them were originally masons. The remaining half were the second or third sons of craftsmen, farmers, or merchants.

One man stepped forward from among them and wordlessly took Raymond’s hand. He seemed to be somewhere in his mid-thirties. It was him however who had caused Raymond to make a certain decision.

“Lord Raymond, it was good of you to come.”

“Dolph,” Raymond spoke his name and clasped his hand firmly.

If you brought up the topic of a man named Dolph with, say, the father and son of the Abigoal family, they would undoubtedly tilt their heads in confusion, wondering who and what you were talking about. Dolph himself however held an uncommonly strong feeling towards the House of the lords of Nedain.

Hatred.

Dolph was the older brother of the young man who had recently been hung. Not only that, but his older sister had married into the village which had been set alight by the forces dispatched by Jairus Abigoal. Which meant that in a very short period of time, he had lost his sister, his brother-in-law, and his younger brother.

All at the hands of Lord Jairus Abigoal.

When the village had burned down, he had raged that “I’ll kill Jairus!” His brother had talked him out of it in tears. His younger brother, who had only just decided to get married. Of course, he too shared the agonising pain of losing their older sister, but when he clung to him, saying –

“What will those of us you’ve left behind do if we lose you now too?” Dolph had wavered. From the start, he had only had the smallest hope of being successful in his revenge.

It was at that point that Raymond, hearing about the situation, had rushed to find him.

“Please, Dolph. Endure. I am going to gallop to Solon right now. I intend to appeal directly to His Majesty about this.”

In honour of the completion of the new temple in Solon, Jairus himself also planned to go to the capital. Raymond would bring Jairus’ actions to the light under his very eyes.

“Don’t do anything hasty before I return. Have faith in me please and wait.”

Although he was young, Raymond was a noble who acted out of care for the people of the fief. When that Raymond was pleading with him with such a desperate expression, Dolph could do nothing but agree to his request.

Afterwards, Dolph’s heart was plunged into turmoil for a while as Raymond was imprisoned in punishment, but he was soon released.

And after that, it was the country that was thrown into an uproar. They had heard that there had been a battle near Apta, in the southwest, with Taúlia, and a large army brandishing spears had headed west by way of Nedain; but, just when they had been thinking that they were headed for war with Taúlia again, it turned out that these troops were going to face the impostor crown prince in Apta.

The quiet, rural town of Nedain was thrown into chaos.

Airships were sent in all directions from the town, even though it meant using what little ether they had. Raymond himself was run off his feet as he worked on intelligence gathering and plans for ensuring the people’s security.

And on top of all of that, Jairus gathered together three hundred militiamen and ordered them to man Nedain’s fortress.

''Just how many of the good people of this domain do you really think would risk their lives to protect yours?'' He almost blurted out those words but just managed to swallow them.

It was during that time that the young man had been executed. Raymond had no time to halt it. When he had heard that the youth was Dolph’s brother, he had immediately leaped on a horse.

It was the same as when the village had been burned to the ground. By the time he had arrived at the quarry, Dolph had already rushed out. He followed him without a moment’s delay. He had only just managed to catch up with him when he was already halfway to Nedain.

This time however, Dolph would not listen to him. In his hand, he was clutching a pickaxe. He raged on that he would definitely, definitely bring it down on Jairus’ neck.

Raymond, who had jumped from his horse, was practically clinging to Dolph’s back. No matter how many times he was shaken off, Raymond did not give up. In the hand that was not grasping the pickaxe, Dolph was gripping a small box.

He did not know what was inside. But Raymond could guess. He had heard from the gossip among Dolph’s fellow workers that Dolph, who was by nature a lover of wine and women, had not gone drinking with them or gone to enjoy himself with prostitutes for several months. He had surely been saving his meagre wages in order to buy a wedding present for his little brother.

When Raymond realised that, he drew the sword that was at his waist.

“And now, are you going to kill me?” Dolph had screamed at him in tears. It was obvious from his attitude that he was prepared to resist to the bitter end, but Raymond instead grasped his hand and put the sword hilt in it. He whispered in the ear of the utterly dumbfounded Dolph –

“Kill Jairus with this sword.” Raymond had repeatedly been flung to the ground and his face was covered in sweat and dirt and tears. “But I won’t let go of its hilt either. We’ll do it together, Dolph.”

“L-Lord Raymond...”

“But not now. If we try to kill Jairus with just the two of us, we will only fail. There is no sense in that. We’ll gather enough people, wait for the right time, and we will definitely drive Jairus into a corner.”

At the moment when he said that, Raymond had neither a plan nor confidence in their chances of success. But those were not words that were simply meant to buy time either. At that time, Raymond very certainly made the decision to chase Jairus Abigoal out of Nedain.

And the current of the times was with them.

Needless to say, the faction led by the one who called himself Prince Gil and denounced the emperor’s actions had defeated the large army that had been dispatched from the capital. The lord of Birac, Fedom Aulin, immediately sent out appeals, having clearly switched to the crown prince’s side.

The effect of these was huge. With Raymond and Dolph at the centre, men who were dissatisfied with Jairus were assembled together.

“Lord Raymond, we’re glad that you often come here, but has it not been noticed?”

“It’s all right,” Dolph had entirely become the leader of the anti-Jairus group. Raymond felt no reserve about it either. The young nobleman smiled with irony, “I was under surveillance right after being released from confinement, but the others are completely reassured by now. At the time, Jairus’ son seemed to always be hunting in the nearby forest.”

“Oh? Hunting.”

“Even though to all appearances, they should not have the leisure to spare. Jairus has also been running around recently gathering soldiers. He seems to constantly be sending messengers to Solon.”

“Then…”

“Yes. An opportunity will definitely appear soon.” Raymond nodded firmly.

Excitement instantly ran through the men. So many eyes were shining brightly from the blackened faces that even Raymond felt dazzled for a moment.

Still, no matter how much energy they had piled up, they could not, of course, capture Nedain Fortress with just three hundred alone. When he saw a chance, Raymond would go to Birac where he intended to meet with the crown prince.

To ask him to dispatch troops.

At that time, the three hundred would riot within Nedain.

After he set a village alight for sheltering a single slave, and then hanged a young man for joking around when drunk, Jairus feared a revolt in his territory. Or to be more accurate, he feared that the emperor would hear of such a thing.

Since Zaat Quark’s rebellion during the Founding Festival, as well as the slaves of Kilro all rising at once, the emperor had become terrifyingly well-attuned to similar issues.

Jairus could not afford to ignore this. To prevent the fire from spreading, he would certainly use greater armed force than was necessary to beat down any men who might rise to action.

There were preparations in place for the men to escape to the stone quarry once the soldiers drew near. Jairus’ men would surely pursue after them.

Raymond would guide the crown prince there. After all, Jairus’ troops would look down on their opponents as being just rabble that was unused to using weapons, and so they would be helpless when faced with a surprise attack.

Separated from a great many of his men, Jairus would be as good as naked.

He could picture in his mind the scene of the crown prince entering Nedain in grand style. Beside him there would surely be his fiancée, Princess Vileena. Raymond Peacelow felt his chest grow warm. He had heard the rumour that, when he had been held captive, the one who had approached the lord of Nedain about his release was none other than the Garberan princess.

The Prince who honoured justice and the princess who had saved one such as himself. If these two people would also save Nedain, he felt that not only his and his companions’ future, but also the future of all of Mephius would be bright.

“But for that, we need to maintain the utmost caution. Don’t do anything hasty, Dolph.”

“Of course,” Dolph struck his fist against his rock-firm chest. “If it means being able to tie a rope around Jairus and Boyce’s necks with my own hands, I’d even sit in a fire and wait.”

''Boyce Abigoal''. Raymond recalled how they had passed one another by that evening.

When the village had been set alight, it was, of course, Jairus who had given the order, but it was actually his son Boyce who had carried out the action. He was a man who spent his time hunting from morning till night. He had aimed his gun at the people of the fief just as he would at deer or wild boars, and then raised his sword to slaughter women and children.

Raymond frequently went to the villages that surrounded Nedain. Just as those who mocked it said, the town was undeniably provincial. But because of that, the people all had simple, warm characters. And of course, those living in the village that had been set alight had all been well-known to him.

''Unforgivable'' – Raymond’s sense of that towards Boyce might be even greater than that of those who had lost family members.

“What’s that?” Asked Dolph when he saw Raymond hang something from the bracket that was used to hold a pine torch to the stone wall.

A flower. An artificial flower that seemed to have been made by folding thin sheets of paper.

“A charm,” Raymond smiled faintly. “Louise folded it for everyone last night.”

“Lady Louise did?”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v10 104.jpg|thumb]]
When they heard the name of Raymond’s younger sister, the men all crowded around the pale artificial flower.

She, just like Raymond, was very popular in the various villages. Her health was by no means robust, so she did not frequently visit the villages in person in the same way that her brother did, but her fair and unprejudiced personality was widely known among the villagers.

“Oh, it’s beautiful.”

“Idiot, don’t touch it! It’ll get broken if you touch it with your rough fingers.”

“What was that!”

The atmosphere grew boisterous.

Folding paper flowers was something like an old custom within the Peacelow family. Or rather, it was a kind of tradition that was still handed down in the northern region of Garbera that had once been their territory.

When a daughter from the Peacelow House turned fifteen years old, she received a present of high-quality paper from her mother. She was to use them to fold flowers for her friends and for the people who had taken care of her, only this time as a present from herself. And lastly, with the remaining paper, she would fold herself a bouquet once her marriage had been decided.

“Oi, Molt. Don’t stay in that corner and come see.”

“Ah, y-yeah.”

“Watch it, you’re always so clumsy, you might touch it and mess it up.”

The men were probably superimposing the image of the girl they would have seen no more than once or twice with the origami flower. Their vigour now was clearly different from the dazzle they had had until just moments ago, and Raymond smiled wryly at the scene.

The siblings’ parents had died when Raymond was young. Their father had been killed ten years ago, in the very first battle at the start of the war with Garbera. Since the Peacelow House had originally been a Garberan family, he was concerned that they would come under intense criticism and so he had taken the initiative of leading a troop and joining the battle.

Their mother’s health collapsed when she heard of their father’s death and she soon passed away. Raymond had been fifteen at the time. He succeeded as head of the household with no time to properly grieve for the loss of both his parents.

The year before last, when Louise had also reached the age of fifteen, Raymond had given her the gift of paper in their mother’s place.

The flower that was now decorating the stone wall was the first one she had folded. Since it was the first, in all honesty, it was not that good. In his memory, his mother’s paper flowers were much daintier and far more elaborate.

But still, this first flower that his little sister had painstakingly folded seemed to shine on its surroundings. It seemed to symbolise the present and future of the Peacelow House.

The perfect opportunity finally arose.

Jairus Abigoal would be leaving for the capital. He was probably going to plead directly for reinforcements, or perhaps a dispatch had already been decided and he was going there to organise the troops, including those for the garrison.

Boyce, who was in charge of defending Nedain in his father’s place until he returned, was spending his days hunting, just as he always did.

''Right'' – Raymond made up his mind. He would head for Birac when the sun set.

Since Nedain’s garrison took it in turns to watch over the highway, he would avoid that route. There was a good chance that the River Zwimm, which ran between the two cities, would also have lookouts. He followed a detour south and galloped hard, it should take him three or four days.

His preparations for food and provisions were already complete. Raymond called together the pages and stewards of the Peacelow House.

“I will be away for a short while.”

He avoided talking about his destination, but almost everyone could sense something of the situation. They all nodded with serious expressions or while shedding tears. When Raymond, the current head of the family, had been imprisoned, they had all endured the humiliation and the anxiety. None of them opposed his decision.

His sister Louise, who never spoke much, did not say anything in particular now either, as she looked at him with her large, anxious-looking eyes. But when he was finally about to depart, Louise, who seeing him off, suddenly held out her hand to him.

“Brother,” in her palm, there was a white origami. It was so small that it seemed likely to be blown away in the evening breeze. Raymond took it and tucked it in at his breast.

“Have I gotten a bit better?” Louise smiled shyly.

Raymond smiled too and shook his head. “Not there yet. You need to polish your skills much, much more before your marriage is arranged.”

When he said that, his sister blushed for a variety of reasons.

Sunset. With the dark mountain ridges behind him, Raymond was hurtling along on horseback.

''Finally.''

History was moving.

The future was changing.

And in that future, the people’s lives would be bright and he would find a partner for Louise and send her towards a happy married life. Raymond Peacelow was setting off as the first step towards that.

Without noticing the shadow that watched intently from behind him as he galloped away from the highway.

=== Part 4 ===

Raymond passed through the gates of Birac.

He had taken short breaks several times along the way to allow his horse to rest, still he had galloped almost all night. It was now early dawn of the fourth day since he had left Nedain.

Young though he was, he could not hide his exhaustion. But when he thought of his sister and companions whom he had left in Nedain, he felt that he could not possibly lie down to sleep.

Early in the morning, he proceeded towards Lord Aulin’s residence and informed the soldiers on guard at the gate of his identity. He was wondering how long he would be asked to wait but –

“I’ll see him at once,” the crown prince replied with an immediate meeting.

Two hours after arriving in Birac, Raymond was sitting directly across a table from Crown Prince Gil Mephius. Although the night had barely just given way to dawn, there was no trace of fatigue or sleepiness on the prince’s face.

''This person...''

He had known it of course, but he realised it anew seeing him directly –

''… is young.''

There was something frankly unbelievable in the fact that this crown prince, who at a glance looked like a young boy, had accomplished so many feats of arms in so little time.

However, sitting directly opposite him and facing him head on, it was also a fact that the other had a deeply impressive presence.

Immediately after they had exchanged greetings,

“So, you who is employed by the lord of Nedain, what business do you have with me, whose head is currently wanted throughout Mephius?” Gil Mephius asked. He drew his hand across his throat like a sword. “Spurred on by righteous indignation, have you come to ‘collect’ me all by yourself?”

“T-That is absurd...”

“Then speak.”

Having been caught up in the prince’s pace right from the start, Raymond talked about the current situation in Nedain and about Lord Jairus Abigoal’s evil deeds. Gil did not interrupt to say a single word. Finally, when they arrived at the main issue –

“I have brought you some food,” a voice came from the other side of the door.

“Come back later,” Gil started to say but then, for some reason, faltered partway. With a scowl, he altered his tone and his words –

“Please come in.”

The door opened and the figure of a girl with platinum hair appeared.

''Ah'' – Raymond exclaimed unthinkingly. He then stood straight, in an attitude even more at respectful attention than he had when Gil Mephius had entered the room.

With Teresia, her head lady’s maid, behind her, Princess Vileena set the food from a tray onto the table. Watching the warm steam rising from it, Prince Gil asked with a sullen expression –

“Princess, why are you here?”

“I heard that even though you had not yet had breakfast, you had already begun to work, Your Highness. It is good to be enthusiastic, but pushing yourself too hard is harmful to the health. Now then, you too Sir Peacelow.”

The Princess spoke cheerfully but, since she already knew his guest’s name, it looked like she had come to warn him – ''don’t do things sneakily''.

While Gil was sighing off to one side, the princess smiled and curtsied to Raymond.

“This is the first time I have the pleasure of seeing you.”

“Yes!” Raymond was still standing straight. “I have not forgotten for a moment that it was by your grace that I was saved at that time. However, I did not have the opportunity to express my gratitude to you before today. My impoliteness is…”

“But in what way?” The Princess personally added milk to the two men’s cups. “Now, please have some while it is warm.”

“I don’t think it’s really possible but, did you make it, Princess?”

“Not possible?” The Princess smiled and turned towards Gil. “What is not really possible, Your Highness?"

“N-Nothing.”

After a short breakfast, Raymond went into the main issue.

Incidentally, Princess Vileena had remained within the room. For a moment, Raymond had been worried about it, but Gil shook his head and urged him on, saying “don’t mind it.” He mostly looked resigned.

Raymond nodded and explained about the plan that was in motion in Nedain. When he gave the signal, a riot would immediately break out inside the town. Jairus would certainly use a large force to suppress it. They would lure those troops to the quarry, then with the prince’s help…

After hearing him out to the end, Gil drained the milk that was leftover in his cup and, in what looked like a gesture born from habit, waved the cup behind him to ask for a second serving. Since the one who stepped forward was the princess, for a second, his expression turned into a scowl again, but he meekly waited while she refilled it before saying –

“Interesting. If the plan works, we can take Nedain without any effort. Raymond, do you have experience with warfare?”

“I’m ashamed to say it, but no, none,” Raymond lowered his eyes. “Both my grandfather and my father were warriors born and bred, so I learned the basics, but there are not currently any soldiers serving the Peacelow House and I’m presently living at the mansion with my only family member. I was not favoured with any opportunity to achieve success on the battlefield.”

Who could say how much of the other’s circumstances Gil managed to grasp thanks to what he had just said. He once more drained his cup to about three-quarters empty.

“Well, Nedain Fortress might find itself in a strategic position soon,” he said offhandedly.

As for Raymond, he felt a little dizzy.

“However,” Gil’s expression and voice both changed, “I said it earlier, but I’m the one that Mephius’ Emperor has denounced as an impostor. Why did you decided to believe me?”

The way he asked the question was like he was probing the intentions of an enemy general. Raymond felt overawed but still just managed to force his voice out.

“Of course, it is because I believe that Your Highness honours justice and…”

“That has nothing to do with anything,” Gil said flatly and, for a second, Raymond averted his eyes.

“What’s the matter? Say it openly.”

“I-It may be presumptuous of me to say.” Raymond looked at the ‘crown prince’ before him with neither reverence nor dread, but only with his own resolve. “I did not believe in the prince, I believed in Her Highness, the princess, who saved me. Since she is by your side, most probably... no, certainly, there can be no mistake that you are the real crown prince.”

“Oh,” the prince and princess exchanged glances, then, “very well. Then I’ll also believe you, who believes the princess.”

A messenger had arrived from Raymond. He was a soldier from Birac Fortress who was disguised as a pedlar. Dolph’s hand shook when he received the letter from him.

It said that a military force would leave from Birac late that night. Two days from then, they would be waiting in watch by the highway, which was when they were to riot and lure Jairus’ soldiers away.

It was finally time to put their plan into action, in other words, it was time to snatch Nedain out of the hands of a foolish usurper; and for Dolph, it was time to accomplish the revenge that he been waiting for for so long.

At midnight of the next day, all of the companions gathered at the quarry. After finishing their final preparations there, they would disperse throughout Nedain in units of fifty men. They would cause disturbances, and set fire to empty houses and to stores belonging to merchants who acted as purveyors to the Abigoal House. Once the troops were sent out, they would once again assemble at the quarry. That was the planned sequence of events.

Dolph treated everyone to the wine that he had been keeping back for the occasion.

“Finally,” everyone said and clapped Dolph on the shoulder.

He drank while nodding back. He had always had a strong head for alcohol, but that night in particular, it did not get him drunk.

Weapons that they had scraped together from all over were leaning in a row within the man-made cave. There were only a few spears and swords, with the rest being pickaxes or hoes at best. Even so, in Dolph’s eyes, they represented unsurpassed strength and the symbol of victory.

There was also a single artificial flower decorating the wall. If his little brother’s wedding had been held as planned, the bride would surely have worn similar flowers in her hair.

With his wine in one hand, Dolph wept.

At around the same time, a man who was entirely concealed beneath his hooded cloak swaggered into sight at the entrance of a path that led straight to the quarry. The figures of other men in similar attire followed behind him.

The men on lookout, just as they had when they stopped Raymond, pretended to be drunk and went up to them.

“Yo, newcomers? Brought any booze with you?”

It had been arranged that about thirty men who endorsed their goals would be joining them that evening. That was an achievement which had been accomplished by Molt, a man who had participated in the plan from the first. He was originally a farmer and was not a man who usually stood out, so everyone had been astonished and had praised him tremendously for his feat on the previous evening.

That group, led by Molt, had arrived.

“We’ll drink a toast in Solon –”

Upon hearing the password, the man on watch felt reassured and started to turn back to go and inform his comrades in the quarry.

And in that second, a sword was drawn from beneath the cloak.

“– but did you think you’d be sharing it?”

The man who had been on watch fell without a sound. The blood-spattered cloak was flung aside.

“Go!”

The man in the lead yelled, brandishing his sword, and the soldiers flooded into the quarry, their rough voices reverberating.

Soon there was the uninterrupted sound of gunshots.

Screams that would have pinned a normal man to the spot if he had heard them welled up one after another. Caught in a surprise attack, ordinary people were no possible match against that troop from Nedain’s defence forces under Boyce Abigoal’s command.

The artificial cave was quickly filled with the corpses of those who had taken a bullet or a blow to the head from an axe or a sword.

“F-Fuckers.”

Wielding a sword, Dolph put up a desperate resistance, but a soldier’s sword sent both his weapon and his wrist flying through the air.

“Guah!” With a cry of pain that sounded like that of a crushed frog, Dolph crouched to the ground in pain. The blood spraying from his severed wrist stained the flower on the wall a dark red, and the secret massacre continued.

“Shouldn’t it soon be starting?”

Boyce Abigoal muttered as he looked up at the night sky filled with twinkling stars. He had not gone to the quarry. What currently lay in front of his eyes was the Peacelow mansion.

“Raymond is a fool,” Boyce’s clean-cut features wore a vicious smile.

For a while after he had been released, they had deliberately had soldiers keep him under conspicuous surveillance. But as soon as those soldiers had been removed, Raymond became completely careless. Immediately after Dolph’s brother was executed, they had once again reinforced their watch on Raymond to see if he was not getting any strange ideas again.

And Raymond had hatched a plan, just as they had thought – or rather, one that went far beyond what they had expected.

''But this is a good chance.''

Boyce had persuaded his father to make use of Raymond’s plot and to make preparations to ambush the soldiers who would be sent from Birac. Jairus going to Solon was certainly to formally request reinforcements, but it also served the purpose of giving Raymond free rein.

''If I can defeat the impostor crown prince before reinforcements arrive from Solon, His Majesty’s evaluation of the Abigoal House would all at once rise exponentially.'' He thought about how he might even receive an exceptional promotion and be made one of the twelve generals in place of Folker or Yuriah who had failed to subjugate the impostor.

That ambition dyed his heart completely black.

He was a man who had not one ounce of compassion towards those commoners. That was something he had inherited from his father. His heart did not feel so much as a twinge of pain at knowing that they were deliberately staging a rebellion and, furthermore, that their plan involved slaughtering his father and him.

Quite the opposite, he had won over the man called Molt in order to perfect the plan. Because his mother was ill, Molt urgently needed money. Boyce had paid from his own pocket to call in a doctor from Solon and had made the farmer into his spy.

By now, the quarry would have become a one-sided hunting ground. The hunt-loving Boyce did feel like wanting to go there, but he had something else to do.

''Right.''

“Let’s go,” he called out to the line of fully-armed soldiers then forcibly intruded into the Peacelow house.

By that time, a minor ruckus had broken out inside the mansion.

However, it was not because they had been able to predict the surprise attack. Rather, just in case the worse happened, Raymond had taken in about a dozen young children belonging to those who were involved in the rebellion. The children of course knew nothing about the situation. They had simply been told that it was because their fathers had to work overnight.

At first, they had been as quiet as lambs, but the children were between five and ten-years-old, and were at the ages when they most wanted to play. Even though all of them seemed to fall asleep as Louise read to them by their bedside, they were all over-excited by the change of environment and by seeing such a large mansion for the first time. Waking up again at midnight, they immediately started playing tag and hide-and-seek.

And into that –

“Where’s Raymond?” Boyce had violently come trampling into the mansion.

And of course, because men in helmets and armour had appeared, the children had run screaming.

“W-What do you want? At this hour…” A long-serving steward to the Peacelow House went to intercept them but Boyce treated him like nothing but a pain and swept him aside with a swing of his brawny arm.

“Search for Raymond! I’ll see that rebel hanged.” Shouting angrily, he smashed his way into one room after another, knocking over tables and slicing at pillars.

Boyce was, of course, well-aware that Raymond was not there.

He went up to the second floor and kicked open a door. The children had been lying hidden. Like kindling set alight, they all started crying at once.

“Lord Boyce, this is – outrageous.” Louise rushed over, her face pale.

Boyce’s eyes gleamed ferociously as turned towards her. He had had his sights on her for a long time. And especially when they had passed by each other near the Abigoal mansion recently: he could not forget how her limbs had seemed to give off heat as she had slipped quickly past him.

Already at the time, he had expected that this would happen. The ache of lust swelled until it was unbearable.

“Where is your brother, Raymond? Why isn’t he at home?”

Boyce heard her gulp. Louise’s large eyes darted around restlessly.

“M-My brother has gone to one of the neighbouring villages. There was an emergency and…”

“Hmph, don’t pretend ignorance. Did you think I didn’t know? What do you think is happening right now to the fools who gathered at the quarry?”

Louise looked startled, then her entire body started to tremble.

“You… Y-You… You can’t have…”

“Judging by your reaction, it looks like you also knew about the plan to rebel. Come! I’ll examine you in person.”

Seizing her slender arms that looked as though they might break from it, Boyce dragged Louise to an empty room.

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| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume10_Chapter3|Chapter 3]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume8 Chapter4

2017-08-26T15:14:11Z

Double Check: Minor typos.

==Chapter 4: Submerged==

=== Part 1 ===

Despite being recognised within the kingdom of Garbera as a prominent noble family, malicious whispers often referred to the Kotjun House as the “Moneylending House”. The reason for that was related to their origins.

Just three reigns ago, they were, so to speak, miners whose main occupation was to excavate dragonbone; and although they possessed some wealth, their standing was merely that of a powerful local clan. Their prosperity had improved dramatically after they had discovered and mined a dragonbone lode lying in Garbera’s northern mountains; they and had then immediately tied themselves in a commercial agreement with the Garberan king of three reigns ago, who had been zealous about carrying out the refining of dragonbone into weightless metal.

Although the relationship between the Kotjun House and the royal household remained favourable, they were kept at arm’s length. Later, when the previous king, Jeorg, had wished to strengthen the air force corps even further, he had thought to have them be directly employed as retainers to the king. The condition that they stipulated, at the time, was that the Kotjun House would obtain forty percent of the wealth derived from the dragonbone deposits that they themselves discovered and developed.

Jeorg Owell had agreed to it.

Garbera was a country which had originally been built by gathering together powerful regional families, however, many of these families had died out or been ruined during the conflicts in each area. It was said that the Kotjun House found amongst them a family with the same name and had bought their pedigree for a high price.

Therefore, although the Kotjun House was known by those within Garbera to have been miners in the past, they officially claimed that going even further back in history, they had been a powerful regional family of noble standing.

They had amassed a greater fortune than anyone else in Garbera – possibly greater even than the king himself – and by lending that money to aristocrats and military commanders, they had accrued even more wealth and influence.

There were many, among those who were close to the king, who did not look kindly on their existence. Nevertheless, it was undoubtedly the presence of the Kotjun House that had allowed Jeorg, the previous king, to strike down the noble houses, which had been on the verge of seceding from the royal family, and to take back the lands which had been snatched away by Mephius and Ende.

Furthermore, it was a fact acknowledged by all, that it was thanks to the funds and dragonbone provided by the Kotjun House that Garbera currently boasted a powerful air force which allowed it to remain on equal footing with those two countries.

Rinoa Kotjun, a daughter of the Kotjun family, had just turned seventeen and, like generations of the heads of her house, she was known to love parties. She would come up with some pretext or another, then hold a grand party at their mansion in the capital, Phozon. It was said that Rinoa spent her days doing nothing but writing party invitations to leading aristocrats, military commanders, and merchants.

That evening as well, the mansion’s hall and gardens had been thrown open to host a banquet. Food and drink ordered from all over, rare and expensive items included, were liberally served; while in the hall and far above it, entertainers from both inside and outside of Garbera basked in applause as they demonstrated their first-rate skills.

Just now, a group of boys had played the flute while standing on their hands.

''Splendid'' – thought Zenon Owell, but his heart was unmoved. It was not that he was bad with glamorous surroundings, but a certain piece of news received a few days earlier had thrown that heart into gloom.

He was aware that he had been attracting attention since earlier. This was only the second time that he had attended a party given by the Kotjun family. At the centre of numerous gazes that were questioning what was going on, Zenon smiled faintly and wore an expression that said that he was enjoying himself from the bottom of his heart.

There seemed to be more merchants than nobles present at the party. One of the purposes of Rinoa’s parties was to summon traders from all over Garbera and exchange information. The Kotjun family was quite open about it. And because they were so upfront, they avoided having the image of secretly moving behind the scenes to make money.

They looked like merchants acting like merchants.

“Lord Zenon,” a voice called out from behind him. When he turned around, it was Rinoa Kotjun.

“Why, Miss Rinoa,” his smile deepened.

When invited to a party by the Kotjun family, the first thing that any guest worried about was how they should greet the daughter of the head of the house, Rinoa, when she stood before them.

The clothes she wore were of course gorgeous. Although its base was black, her dress was inlaid with bright colours that prevented it from looking too mature, or from becoming too overpoweringly dark. Violet velvet ribbons decorated her hair and jewels sparkled on two of her fingers.

''Well, it’s safest to praise her clothes and accessories'' – the malicious and sharp-tongued would say.

At Garbera’s royal court, Rinoa Kotjun’s name was all but synonymous for ‘a plain woman’. Those extolled as ‘beauties’ in Garbera had round cheeks brushed with rouge, large eyes, and blond hair. Therefore women typically applied makeup to make their eyes look big, but Rinoa had narrow upturned eyes and a thin face that seemed to taper to the point of her sharp chin.

As a matter of fact, her looks were not as bad as gossip claimed, but as she was a young lady who was far from typical, quite a few things were said, half out of familiarity, half out of jealousy, about her appearance and personality.

“It was good of you to come. Even though I wrote an invitation for you, Lord Zenon, I was quite resigned for it to be a waste of time again.”

Receiving a wine cup held out by the party sponsor herself, Zenon drained the contents in one gulp.

“You see, I realized that I had forgotten to express my gratitude.”

“Your gratitude?”

Zenon explained that when he had previously been stationed at Zaim, the Kotjun House’s engineering team had prepared a state-of-the-art ship for his Order of the Tiger.

“Oh yes, there was that, wasn’t there? But up until now you have frequently done us the honour of receiving such things, so why are you only acting differently this time?”

“Ah, that, I… was thinking that I have not been very obliging towards your House.”

“Lord Zenon, you are esteemed for your chivalrous spirit. The likes of the Moneylending House does not fit the Garbera of your ideals, is that not right?”

Rinoa said such a thing publicly. Zenon gave a sour look but strangely, when it was Rinoa saying it, he didn’t feel any sarcasm or mockery from the words. It was probably because both her expression and her tone were bright. There was not a single gloomy person in the Kotjun family.

“Speaking of acting differently, these days, you seem to be close to Sir Salzantes.”

“Oh, you have heard about that, Miss Rinoa?”

“Even if I have, there was no one more surprised than I was, as I had supposed the relationship between the two of you to be like oil and water.”

“It was not anything that extreme. You could simply say that we had a few misunderstandings up until now.”

At Rinoa’s invitation, Zenon headed towards a chair in a recess of the hall. In the nearby garden, young men and women could be seen dancing in a ring.

“In truth, I had thought that you would also have invited Noue.”

“I have never once sent that gentleman an invitation. Of course, if Your Highness were to say that you wanted him to accompany you, I would not refuse that request,” Rinoa spoke flatly, a smile still on her face. “Simply imagining drinking tea opposite that person whose thoughts I cannot guess makes me shiver. Is there a single enjoyable thing about associating with that gentleman?”

“You are quite unusual,” when facing this woman, Zenon had plenty of opportunities to smile wryly. “Noue is a favourite of the women at Court. Well, because of that he often also earns their antipathy.”

“Oh, in that sense I am fine. Since I am not beautiful enough to meet his standards, right?”

He couldn’t exactly answer “Right”.

Seeing Zenon struggle to keep a neutral expression, Rinoa laughed lightly.

“Be it with Sir Salzantes or with your doing us the honour of coming here, you have certainly changed, Your Highness.”

“Do you think so? Hmm, one’s own self is difficult to understand.”

Zenon pretended to use the palm of his hand as a mirror and to inspect his face from various angles. It was a smooth countermeasure but –

“If I were a gossipmonger, I might say that because you fell into a difficult position in Ende, you lost your chivalrous spirit and became a coward, Lord Zenon.” Rinoa said that with a smile too.
Zenon almost had an involuntary coughing fit.

“But this is just nonsense spoken by an upstart miner,” while deprecating herself, Rinoa would calmly talk on dangerous topics. For example, she afterwards changed the subject and commented on his older brother, Razetta, in other words, on the person who was first in line for the throne.

“That gentleman is so easy-going, and moreover he seems to have so much free time every day, that my heart warms at the sight of him.”

Prince Razetta served as the commander of the Knights of the Order of the White Heron, the elite guards to the royal family. It was an important role which doubled as guarding the royal capital, but Rinoa’s evaluation seemed to be that “He is neglecting his work.”

One of the reasons why Zenon was bad at handling Rinoa was because he felt exactly as though his own nature were being tested. The impression she gave was that she enjoyed pushing towards a confrontation.

“My brother is a serious person. Whatever the task, he will put all his energy into accomplishing it.”

“Yes, indeed. Lord Razetta can surely not be a bad person. For example... if he was at the party, after seeing I had dressed up like this, and so as not to wound my feelings, that gentleman would have, by this time, skilfully managed to think of a plausible compliment.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“We were talking about how Lord Razetta is a virtuous person. Were we not?”

The people in the hall were obliquely watching the conversation between the two. Despite knowing that, Rinoa deliberately and openly brought her lips near his ear.

“It seems like everyone here can’t help but be interested in you, Your Highness. Although that may also be because of the rumour about Lady Vileena.”

“That? It’s rubbish.”

Because he had guessed that the topic would come up, Zenon’s expression did not change.

The information had reached Garbera that Mephius had advanced its army to Taúlia. It was apparently in retaliation for them having assassinated the prince. While that was one thing, there was a rumour which the people of Gabera could not ignore.

Princess Vileena had warned Taúlia and since then, she was being kept under restriction within Mephius.

That news had only arrived three days earlier.

''If this is true'' – Noue had said when Zenon invited him to his chambers – ''Guhl is probably looking to see how Garbera will react by deliberately spreading the rumour, and at the same time he is stressing that it will not be his fault if something unfortunate were to happen to the princess.''

Of course, Zenon being Zenon, he was revolted by the way Emperor Guhl had used Prince Gil Mephius’ death as an excuse to invade Taúlia. He had no difficulty imagining that, just like him, his little sister had been fiercely angry; only she was impetuous enough to actually inform Taúlia and thwart a surprise attack.

''That’s my little sister, who cannot tell a lie.''

If he was still the same Zenon as before, he very well might have marched into Mephius, sword in hand, to take his sister back. No, even now he had the spirit to do so. But at the same time, he believed that– ''my little sister would not want Garbera and Mephius to cross swords.''

If she had carried information to Taúlia, it had been because her own principles could not stand for it, and she had no choice but to try and stop the war, even if it meant opposing her home country.

“Indeed, it is rubbish,” said Rinoa. “However, there are those who do not think so... like that gentleman over there.”

She pointed to a man who was standing more or less in the centre of the hall. Zenon turned his gaze that way and for a moment, a complicated expression seemed to cross his face.

Salamand Fogel, the vice-commander of the Knights of the Order of the Badger. A man with a truly fierce physique.

They had stood several times on the same battlefield. At twenty-eight, his age was virtually the same as Zenon’s. He was a daring and resolute man, whose character did not betray the impression given by his square and prominent jaw. There should have been no denying that they were comrade-in-arms, who had challenged death together, except that the man had been an ardent admirer of Ryucown’s.

When the royal family had been considering bringing the ten-year war to an end by marrying Vileena and Gil – or rather, when rumours of that fact had started to spread throughout Phozon – there had been many officers and soldiers who were unhappy with it. As a matter of fact, Zenon had been too; but as he was also a member of the royal family, and moreover knew the extent of their army’s exhaustion, he had finally agreed to his father’s decision.

At that time, after being wounded by the Mephian army, Salamand Fogel had been undergoing medical treatment at his home. Already feeling despondent because of that, and greatly dissatisfied with the royal family’s decision, he had gotten drunk one evening and sung an improvised song, the meaning of which was that “a true knight like Sir Ryucown deserves the throne of Garbera”. His companions having informed on him, he had even been thrown into jail for a while.

The commander of the Order of the Badger had desperately pleaded in his favour, and Salamand had been released, but in the meanwhile there had been Ryucown’s uprising and its suppression by Mephius’ army.

It was said that despite having only just regained his freedom, Salamand had wept bitterly, not caring that anyone saw him.

“I too wanted to remain true to knighthood with Sir Ryucown. Garbera’s chivalry has perished with him.”

Zenon remembered how he had fiercely ground his teeth when he had heard about those words. He himself strived to be a model of chivalry in all he said and did. Caught between his inability to forgive Ryucown for betraying his country, and his own attempts to live up to those chivalric ideals, Zenon’s heart had been shaken.

Rinoa continued to whisper, “without paying attention to anyone, that gentleman has been spreading the rumour that Lady Vileena’s actions are based on faith in Garbera. And that we should seize this opportunity to rescue the princess from that perfidious Mephius.”

Zenon felt that he could understand now why Rinoa had invited him here. And, just as he had imagined, she beckoned Salamand over so that the two could talk face to face.

“Prince Zenon, you displayed splendid abilities in the war with Ende.”

“No, that was nowhere near as flawless as the rumours have it.”

They shook hands.

In height and breadth, he was a warrior worthy of the name of the Order of the Badger. Even when you looked him straight in the eye, his gaze did not waver. Zenon was not such an expert at mindreading that he could tell what his opponent was planning just from seeing their expression.

''I should have brought Noue after all'' – that futile thought flitted through his brain.

Having come to this, it would be a problem if Ryucown’s admirers became active. If they provoked Mephius, Vileena might be placed in even greater danger than she already was. Which was why Zenon made a light jab.

“As for my having pushed Ende back, it is simply because Mephius sent reinforcements.”

Salamand scratched his square jaw thoughtfully. “Still, that Mephius. Nowadays, it is a country that acts completely contrary to justice.”

“Justice according to whom? Each country and each person has their own justice. You are of course a patriot and a fine knight; but for me, the ideals of chivalry and the needs of the country can differ. Sense of values can be different. You should not label someone as immoral simply because their way of thinking is different from your own.”

“Prince Zenon, are you saying that I am acting against my country?”

“Now look here. Labelling opponents and chasing them down, or having them chase you, is not the way to put ideals into practice. Why, you would be going around every day with a naked blade in hand.” Zenon said laughingly.

Although outwardly Salamand maintained a smile suitable for a banquet,

“Even then, I don’t think I would mind.”

“What are you saying?”

“For the sake of living up to my ideals, I would not mind it if, every day, I had to fight those who would stand in my way and dip my sword in their blood. Is what I was saying.”

''This man is relentless''. While also preserving the gentle smile that was characteristic of the royal family, Zenon cursed inwardly. Salamand was not a man who was all talk and no action either. Even if that was reassuring in an ally, there was currently nothing more worrisome as far as Zenon was concerned. He was wondering whether to break off the discussion for now but –

“Is it not the same for you, Lord Zenon?” Salamand protested. “Chivalry is not something that one explains to others but something that one embodies. Through constant questioning, exploring for answers, and daily struggles, I hope to succeed in personifying it. That you, Lord Zenon, the model of a knight within the royal family, do not agree with me is truly lamentable,” he declared.

In essence, he was picking a fight. What he was wanting to say was that – ''Garbera’s current royal family does not embody the ideals of chivalry.''

For a moment, Zenon looked straight at the other with a serious expression.

The people who had all around been enjoying the banquet and clasping their friends by the shoulders suddenly started to pay attention to the exchange between the two. They watched with bated breath – or it might perhaps better be said – they had found a different source of entertainment at the party.

Zenon himself was known as a general with a relentless personality. He took a step closer to the man who was openly disagreeing with him.

As they were wondering whether he was about to hit him, Zenon heartily clapped Salamand on the shoulder. A stir that was neither admiration nor disappointment went around.

“You’re like a seeker of truth, Salamand,” Zenon said cheerfully. “If every knight was as strict with themselves as you are, it would be a wonderful thing. However...”

“However?”

“There is also paying attention to what other people say. People become stunted if they bury themselves in nothing but their own way of thinking. I was like that as well. And because of that, I got backed into a corner in the battle against Ende. There is observing well those whom you feel you hate, or even those you consider to be enemies, as they might well be mirrors that reflect your own self.”

Salamand did not say anything but his eyes were clearly filled with disdain for Zenon. No doubt he was thinking that he was just lining up pretty words to temporarily smooth things over and run away from their joust.

Zenon was quick to see through the other’s emotions but, without saying anything more, he turned his back on him and returned to where Rinoa was.

“If you were the way you used to be, Lord Zenon,” she said as she presented him with a new wine cup, “there would have been trouble here by now.”

“It is just as you say. I have become a coward.”

“Indeed. That you, Lord Zenon, would end an argument by turning away from it and would call yourself a ‘coward’ is something I would not have said even in jest.”

Rinoa smiled even more brightly than before while he wondered if this was her way of criticizing him.

''Well there it is'' – she was an unfathomable girl, thought Zenon as he once again drained the contents of the cup. From early childhood, the daughter of the Kotjun House had been brought by her father to attend fierce business transactions.

Her expression then turned somewhat serious. “Do be careful. As a matter of fact, that man Salamand has only recently started showing up at the banquets given by the Kotjun family.”

“Oh?”

Thinking about it, just like Zenon in the past, a man who preached about honourable chivalry to that extent was not likely to have any kind feelings towards the Kotjun House. So that meant that he had only recently started drawing close to them.

''War funds… is it?''

Zenon’s expression hardened for a moment.

Seeing that, Rinoa put her wine cup down.

“Would you not grant me a dance?” she held out her hand.

=== Part 2 ===

Elsewhere, in Safia, the capital of the Grand Duchy of Ende, the country which stood on equal footing with Mephius and Garbera at the centre of the continent.

Like a rainbow bridge spanning the surface of the earth, the innumerable pavilions of the glittering white palace, which were also known as ‘the Thousand Wings’, formed a decorative belt that encircled the main shrine.

At almost its very highest point, the flag of the ancient Magic Dynasty was fluttering. It was the flag that proclaimed the legitimacy of the authority of Ende’s court.

Ende had originally been a land governed by a loyal vassal of the legendary King Zodias, the founder of the Magic Dynasty, who was said to have ruled the continent for over a hundred years. After a certain amount of time, Zodias became more engrossed in magical research than in governing; because of this, and driven by the need to strike fear and awe in the west, which remained beyond the king’s control, the Duke of Ende gave the name Grand Duchy of Ende to the lands he administered within Zodias’ dynasty.

One stormy night, Zodias abruptly passed away from a strange illness and the entire continent fell into the chaos of the long struggle for succession. Like hyenas and vultures gathering around fresh carrion, numerous generals and lords each proclaimed that they deserved to be the successor, and continued the bloody conflict, even when there was no longer either a country or a throne left to inherit. Amidst it all, the region of Ende determinedly held its silence.

Without paying any attention to offers of alliances made by other powers, they had simply focused on defending their borders against any invader who tried to cross them. They bided their time for more than ten years until the third Duke of Ende judged that the long war had finally weakened the surrounding lords, and decided to set out with his troops to unify the whole land. After having designated themselves as the legitimate successors, they called themselves the Emperors of Ende. This was the start of the era known in history as ‘the Former Empire of Ende’ but it only lasted a very short time. That was because at the same period, the Kingdom of Allion was rising in the east of the continent.

The one who ruled as the founding king of Allion was the one who had once been appointed to defend the Dynasty’s capital, General Arma Jamil. When insurrection had turned the capital into a sea of flames, Arma – who was said to have set the fire himself – used the opportunity to plunder the capital’s treasures and then fled east. Backed by his considerable wealth, he had then taken former military units and vagrant warriors into his service; and, just like Ende, he had bided his time and saved his strength.

Arma took as many as a hundred women as wives, and claimed that one of them was King Zodias’ bastard child. This made him, as her husband, the legitimate ruler of the Dynasty.

A confrontation between Ende and Allion was of course inevitable.

However, while a vanguard from Allion was clashing with Ende’s border defence troops, everywhere else the conflicts were gradually dying down; and countries and powers, with forms of government very different from that of the Dynasty, were being established one by one.

This situation marked the end of the millennial era of the hundred-years dynasty<ref>The kanji used are those for ‘hundred-year dynasty’ (百年王朝) while the furigana read ‘millennium’ (ミレニアム). I’m assuming that the use of ‘millennium’ is there to indicate that this was a utopian Golden Era, rather than being some weird mistake in numbers.</ref> and the world had already plunged into simpler and more savage times; where conflicts were far more about struggling for land with swords and guns than about fighting for the lost sovereign’s seal.

With things as they were, Ende and Allion temporarily laid down their weapons. In the peace negotiations that followed the Duke of Ende agreed to no longer call himself emperor and, in exchange, Allion promised to not send soldiers towards Ende for ten years.

Since that time, although Ende and Allion kept their distances from one another, they flew the same flag and claimed that their two nations had jointly inherited the traditions and bloodline of the Dynasty.
The influence of the Dynasty had rapidly left a deep impression on Ende’s cultural style. In many of its famous buildings, including the aforementioned ‘Thousand Wings’ palace, as well as in its paintings and music, there were countless masterpieces belonging to the school of antiquity. The people of Ende were contemptuous of things like the art from Garbera, which the neighbouring country Mephius – with a mixture of masochism and envy – appreciated as ‘culture’, but which according to them had only been around for a few decades and which could thus be called no more than a fad, unworthy of their attention.

This was Ende.

All those who lived there bragged that Safia was the most magnificent capital in the world, but currently, that same capital was gripped with apprehension over a family quarrel that, with more accuracy, might be said to display human behaviour at its most savage and primitive.

The confrontation between the two princes was finally coming to a head.

The older of the brothers, First Prince Jeremie, who usually feigned belonging to the moderate faction and acted as though he had absolutely no interest in the struggle for succession, had now begun lashing out at his younger brother.

“Marching on Garbera was an act of arbitrary willfulness on my younger brother’s part. He falsified our father’s, the Grand Duke’s, words to make it look as though he had permitted it; then moved the army because of his own personal feelings and as a way of showing off his power. And in the end, what results did it bring? Having been unable to predict that Mephius would send reinforcements, he scurried home helplessly, without taking a single step towards Garbera’s capital. Ende is the laughingstock. How could such a foolish and uncouth lout shoulder the weight of this historic country?”

Taking things from a different angle, the reason why Jeremie had started talking this way was because he could no longer ignore his brother’s existence. At about the same time that Prince Eric was marching towards Garbera, there had been an incident in which wild dragons had started to rampage through Dairan, a district in Ende’s north. To protect a land that he had been close to since early childhood, Eric had immediately turned the army around and had swiftly and valiantly hunted the dragons.

That exploit had spread not only through Dairan but throughout the whole of Ende and had brought a change in the power relationship in Safia. Although ostensibly Jeremie still had many nobles supporting him, there were not a few voices that wondered whether a man like Eric, who was able to make swift decisions and take action, did not deserve to be the next Grand Duke.

Jeremie was a man who understood the subtleties of the court. Therefore, he was able to sense that the atmosphere was dangerous for him.

''If I don’t attack now, other nobles will steadily get dragged into that atmosphere'' – was another reason for his impatience.

On the other side, there was the younger brother, Second Prince Eric.

Naturally, he had perceived that a wind pushing him from behind had started to blow. And so Eric had made the prompt decision that now was the time to go on the offensive.

“In the first place, there has never been a single record of wild dragons in Dairan. On top of that, it was as if their appearance had been timed for when I was away, exactly as though it had someone’s design behind it. Which reminds me, my brother Jeremie seems to be close with the Bureau of Sorcery for some reason. Retainers saw him sneaking in and out of there not so long ago,” he commented loudly.

Since the disturbance in Dairan, Eric had been monitoring his brother. As a result, he was able to disclose that Jeremie had personal contact with the Bureau of Sorcery, and when that scandal flew around the entire court, what had merely been a shift in the ‘atmosphere’ changed into a rising ‘wind’.

And the leading figures in the duchy were eager to ascertain in which direction that wind would blow. In a sense, that was a fight fiercer than the one between the brothers; which was only natural, given that who they cooperated with now would mean the difference between heaven and earth for their lives in the future.

Tactics for information and psychological warfare were being deployed in all quarters. There were those who pretended to remain with him while storing up information about the older brother Jeremie’s side, those who were spreading false rumours that the younger brother Eric was preparing his troops to attack Safia, those who were desperate to win over the attendants who looked after the ill and bed-ridden Grand Duke…

Inaudible to the ear, the crash of war from invisible swords, spears and arrows resounded throughout Safia.

“Come closer.” A sonorous voice resounded in the circular chamber.

The walls, which should originally have been grey, shone gold. This was because of the light coming from a lofty pillar, which appeared to be modelled on the immigrants’ space ship, that stood towering in the centre of the chamber. The light was emitted from a sphere that was roughly the size of a human head.

From slightly higher than the bottom of the pillar, walkways ran in eight directions and just before they reached the walls of the circular chamber, they each had a space in which highbacked chairs on pedestals had been installed.

On each one of them a man was sitting, so that they were, in essence, surrounding the pillar. All of them wore long robes that reached down to their ankles and their collars were tightly fastened. As they wore their cowls low, their faces could not be seen.

“It appears that this country is entering a new phase in its history.” One of them said then another stood up, “There will be a certain amount of disorder. It is fine to say that Jeremie and Eric are competing for power. But that is all. We are watchmen to the last. To us, battles, political strife, and even the rise and fall of countries are no more than the ripples of a single stone on the surface of the ocean. The roll of the ocean’s waves easily swallow them up and ripples soon vanish.”

He spoke sternly and all the other sorcerers nodded simultaneously. The man who had risen to make that statement was the Director of Ende’s Bureau of Sorcery, Wodan. The long beard at his chin was woven into a braid in the style of the aristocrats from the era of the Ancient Dynasty.

“Is that not so, Hezel?”

At the base of the pillar, where Wodan’s gaze fell, there was a single man. He too had on a robe with a cowl but his clothes were somewhat dirty, his arms were bound behind his back and his knees were to the ground.

The man addressed as Hezel painfully lifted his head and seemed to say something but no voice came out.

Wodan snapped his fingers. “Take it off," he ordered.

Behind Hezel, two soldiers stood to attention, spears in hand. On both sides of their faces something like a pale, lightning-shaped tattoo stretched from their eyelids to their lips. They belonged to a special class of soldiers within Ende, those who guarded the Bureau of Sorcery. They stretched out their hands and removed a metallic collar from around Hezel’s neck.

“Master Wodan,” a voice wheezed out from Hezel’s mouth. He tried to continue further but he was in a terribly weakened state and he broke into a violent coughing fit.

Wodan raised his hand.

“It’s fine. Your five senses were cut off for a month. Your voice will not come out easily even by the third day. But when I see you, who is like a beloved son to me, reduced to this state, I still cannot blame myself for having gone too far. The sin you committed is that grave. Not only did you draw close to Prince Jeremie and request funding assistance on nothing more then your own authority, but you also tempted the prince into removing vessels of sorcery from the underground. It seems you used your subordinates to study them, but this too is deserving of a severe punishment.”

His head lowered, Hezel did not move.

The vessels of sorcery were the many artefacts which had been handed down in Ende from the ancient Dynastic period and could be called the very symbol of the Grand Duchy. Hezel had used them to revive ancient sorcery that manipulated dragons. This was not unrelated to the dragons which had suddenly rampaged through the region of Dairan. In other words, Hezel had been involved with something that would deeply affect Ende's politics. Although the Bureau of Sorcery was one of the country's institutions, it was by nature supposed to maintain a distance from politics and government.

"At the previous meeting, there were those who said that we should banish you forever, just as we did with that fool Reizus. But you are young and show more promise than any other sorcerer of your generation. Therefore, on my name of Wodan, Director of the Bureau of Sorcery, I had you sent to prison for a month. If you have learned from that..."

"B-But," Hezel spoke, interrupting him. His voice was weak and hoarse, but it must have been surprising that he had enough strength left to talk at all as Wodan unintentionally stopped speaking. Hezel gradually lifted his head although his neck and shoulders were trembling as though someone was holding him down hard. "Prince Eric's power and influence have also increased. If the second prince, who has no understanding of sorcery, was to take the throne of the Grand Duchy, we would be at a disadvantage."

When Wodan heard that, he appeared to regain his composure and shook his head.

"You are saying that you acted with the Bureau in mind? Certainly, Prince Jeremie has a greater understanding of sorcery than anyone else in the successive generations of the Grand Ducal House. I would go further and say that he has shown an interest, as that person has studied artefacts to quite an extent. It appears that he would be very interested in using magic to rule. If he were to become Grand Duke, our Bureau of Sorcery would indeed probably obtain greater power than ever before."

"In that case..."

"Power is futile," Wodan callously shot him down. "Power that can only be demonstrated within a country has no meaning. Say, for example, that Ende was on the verge of being destroyed by some calamity. We would cooperate to defend the country, but if in the end it became dangerous, we would just as easily abandon it. The assets for our preservation are knowledge and sorcery; we cannot trade them in for any one country. If afterwards we need to look for a new place to settle in, it will simply be a matter of creating a new organisation."

"..."

"Besides, if you are saying that you acted with the Bureau in mind, how will you explain away the affair with Garbera? When the general called Ryucown rose in rebellion, Prince Jeremie secretly gave him assistance. That was also your suggestion. What were you trying to do by needlessly prolonging Garbera's internal strife?"

"Well," Hezel spoke in a toneless voice from deep within his somewhat dirty cowl, "it was simply that the prince thought it would be a good opportunity to break down the relationship between the three countries."

"Your ulterior motive is as clear as day. Once Garbera was neutralised, you would have directed the prince's attention to the west. You goal is - yes, indeed, it is Barbaroi, is it not?"

When the word 'Barbaroi' was uttered, a voiceless commotion spread throughout the room. The seven sorcerers who, until then, had watched in silence repeatedly glanced towards each other.

"You must not interfere there." Before the disturbance had died down, the Director of the Bureau of Sorcery warned in a tone of voice stronger than any he had used so far. "From the start, we, Ende's Bureau of Sorcery, exist neither for the sake of the country nor for the sake of merely handing down sorcery techniques to posterity. We exist for nothing other than protecting Magic King Zodias' dying wish by watching over the fate - the predictions, the future - that he wove for this land. Repeat it, Hezel. What were the last words that King Zodias once transmitted to the sorcerers who were faithful to him?"
"'Above all else, defend Barbaroi to the last.'"

Hezel's breathing was ragged as he spoke. Wodan nodded but Hezel immediately cut through his words.

"In recent years, movement has been observed in Barbaroi. The sorcerer called Garda manifested in the west and, as the ether was greatly disturbed, how could it not help but waking from sleep for a while? In spite of your fears, you, Master Wodan, must surely understand. When King Zodias gave the order to defend Barbaroi to the last, it wasn't because he held that land dear. The king had a king's plan. He even thought to warn us that the plan would be wasted if other people were to go and approach that terrifying existence which granted the king knowledge of magic. It is now, now that Barbaroi is about to start moving again, that we need to take action. What will come of stubbornly defending King Zodias' testament, he who carried away the Dragon God's Claw and disappeared as though fleeing from this world? Director, to have Barbaroi in our hands. Our Bureau of Sorcery could then anew..."

"Silence!" Wodan roared. "You speak of wickedness. In a space where you could neither see nor hear anything, an empty space in which you could not feel the touch of anything, as though you were floating through the cosmos – although you have been locked up in that prison of sorcery for a month, one would not believe it. I have no hesitation in praising your courage. But I repeat, you are young. Too young. Regarding Garda and Barbaroi, of course we must reinforce our monitoring. But it is not yet at a stage where we need to intervene. Naturally, the same goes for Ende’s internal affairs. When it comes to the world of men, we must remain as ‘eyes’ to the end. We cannot be the ‘mouth’ that disturbs Fate. It is impossible that you do not understand the meaning of this.”

“…”

“Master Wodan,” one of the sorcerers who had, until then, been watching silently opened his mouth, “this man is more dangerous than Reizus. For now, will you imprison him temporarily and urge him to reform? Or will you deal with him as things are?”

Wodan thought about it for a moment.

“Hezel. I will grant you a one week deferment. Rest your body. After that, you will be summoned here once more. If, at that time, your intentions have not changed, I will have to think about locking you in that prison forever. Do you understand?”

“… Aye.” Hezel answered weakly. It was not that he had been overwhelmed by Wodan’s words, but rather that his body’s weakened state had finally taken its toll. And in the first place, this was not a situation in which he could say anything.

Supported on either side by the tattooed soldiers, Hezel was led from the chamber as though being dragged away.

Passing through a long corridor, he was then thrown into a small, bare, square-shaped room.

After the soldiers had left, Hezel, lying face up on the floor, looked up at the low ceiling without stirring.

“I’m young, is it?” A hoarse voice escaped from his cracked lips. "Certainly, I am young. Far more so than my father who has experienced the passing of hundreds of years."

The words he uttered were strange but although his eyes were dim, they held neither anger nor fear nor even irritation.

Instead, his lips formed into a fearless smile.

“I’m a little tired of it here. Ende’s treasured vessels of sorcery aren’t particularly noteworthy. As for simply watching over things... I would rather spread the fires of chaos. Will the centre of the continent soon be ablaze? Or will the ripples from that single stone that I threw extinguish the flames?”

Hezel half raised the upper part of his body and the cowl fell back from his head.

Hezel, a member of Ende’s Bureau of Sorcery, should be the same man who had visited the sorcerer who became Garda during the recent upheaval in the west. Yet the burn which Garda's subordinate, the witch Tahī, had inflicted on his face at the time was nowhere to be seen.

In fact, his very features had changed. Back then, he had the youthful, handsome face of a young man, but now his pale countenance was somewhat flat and it was hard to tell his actual age.

It was a face that had, in the past, also been seen at the imperial court of Mephius.

=== Part 3 ===

Aks, who belonged to the Dawnlight Wings Division, looked down on an area located in the western corner of Apta Fortress with a complicated expression.

It was there, at a section on the ground floor level where the fortress faced the cliff, that the former Imperial Guards, Pashir included, were currently being detained.

Among the winged dragon officers, Aks easily had the most outstanding physique. Yet the other day when he had exchanged blows with Pashir, the runner-up in the Gladiatorial competition, he had been sent sprawling right at the start. He could still feel the throbbing pain from where a fist like a stone had slammed into his jaw. He rubbed at it but in his heart there was anger and resentment.

He loved and respected the grey-haired general Rogue Saian. Because the general had supported the prince, who had opposed the emperor, his position had been downgraded; but Aks thought that action truly was “just like Father”. However, when he heard that the Prince's Imperial Guards were to become their colleagues, he had felt strong antipathy.

Those who belonged to an army corps that is mainly deployed in airborne battles were all on the same "boat" and had a stronger bond than typical land soldiers. They were comrades who shared the same destiny since, in such an environment, if a mistake was made in even just one of the posts they were assigned, they might all fall plummeting from the sky.

And a bunch of outsiders were coming into their midst. They were subordinates of the prince who could be said to be the reason why Rogue Saian was kept away from the capital; and on top of that, Pashir was the heinous criminal who had once tried to rise in rebellion against Mephius. Naturally, he could not welcome them with open arms.

And so, he picked a quarrel with Pashir. As for why he had chosen him, his intention had been to thrash the brawniest of them as a warning.

But the tables had been turned on him. Pashir’s title of runner-up at the gladiatorial tournament, and his history as a former sword slave, were apparently not just for show.

But now, Pashir and the others were being detained on suspicion of being connected to the west.

Aks certainly had not been happy about Pashir, but he found it hard to believe that the newcomer had again been intending to harm Mephius or that he was connected to the west.

Most of the Imperial Guards were people who had been taken out of slavery by Crown Prince Gil. It was unthinkable that they would have been involved in the prince’s assassination. Even if the west had called out to him seductively or approached him with a scheme, it was more natural to suppose that a man like Pashir would reject it outright.

With the war against Taúlia being at a stalemate, Rogue’s mood was not good. Since he knew ‘Father’s’ personality well. Aks realized, of course, that he had no enthusiasm for this war. Quite the opposite, in fact the balance of his emotions were being tipped in an unusual direction, and it was said that he had done everything he could to stop the fighting.

And, infected by his superior officer’s feelings, Aks too was disgusted with it.

''This is a stupid war'' – he sighed and started walking. But before he had taken even a few steps, a woman called to him to stop from a passageway to the side. He recognised her face, she was a servant at Apta. Unbecoming of her youthful and quiet appearance, she gripped Aks’ hand and tried to invite him to her room.

“Oi oi, it’s still broad daylight!” He protested but she looked desperately determined and would not let go of his hand.

Aks figured that fooling about for a change wasn’t so bad, but when the door to the room was opened and he saw that there was another woman waiting on the bed, he was, as could be expected, surprised.

Furthermore, she was a strangely alluring beauty, so pale it was as if all colour had been drained from her.

Aks gulped reflexively. Feelings of anticipation whirled in his chest, but then, the woman spoke.

Half a day later, Aks came running up to General Rogue Saian.

“What’s this, you have something to discuss? That’s rare.”

“Actually, there is something that I really want to ask of you, General.”

With that preface, Aks led the general to the same room that the servant girl had invited him to.

“The airship unit got into some trouble with General Narbal’s men. It would have been fine if it had just been an ordinary fight, but the unit and Nabarl’s men were detained in the same room. The other side pulled out swords and guns, there is going to be a murder the way things are. General, won’t you please come and give the guys from the unit a good talking to?”

As soon as he heard that, Rogue raced down the passageways with a speed that did not match his age. The ruckus between Aks and Pashir was one thing but an uproar like this one was, in a manner of speaking, his own fault for not having been able to pull the men together.

When Rogue opened the door, for a moment, his expression was the same as Aks’ had been half a day earlier.

There were two women on the bed. One was the servant who had invited Aks. The other had a face that was unknown to him. Her features were so beautiful that even Rogue was taken aback. Her complexion was as pale as a dove’s and her lips, which were highlighted with rouge, glistened all the more seductively because of it.

“It has been a long time, General.” Yet when the beauty spoke, it was in the voice of a man.

Rogue’s eyes started, and not because Aks had quietly closed the door behind him. He remembered that voice and looking at it again, he recognised the man before him as someone he knew.

“You’re Shique!?”

“General, please, your voice,” Shique, disguised as a woman, put a finger to his red lips.

Rogue hurriedly shut his mouth and turned around to Aks, who was standing at the ready behind him. The large winged dragon officer wore an embarrassed-looking expression.

When he had been an Imperial Guard, Shique had only spoken with the man a little. Remembering that, Shique had first asked a servant girl that he had previously been familiar with – since Orba had asked him to gather information on the fort, he had no choice but to become close with her – to call Aks over, and had then asked him to fetch the general.

“I-I’m sure I heard that you went missing after the fight with the Black Armoured Division. You were alive? Then what have you been doing up until now? Your companions are currently imprisoned here in Apta. Oh, was it because you learned of that that you deliberately disguised yourself and snuck in here? Don’t tell me you plan to save them. What splendid spirit to have done so without worrying about the danger to your own life, however in the current circumstances…”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v08 185.jpg|thumb]]
“General, General, please calm down,” Shique interrupted Rogue’s words with a smile. Then immediately after, he was wracked by a violent coughing fit. His back and shoulders shook for some time because of it.

“I am of course worried about them, but I have a different reason for coming especially to see you, General.”

“I-I see,” as though embarrassed at having lost his calm, Rogue took a deep breath. An irrepressible emotion was welling up from the depths of his heart. Deliberately preventing himself from thinking about what it was, he stared at Shique once more. “But that is an impressive disguise. No, if I remember rightly, you also masqueraded as a beautiful slave woman at the time of Zaat Quark’s rebellion.”

“You have a good memory.”

Shique was occasionally scrunching up his face and rounding his back as though he was in poor physical shape. Each time he did so, the servant girl rubbed his back anxiously.

Rogue was aware of a throbbing palpitation. “That time... it would have been on the prince’s orders. What about this time? You went missing after the fight with the Black Armoured Division, why did you risk coming back to Apta?”

Shique wordlessly took a letter from his breast and handed it to the general.

Rogue read through it at a stroke.

“Impossible,” he said in a voice like a whisper. Then he read it again from the beginning. Finding it funny how those actions mirrored his own, Shique almost laughed but started coughing again.

Rogue’s breathing gradually grew rough. Finally, after taking another quick look at the entire document, he asked, “is it true?” perhaps because his emotions were struggling from every angle, his face was rather expressionless.

“It is all written there.”

''In three days?'' Rogue murmured in his heart. In three days, the prince would proceed towards the border and reveal himself. Yes... Prince Gil Mephius. If the contents of this letter were true, he had learned of General Oubary’s plan to assassinate him and had deliberately used the timing of that plan to throw himself into the river.

The intention had been to bring Oubary’s plan to light and hopefully catch the unit tasked with carrying it out, but the prince had sensed that there was ‘an even darker shadow’ behind them and hid himself for a time in the west by feigning his own death.

His breathing still rough, Rogue repeatedly shut his eyes then opened them wide.

''The prince is alive.''

Why was it that simply by thinking that, he felt that it was as though a bright ray of light was shining both on himself, who had felt cast in darkness, and on Mephius’ future? Imperial Prince Gil was a hero who had soared to fame in the space of less than a year, nevertheless it was still unknown whether he had any political resourcefulness.

''However, he is the Crown Prince''.

Right now, that was the most important thing as far as Rogue was concerned. What was paramount above all else was the fact that a legitimate member of the imperial family was openly criticizing the emperor’s current course.

His face pale, Shique watched Rogue’s conflicted demeanour. After a short while, the veteran general spoke.

“Understood.”

That was all. He did not state whether he believed the contents of the letter or not. Nor did he talk about what he intended to do. On the contrary, he asked, “what are you going to do from here on?”

“I,” Shique interrupted himself to clear his throat, “I will return to the west. Actually, there was a commotion when I left and I’m worried about the situation over there. I should go back for now to check th…”

“You cannot,” Rogue declared.

“General…”

“Whatever the details, we are currently at war with Taúlia. That is undeniable. I cannot simply send back, to the enemy forces, a person who has been inside our own camp.”

“I am not fit to be a spy. I attract too much attention.”

“How dare you say that when you’ve disguised yourself to this extent. Anyway, you’re staying in Apta. I’ll find some reason or another to provide you with a room. Lie low there.”

“General,” Shique shook his pale face. Having fled like a deserter, he did not believe that he would be able to return to Taúlia as things were. But he was afraid that the situation might have become complicated for Orba. He also needed to report that he had been able to safely leave Taúlia with the letter, but – “General, I…”

As Shique tried to get up, Rogue forcefully pulled his arm. As the servant girl screamed, Shique’s body slumped forward. Rogue looked intently at the area of his back and said –

“You’ve been shot.”

The reason why the woman’s clothing he wore only bulged oddly on his back was because the bandages had been repeatedly wrapped around him there, while in the front the added padding was really made to look like the swelling of breasts.

“Have you had a doctor look at it?”

“The bullet seems to have gotten lodged,” Shique smiled, his face ashen.

“In your current situation, you couldn’t have gone to a proper doctor. It will have been an unlicensed doctor practicing illegally in some back alley.”

Rogue’s assertion was correct. When Shique had been leaving Taúlia, he had been shot from behind by one of the soldiers forming part of the net. The steel bullet had pierced through from his back to his lower chest. That he had not fallen from his horse indeed made him worthy of being a renowned former gladiator.

Although he had given himself some rudimentary medical treatment on the way, it had been hard to push down the fever and the pain that had been gnawing at him from within. In all honesty, it would not have surprised him if he had fainted upon coming in sight of Apta. However he had gritted his teeth and had snuck into the town, which had once been well known to him, and using everything that he had been able to carry out of Taúlia as payment, he had called on a back-alley doctor.

But as Rogue had said, he could not go for proper treatment. His festering wound had merely been wrapped in fresh bandages and he had only been given antipyretic medicine.

“That cough comes from your internal organs being damaged. It’s dangerous to leave it. I have seen over and over again people laughing one day only to drop dead the next. At any rate, you won’t make it to Taúlia in that state.”

“…”

“I’ll get you an army surgeon from the Dawnlight Wings Division. He’s a friend of mine so don’t worry.”

As he spoke, Rogue gently pushed Shique back down to the bed. Having used all of his physical strength just to lift himself up that much, Shique collapsed onto it without any resistance.

After that, Shique was moved to a room and received medical treatment from an army surgeon.

Lying alone on the snow-white bed, he found the situation irritating and strange.

There was a window high above him, and that cut-out square was his only point of contact with the outside world. The sun had risen then set, the shadows had deepened, then the day had dawned again
Except when he slept, Shique gazed at that view without growing tired of it.

''It’s been two days since then… no, has it been three?''

It was because of the medicine that his head was fuzzy, he decided. So that meant that Orba should be nearing the border around now. Or maybe, since he would have realised that a net had been laid out and surveillance had been reinforced, he had not yet left Taúlia.

There was nothing more that Shique could do. He could only bet on Orba’s ability and luck for what came next.

There didn’t appear to be any conspicuous movements here in Apta. The army still hadn’t stirred yet either. Rogue, who believed in the letter, must be restraining Nabarl, the commander-in-chief, by every means possible.

''But still, on the third day'' – If Orba was unable to appear as Gil Mephius, the general would not be able to hold Nabarl back any longer.

Remembering Rogue’s reaction upon reading the letter, Shique smiled weakly.

''You couldn’t have played the part of a prince for more than half a year''.

''Even so.''

''Isn’t it interesting? If it weren’t for the current state of Mephius, the general might not have seen your survival as a ray of light.''

''Right.''

''Isn’t it exactly as though everything, even the pain and suffering, was a path laid out for your sake?''

''I suppose that besides individual ability, above all else, the situations in which they are needed are what create heroes.''

''Yes, that was what was missing with me.''

Shique had grown up in a poor family. Both of his parents had worked by the sweat of their brow, yet even so it had been difficult to earn the day’s food. Still, even while living that life, Shique’s mother tried to ensure by all means that her son wouldn’t lose his pride. She bought books even when it meant going without meals, she gave him an education, and she taught him the basics of etiquette as well as the foreign words that she herself knew.

His mother claimed that, tracing her family line to the distant past, she was descended from an aristocratic lineage of the Magic Dynasty. It seemed that in its heyday it had even held the right to succession to the throne, although its rank in the order of precedence was low.

Whether that was true or not, he didn’t know. But at the very least, his mother believed it. Or maybe, in a life of sipping muddy water, she had found an emotional crutch by believing that mouldy old history.

But for the very young Shique, and also for his father, it became a burden.

His father had vanished as though running away from his mother, who was completely wrapped up in her pride in that very dubious lineage. From then on, his mother had lavished all her love on Shique. Even though she had to sell her own body to earn their daily income, she had made sure that he received an education, had bought him expensive clothes, and had him learn courtly dancing and the art of swordplay.

His mother’s voice as she hugged his shoulders and whispered “The blood of the Aeland family runs in you”, the unsteady gleam in her eyes, the way she touched him, her very existence, so to speak, was oppressive for Shique.

''Mother...''

Shique mentally called out while still looking out through the high window.

''I couldn’t be the son you hoped for me to be. But that cause for pride that you saw in me, I’ve found it somewhere else''.

''So I…''

It was two days after Shique had managed to reach Apta’s fortress.

Of course, Gowen, Pashir and the rest did not know that he was close by. In that narrow and confined space, their impatience and irritation were only growing stronger.

For them, it was another day that saw no improvement from the previous one.

But around dusk, distant screams were heard that would completely change the fate of the former Imperial Guards.

Gowen, once an overseer of sword slaves, had a bad premonition from the start. The screams were coming from the direction of the dragon pen.

That day as well, Hou Ran had spent all her time looking after the dragons. It happened at the time that she was returning them to their cages after having them out for a walk.

As the last dragon was going back to its cage, and before she could properly turn the key, she was seized from behind.

Her mouth was blocked and she was dragged to a patch of grass.

Usually a number of slaves would assist for large-scale tasks like cleaning the dragons’ cages, but when it came to the dragons themselves, because Hou Ran took care of them alone, there was not the shadow of a person in the area.

Hou Ran was pinned down by several men.

She could not make a sound but she stared at them sharply. As for the men, their lustful gazes openly drank up the sight of Ran’s body, on which the red rays of the sun and the shadows of the cages cast a mottled pattern.

They were the same soldiers who were always vulgarly calling out to her and were probably Nabarl’s men.

“Anyway, she’s a woman from the west. No one’s gonna blame us even if we do what we like with her.”

“We’ll take care of you like Zerdian men couldn’t.”

The men’s hands crawled over Ran’s dark skin.

And she could not move to resist against them. Ran’s furious breathing escaped ineffectively from the gap between her mouth and the hands.

Just as the men had begun to strip her of her clothes, a large silhouette suddenly blocked the light from the setting sun.

The big shadow that also engulfed Ran’s limbs belonged to the Baian – a medium-sized dragon – that had just been let into its cage.

Its eyes had become bloodshot. It had burst out of its cage with enough force to break it.

Faster than the men could scream, its mouth gaped open, pulling with it strings of saliva. Fangs like swords pierced through the back of a man’s neck and vivid red blood splashed freely. Screams and angry bellowing erupted, but the dragon’s roars drowned them out.

By the time soldiers who had heard the uproar arrived, swords and guns drawn, the men who had pinned Ran down had all lost their lives.

“I-In position!”

When a man who seemed to be captain issued the order, soldiers fell to one knee and readied their guns. Before he could give the order to fire, a human figure quickly interposed itself between the guns and the flesh-devouring dragon.

Ran was covered in blood and her eyes were watery with tears.

“I’ll calm him down. Put your guns away.”

“Move from there. If you don’t move, we’ll shoot you.”

“This child is waiting for him to come back. I promised I would protect him until then.”

As soon as she had spoken, Ran turned her back to the row of gun muzzles and clung to the Baian’s neck. The dragon roared, a bloody froth spewing from its maw. It shook its neck as though irritated and Ran’s body was flung to the ground. The Baian bared its fangs menacingly. The blood had gotten it excited. When things got to this point, even tamers who had known a dragon for years might end up being eaten.

But Ran did not give up and tackled the Baian again and again. Even when its tail smashed into her and its fangs drew right before her, she desperately hugged its neck, stroked its scales and whispered something to it. Her whole body was already covered in cuts and bruises from being sent flying time after time, and because her skin tore when it scraped against the dragon’s hard scales.

With her cheeks torn to shreds, it was no longer the men’s blood she was covered in but her own.

Watching the way she pressed herself against the dragon even so, the soldiers were utterly dumbfounded. As they stood there stock still, the Baian’s voice gradually grew calmer. As it stopped stamping its feet and waving its tail, head drooping limply, Ran seemed to lean against the dragon and sunk slowly down.

She had lost consciousness.

When Nabarl received the news, for a moment his face held neither surprise nor joy.

That only Hou Ran had been less strictly confined was because he had judged that if even a single disturbance arose around the woman from the west, he would be able to make good use of the situation, but he certainly had not expected it to go as far as having all the soldiers assigned to monitor her being eaten by a dragon.

But anyway –

“That accursed western woman. So she’s revealed her true colours.” Nabarl kicked himself out of his chair as though he were truly enraged. “She must have been aiming to destroy this camp from the inside. Throw those bastards in a cage! As an example, and as retaliation, they’re to be executed by firing squad.”

<noinclude>

===References and Translation Notes===
<references/>

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume8_Chapter3|Chapter 3]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume8_Chapter5|Chapter 5]]
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter2

2017-08-26T07:52:19Z

Double Check: Typo mistake : should be Zaj instead of Zaat

==Chapter 2: Birac’s Illustrious Merchant ==
===Part 1===
Birac was Mephius’ second capital. Its plateaus were separated into layers spread across a gorge. The upper layer was lined with white marble buildings clearly designated for the upper echelons, and the lower layer consisted of houses standing directly before the cliff for the common class.

In the upper class layer’s eastern districts, the Zwimm River flowed directly through. Day in and day out, great numbers of barges passed through this spot serving as a trading point with the various nations to the north. Business flourished. People from the other countries were also seen in large numbers.

Prince Gil, leading his troops, came to this city.

It was thought that he had come here to rest and would immediately leave for Apta. However it had already been three days since he first entered Birac and the prince still showed no signs of lifting his sluggish back up.

“Did you hear? The prince’s soldiers received a fair share of spending money from the prince and are off to their own dallying every night.”

“It seems that they acted out of hand in Yulia’s store. I’ve heard it was because there weren’t any girls they liked.”

“Speaking of Prince Gil, you know, he’s famous for being a dimwit. He’s recently raised his name from subjugating Ryucown’s forces and stopping Zaat’s rebellion, but as expected, this isn’t normal.”

Such news and rumours also reached Birac merchant Zaj Haman’s ears countlessly.

“That type of man is scariest to deal with. He doesn’t follow common sense, you see. He’s exactly like a baby dragon, how the moment you think it has grown accustomed to people, it turns around and bites you the next instant. You can only pray it doesn’t come true,” Zaj said and shot out a candid laugh.

The merchants making up a significant portion of Birac’s population were self-regulating, and didn’t fear the imperials and nobles that constituted Mephius’ aristocrats any more than necessary. Of course, this didn’t mean they made light of the nobles, but this possibly being a unique trait of the merchants, they were more than willing to take up arms to protect their body and assets if they found themselves forced into nothing but undesirable conditions, even if it came to opposing the aristocrats.

“Won’t your business proceed smoothly regardless of what happens?”

“Surely not! Negligence is your greatest enemy. It only takes an instant for everything to fall apart without exception.”

Zaj was past his sixties, and even now frequented the store to show his face and stop by for a friendly chat over a drink. His business handled many clients that came from other towns and countries. If Zaj suspected the information he wanted was present amongst these clients, he would listen to their long, unending conversations even if it happened to be their first time meeting.

The illustrious merchant, Zaj Haman.

There were none in Birac who did not know his name. He was the man who owned the transport enterprise founded within the prosperous Birac, which yielded upwards of forty percent in profits, whose ships, engraved with the emblem of the Haman Firm, had continuously taken off from and returned to Port Birac to this day.

In the first place, businesses that used air carriers in Mephius were rare. Ether, the source of energy of these airships, was acquired from the vaporization of seawater using artefacts of ancient civilization. Mephius not being connected to any bodies of water made the securing of ether, particularly for the general populace, difficult. Unless it was an urgent matter, transport of goods by air carrier was typically not worth the payout.

However, Zaj Haman, having gone to Garbera to study in his earlier years and learned the ins and outs of operating airships, established Birac as a waypoint between the nearby coastal regions and pioneered an exclusive trading route with the northern floating city of Zavinia. The waters surrounding Zavinia were known for their high concentrations of ether, and even now, sales of the ether alone were said  to finance the entire country’s economy.

The sovereign of Zavinia, General Kal Lighthel, had quickly become known for his cross personality, but Zaj crossed the waters to pay him visit thrice through which he secured a personal relationship with him.

Zaj saw not only to business with the populace, but also took to replenishing the army’s reserves during times of war. And in this year’s founding festival as well, on the occasion of the naval review where the number of readily available ships were few—and where the number of ships contributed was said to correspond to status—Zaj had loaned out ships to a good number of nobles for a small sum.

That is to say, his connections with the nobles also ran deep.

And also part of Zaj’s renown was how he hired people regardless of birthplace or nationality. The nationally diverse people he put to work and the also many people who went in and out of his store made collecting information easy. And in turn, there were also many merchants and servants of nobles who visited his store to buy this information, resulting in rumours going as far as to claim that Zaj Haman might in fact have more authority than Birac’s feudal lord Fedom Aulin.

“As for that Prince Gil,” Zaj inquired of a worker in a room on the second floor as he ate a late lunch meal.

“What is that prince in question doing here in Birac? Is he staying here long so he can have fun with any women he takes a liking to?”

“Now that you mention it…” the worker inclined his head. “We’ve frequently seen and also heard rumours of his soldiers doing this, but haven’t seen anything indicating this of the prince. Isn’t he simply idling around in Lord Aulin’s residence?”

“Hmph.”

To be honest, Gil Mephius proved elusive even for Zaj. Him not having a firm command over his soldiers and his overstaying his visit in Birac certainly went alongside rumours dubbing him a fool, but if that were the case, then sure enough it raised into question his role in the defeat of Ryucown on his first campaign and ability in holding Zaat’s rebellion in check.

Zaj spent nearly his whole lifetime bringing up the Haman Firm.

He found it hard to believe these stories that told of a fool who suddenly turned hero. His belief that this was a made-up story created in order to make Prince Gil seem more suitable as successor to the throne remained firm.

''And there’s also the information that Birac’s feudal lord, Fedom, has recently started getting close to Prince Gil. It’d be no surprise for that man to back the prince and scheme to pull the strings from behind. However, it’s a tad too late to do that now. Perhaps the emperor’s health suddenly worsened, or perhaps some other man of importance had suggested 'that’ to Fedom, but there must have been some change that occurred to cause this.''

Though Zaj held great interest regarding this topic, he was ultimately a merchant. He had neither intentions of sticking his head too deep into matters of imperial succession, nor plans to take advantage of this opportunity.

That evening,

“M-My lord!”

One of his workers came running in gasping.

“What is it? You’re causing a ruckus.” Raising his grey-haired head, Zaj grimaced.

He was overwhelmed with work every day. Now as well, he was in the middle of planning out the establishment of a new Haman Firm intermediary airship base in a village along the road connecting Birac to Apta, which had transferred back to Mephius.

“T-There’s a customer. He insists on meeting with you, my lord.”

“Won’t Bart do?”

Bart was Zaj’s second son. Zaj entrusted the first floor of the store and the handling of the importation of general goods to the son and his wife.

The worker shook his head.

“Who exactly is this so-called guest?”

It couldn’t be that this was part of a garrison raid, could it? As Zaj began to knit his brows, an unexpected name rung in his ears.

“Why, I’m most pleased to welcome you here. I would have never possibly imagined your grace would set foot in a place like this. If there had been prior notice, I would have been able to quickly prepare a more appropriate welcome,” Zaj said with a smile while rubbing his hands.

He by no means allowed his inner unrest to show on his face.

This ''guest'' was curiously examining the goods of the store he took into his hands.

“I don’t mind. I wasn’t expecting a warm reception,” Orba gave an amenable nod.

“Please excuse me as I go prepare some tea.”

Zaj, while smiling, devoted his whole attention to observing the guest.

The Mephius Imperial Dynasty’s Crown Prince, Gil.

His height wasn’t too prominent but his darkish skin and lean figure denoted a body belonging to a soldier, and above all, the fleeting glance cast his way was surprisingly sharp. Zaj did not see anywhere the man rumoured a fool. However it was also common for impressions of people based on appearances to differ from the actual contents.

''This is.......but what could the prince himself have possibly come here for?''

He had suddenly shown up together with a soldier whose looks could be mistaken for a woman’s. If he had only come here to shop, then dealing with his son Bart should have more than sufficed. Zaj prayed nothing would happen on some ridiculous whim, but he feared that exact possibility would bear fruit.

“I thought I’d come here for a small chat. You see, I heard information on various countries could be bought here with money.”

“Whether it be goods or information, I handle them all. You could call it the trade of a merchant. It’s quite the bothersome trait. When asked ‘Do you have it?’ we cannot readily say ‘I do not’. That is why day in and day out we search high and low through all means possible, but as expected, I fear as to whether our services may satisfy the expectations of a prince.”

“It’s nothing much,” Orba spoke as he took out a pocket watch from the shelf and examined it. “You’re aware of where I’m heading to, right?”

“Apta Fortress.”

“That’s right. And opposite there, is Ax Bazgan situated in the west. To get straight to the point, I want information on Ax Bazgan. I want information of all the territory comprising the former Zer Tauran, and that includes information on the Tauran Provinces.”

“Gil-sama,” Zaj began without changing his expression.

“Trade in Mephius with the west is strictly forbidden. Directly obtaining information on them is somewhat difficult. Tomorrow, I am expecting visitors from the northern coastal nations and I can see what information I can get, but with what I have at present...”

“So you ''don’t'' have it?”

“At present........no.”

There was a short pause. Gil was, still as ever, examining the pocket watch. The surrounding slaves and workers nervously sent occasional glances as they watched the exchange.

''It turned out to be a whim after all.''

Zaj harboured this thought within. Didn’t he only happen to hear rumours about the Haman Firm and deciding to test it out, show up here? In that case, Zaj would keep him company, greatly disappoint him, and then have him sent home packing his bags.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m sorry?”

Gil’s expression also didn’t change. Smiling thinly, he looked up away from the watch.

“Why do you think I went out of my way to come here? Zaj Haman. You should be engaging in those forbidden transactions with the west.”

“I beg to differ that—”

“I don’t need your small talk,” Gil Mephius firmly stated. “''I'' believe it to be true. That makes it unquestionable. There’s no need for me to establish further proof, nor do I have any intention of purposely declaring it. You ''get'' what I’m saying, right?”

“...........”

Maintaining his expression, Zaj felt a faint shiver creep down him.

At that time, a servant brought a drink over. Zaj refused it. He opened his mouth and carefully spoke.

“If you have the time, why don’t we go outside together?”

Zaj and Gil Mephius headed towards one of the warehouses owned by the Haman Firm in the harbour.

Along the way, Zaj touched on Prince Gil’s glorious feats and gave praise to them, but the prince had not even offered a simple reply. Casting a sidelong glance at the bronze barges traversing in and out of the port, they entered an all but inconspicuous warehouse.

“I’m sorry to trouble you to come all the way out here.”

They proceeded towards the third floor, which turned into a simple office. Zaj personally set up cups on the table and poured fruit wine in them.

''I wouldn’t be surprised if the wall spun around and soldiers came flying out right about now.''

Gil Mephius—his real identity being Orba—chuckled.

Though he knew of the illustrious merchant Zaj Haman’s name, he had no plans of visiting him of course, until just shortly before his departure from Mephius. However, when he found out about the trade ban with the west, Orba noticed something was off. As he searched for the reason within his memories, he hit on that fine point.

''Oh right.''

Orba had been in none other than this Birac. With the succeeding villages burned down by Oubary’s troops immediately after Apta had fallen, the city he scrambled to arrive at was this very Birac.

There, taking the role of leading the boys, he passed four years robbing and running an illegal gambling house.

And just as Orba was doing now, he spread out the boys who acted as his eyes and ears, when he caught wind of a certain piece of information. A small fleet of air carriers loaded with golden nuggets and goods were being readied at the harbour. Nonetheless, this wasn’t listed on the port authority listing of flights. The Haman Firm likely bribed the authorities, planning to stealthily sneak off late into the night.

''If it’s like this, it won’t be reported to the Birac garrison even if I attack it.''

Thinking this, Orba set up a plan to attack those merchant ships. And while he was advancing his preparations, one of the boys belonging to the rival group that slipped in amongst his subordinates reported him.

''And then I was imprisoned.''

Indeed, it was in this very Birac, where Orba’s planned assault on the merchant ships was revealed and his various other crimes exposed, resulting in the engraving of the slave’s brand onto his back and a situation that forced him into wearing the mask.

''What a strange coincidence.''

Orba leisurely approached the window, belying the cautious guard he kept over his back. Making use of the incident that resulted in his imprisonment, he was now meeting with the top man of the Haman Firm as Prince Gil. And what he wanted now, more than anything, was information Zaj Haman was holding.

Then, a single small bird flew down on the windowsill. It’s body covered with light brown feathers, it pecked its bill.

“Those feathers once used to be a brilliant yellow.”

“Hm?”

Standing behind him, Haman respectfully offered a cup of wine, which Orba received.

“It’s among the merchandise we’ve brought in from across the globe. But having grown in age, it’s colour has faded. However, it’s vibrant voice alone hasn’t changed in the slightest. Though its appearance has changed, its songs do not forget it’s birthplace—as versed men like to say.”

“Oh?”

Orba concentrated his ears. Its chirps had reached his ears countless times but he hadn’t found himself particularly moved in any way. Though now that Zaj mentioned it, Orba could somewhat feel the perpetual flow of time in its songs.

“It’s a shame it never gets to the crucial part.”

“Ah–“

With a light flap of its wings, the bird stood up and flew away.

“Now then,” Zaj spoke, returning to the original topic of the conversation. “What do you need from me?”

“It won’t change by having me repeat it. I want information.”

“Your Imperial Highness. This is not the palace nor do you possess a peerless number of troops here. It is especially in places like these that I hold more influence, more so than you or Lord Fedom. It might be too much for a young prince to understand, but even places like this exist in the world.”

“A threatening reprisal, is it?”

“It is only speculation. I could even kidnap you here and offer you to another country. Rather than continuing business in Mephius, I’m sure some country could prepare a far greater sum.”

Orba never drank from the cup handed to him. The same also went for Shique, so it was their end that spoke more frankly of their caution. After a short time passed, Orba spoke in bits.

“That wouldn’t be worth your while.”

“Worth my while?”

“Ax Bazgan has been a thorn in Mephius’ side for a long time. If that threat were to be taken away, you’d be able to freely do trade. Ah right, what do you say to leaving over half of the trading route in your hands?”

“Wh-What are you...”

Zaj instinctively cleared his throat. He thought to laugh it off for a second but Gil Mephius’ face was serious.

''This man...''

If he was seriously saying this, then he’d be far from the spoken fool unworthy to be a successor. He’d be a seldom seen idiot.

“...Unfortunate to say, your highness’ forces do not amount to much. More than ten years ago, his imperial majesty sent a force ten times yours to attack Taúlia. Of course, I’m sure you’re more than aware of the outcome. Ax Bazgan does not have such a huge force. But though the remnants of the former Zer Tauran may be undergoing civil strife, they are strangely cooperative towards outside enemies. What is it that your highness can possibly do in the face of a force rivalling Mephius’?”

“You’ve gotten rather talkative.”

It was proof of his true intentions, was what Orba was implying.

“Your highness.”

“I’ll admit that what I have is definitely small. It’s ''because'' of that that I want your information. Not old, moldy information but fresh information that you hold.”

“You’re saying if you have that, you could even bring down Taúlia?”

“How long have you been deceiving the Mephian nobles’ eyes and performing trade with the west?”

Orba responded with another question. Unable to regain hold of the conversation, Zaj had little choice but to be upfront.

“...Let’s say it’s been going on for seven years.”

“Would you rather have it end at seven years or would you rather have it run even more smoothly for another ten, twenty years?”

Ah, Zaj leaked out. In that instant, Orba drained his cup of its entire contents.

“I’ll ask you one more time, merchant of Birac.” Orba asked as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do you ''have'' the information I want?”

Zaj felt his head swoon as he looked at the prince in front of him. His impression of him as an idiot hadn’t changed. However, if it were the meaning that defined an idiot...

“I do,” Zaj nodded and also drank his whole cup. He slammed the cup onto the table.

“On second thought, there won’t be a need for a second helping. I still don’t know if the information will be of any help to the prince. If it were to help you accomplish what you need, then by all means...”

===Part 2===
Zaj had ordered a slave seeming to be a warehouseman to bring over a map, and spread it out on the table.

Pointing to the region of Zer Tauran in the west, he began speaking of its old history. Regarding the story of the Zerdian’s history, Orba also held a certain degree of knowledge from a book he read before he set off.

Afterwards, Zaj opened a map narrowing to the Apta outskirts.

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v03 074.jpg|thumb]]
Apta and Taúlia were cut off by the Yunos River running along the north and south. The fast streaming, expansive river served as the border. Apta Fortress was built above a cliff positioned by the river. Hence, the chances of Ax Bazgan advancing east were exceedingly slim.

“I won’t say there is no path to climb up the cliff, but in that time, there’d be nothing helping them avoid the fortress’ line of fire and they’d be completely defenceless. And, according to my reasoning, Taúlia likely has no dreadnought-class airship in its possession. It can at best manage a cruiser-class ship, carrying some 200-300 soldiers. However, I don’t believe they’d directly commence an attack from the visible sky.”

“This—would be the Tsaga Mines, huh.”

Looking at the spot Orba pointed out, Zaj flashed a grin. Roughly ten kilometres south of Apta, the river was broken by a series of mountains. In the past, this was known as the place where slaves and criminals were forced to work.

“Tragically harsh boundless labour, poisonous gases, wild dragons, and man-hunting geblin tribes—”

Orba had also relentlessly heard those words from the slave trader Tarkas. ‘If you don’t listen to me, I’ll toss you there,’ or so he’d been threatened. In short, it was a place that would even make the murderous, short-lived purchased slaves flinch.

''If I remember right, Pashir also worked in this mine.''

With the incident where Apta had been taken, it should have been shut down now. It was once said to have an abundance of resources, but thinking on how Garbera also hadn’t laid its hands on it, there shouldn’t be anyone currently willing to go as far as take the risk of mining there.

“So what that would mean, Haman...is that your ships pass through ''here''.”

“Exactly,” Zaj lowered his white brows and broke into a smile. “There are dragons and geblins on the ground, but that doesn’t matter when you’re in the air. Well, in order to avoid detection by the Apta surveillance, the ships do need to continue flying at low altitude, so it doesn’t mean there exists absolutely no danger.”

“Is there a land route? One that soldiers can move through?”

“I’ve never actually seen it so I can’t say for sure, but—” Zaj began before breaking off into his thoughts for a brief moment. “Very well, I shall have one of my slaves accompany you.”

“A slave will?”

“She’s previously flown a merchant ship to the west and as such, is familiar with its terrain.”

“You let a slave handle a ship?” Shique asked, revealing his utmost surprise.

Whether this was a habit of Zaj’s when he laughed, he nodded repetitively and answered him.

“She has good eyes and a good sense, you see. It’s something I’ve driven into her from the beginning. —You, go call Krau over,” Zaj relayed to a warehouse slave.

Until the time this slave called Krau arrived, Zaj spoke about the recent unrest developing in the areas neighbouring Apta.

“Goods loaded on ships and wagons have been assaulted by a group of bandits. Beginning with Ax, the west is a sovereignless world overflowing with small powers. As a result of its political instability, there is a possibility of it carrying over here. Garbera has been guarding the trading route from Apta to its own lands, but of course the route secured into Mephius has remained unguarded. If the prince is to be keeper of Apta, I’d like you to first subdue the surrounding areas.”

“My lord, I have summoned her.”

“Ahh Krau, come here.”

Casting a side glance at Krau appearing at the entranceway, Orba found himself at a loss for words. She was completely different from how he’d imagine her. Taking his reaction in good humour, Zaj enquired,

“As for whether being fat in itself is a virtue, I’m sure the views of the Mephian nobles differ.”

“It can’t be that you called me here just to badmouth me in front of the customer, now could it? ''We’re'' busy people. Please hurry up and finish stating your business!”

Krau was a woman near her forties. Her body was rounded and her voice shrill, alongside her quick mouth. And to add to that, her attitude was flat-out rude of a different variety from all the slaves Orba had seen.

“Settle down now, Krau. I’d like to leave some work in your hands.”

“If it’s cleaning duty for the airships, I’ll have to say no,” Krau unconcernedly pulled her chin with a start for a short time. “Your vase smashing doesn’t fall on me anyway. It was that battered cat your grandson picked up on the streets. Since that stupid ill-bred cat’s come, the kitchen’s been laid to waste, and sharpening its claws, its even targeted my secret stash...”

“Now now...I’m only asking you to listen to what I have to say. It’s also my first, hearing about the vase.”

Zaj quite briefly explained the situation to Krau.

“This person? Is Mephius’ prince?”

You’d think to be given the chance to serve the crown prince in one’s lifetime would be astounding, but Krau stopped short at opening her eyes.

“You’ll do it, won’t you.”

“I am but a slave. As my lord commands.”

Her tone was polite, but the way her eyes directed towards the prince was evidently assessing his worth, as if stating ''Now then, will my new master be a person who will fill my stomach lots or not?''

''Master and slave both, I can’t stand either of them.''

A rather bitter aftertaste lingered. He had marched into the Haman Firm hoping to get the upper hand, but the sudden development likewise left Orba little room to breathe.

''At any rate, I got what I came for.''

“I have another request to make.”

“Yes, what might that be?”

The face of Zaj who courteously lowered his head had already returned to that of a merchant.

“I’d like you to lend me ships. And a few able-bodied men as well.”

“Ships....well, how many would that be?”

Zaj raised his eyes with a knowing face. It was likely because he was aware Orba’s forces comprised a small battalion.

“About ten—merchant ships.”

“Merchant ships? I can arrange them as battleships if you’d like.”

“No, there’s no point if they’re not merchant ships. And also—make arrangements for when our flagship, Doom, comes to Birac. Then have them convene with us. As for the fine details after that, I’ll leave someone with the information, so you can just follow his instructions.”

“Very well...”

Having already finished the calculations in his head, Zaj didn’t try to ask for any more information.

The fifth day’s stay in Birac.

It was that time when the day was about to set. Orba’s troops—mainly the regular troops lent to him by Oubary Bilan and Odyne Lorgo—began to discuss which store they should check out and head to today.

“Well thanks to the prince doing nothing but lying around, we’ve gone to most of the famous stores.”

“Still, it’s good it hasn’t turned into a commotion. If it were our general Odyne Lorgo, things wouldn’t have turned out this way.”

“It’d be great if we stayed in Apta the whole time. I can’t imagine going to war with Taúlia now at this point in time.”

Currently, they had become soldiers led under the command of Gil Mephius, the main focus of their conversation, and the very title which frequently resulted in them being fawned by prostitutes. They raised their cups, their faces beet red, shouting ‘A toast to the prince!’ As for whether they would be saying the same thing were they to be standing in the face of death, that was a separate matter. In this way, they went out in their frolicking making it known their thereof lack of supervision. Vileena Owell, staring at them in the far-off distance, could do nothing short of feeling irritated.

“The number of troops granted to him are already few. If Taúlia were to advance its forces in large numbers, the whole bunch of them would go scurrying back home.”

“Please stop it with ''the whole bunch of them'', princess.”

It wasn’t as if Theresia didn’t understand her mistress’ irritation, but they could do nothing but voice their complaints to those above them. It wasn’t only her conduct in speech that Theresia wanted her to stop, but also the drawing and cocking of her gun, which she had been doing for some time now.

She raised the gun lowered at her hips and took aim. She’d hung her own hand-made circular range target on the door, and the instant she turned around, she aligned the point of her gun to the centre of the target as if she couldn’t have it any other way.

Besides the piloting of airships, this refined technique had been taught to her by her grandfather as a means of self-protection. Once more, Vileena turned her back to the door. She closed her eyes to help sharpen her mind, steadied her breath, then breathed out.

“Yah!”

She cried, turning around and pointing the gun, zeroing in her line of sight. But it was at that moment that the door creaked open.

“Princess, here are the arranged deliveries—kyaahhh!”

“Waahhh!”

Her eyes met with the female attendant who entered and they both screamed out. A brief confusion and disarray, and after they both exchanged apologies, the attendant made a mad dash out of there, prompting a giggle from Theresia. Vileena glared back in return.

“You knew.”

“Why, what might you be talking about? Oh look, this dress is wonderful. The stand-up collar conforms to Garbera’s culture. Just what I’d expect from the trading town of Birac. It has a much better collection than Solon.”

Theresia feigned ignorance and looked at the pile of clothes brought over by the attendant. The wife of Fedom Aulin, the lord of Birac, had somewhat taken a liking to the princess and promised to have her attendant bring over some clothes today as well. Theresia had arranged the time and told all of the soldiers acting as guards that an attendant carrying a stack of clothes would be coming and to let her through.

“Could you be thinking of getting back at me?”

Vileena had turned the revolver of the gun with her finger. Though it could be considered practice, to preserve a feeling of tension, a single bullet had been loaded in.

“Since some time ago, Theresia, you’ve been acting out in spite.”

“Well, why shouldn’t I be? You directly spoke with the emperor without any prior warning. When I heard about it afterwards, I thought I was going to faint.”

“If the alliance were to disappear, it would also lose meaning in my being here. There’s no point in being afraid of back-talk arising calling me things like a forward princess.”

Vileena discontentedly turned the revolver in her hand repeatedly.

Though she had agreed to travel to Apta with Gil, she of course harboured doubts that the emperor had done this to remove the prince from the centre of politics. Furthermore, the rumour that the emperor had been frequently meeting with a messenger from Ende since she’d come here had also been brought to surface.

''Isn’t Emperor Guhl merely trying to cleverly set himself up in the relations between Garbera and Ende?''

Vileena’s standing was at best one half progressed into marriage, and by this deed, that position would grow increasingly insecure.

The princess had originally braced herself for marriage were that to be for the good of her homeland Garbera. If that were to yield no results whatsoever, she was ready to jet out of the country by airship.

“But the most pressing concern is Taúlia. If this escalates into a war with Mephius, any possibility of sending reinforcements to Garbera disappears. —Though I can’t help feeling that was the emperor’s aim from the start. All the more reason why he didn’t dare award the prince an army that surpassed Taúlia’s. I question whether our prince leisuring around here understands that.”

“I’m sure he’s thought of something. It’s been that way up until now as well.”

“Is that so.” Dropping her back onto the chair with a thump, Vileena swung her legs back and forth.

“I’ve also thought that, so I’ve been holding it in and haven’t said anything about our overstay here in Birac. I’ve even considered this might be some plan to strengthen his hold on the soldiers. But isn’t this a pickle?”

“Now, now, princess. If that immodest appearance of yours were to be seen by the prince, you can’t hope to even begin to awaken a hundred year’s of love.”


''I’ll burn myself if I make light of the prince.''

The great hero Ryucown and Mephius’ aristocrat Zaat Quark. Vileena had seen with her own eyes how these two who opposed him met the same fate. She could feel he was no ordinary person and yet in the face of this, she also found it hard to accept that fact.

“In short, it’s that he’s, yes, immature would be the way to put it. Orba also said it. He’s secretive, and in spite of his meticulous preparations, he thoroughly performs them without informing his surroundings. Then at the critical moment he makes a display that surprises everyone as if to boast, ‘Hey, did you see that?’ Children really are such troublesome creatures.”

“Truly.”

Not noticing the hinted meaning behind Theresia’s remark, Vileena continued,

“I can also try to incite the prince and have him send reinforcements to Garbera. Now then, how should I proceed to manipulate the prince according to my wishes…”

“At the very least, it won’t be by practising mastering your gun handling.”

At that point in time, there was a knock on the door. The one who named himself on the other side was none other than Gil Mephius.

As expected, this was enough to make even Vileena’s face go red, and she immediately stood up from her seat and hid the gun under the couch in a flurry.

Gil entered the room and made a bow.

“We’re leaving tomorrow. Get ready.”

“Tomorrow? Are you all finished? With you business here in Birac, that is.”

“All finished.”

“I suppose it would be wrong of me to ask of the fine details. After all, you must see me as an improper lady.”

“No,” Gil said, his face going sour. “It goes as far as borrowing some ships from a Birac merchant. It took a little more time than I had hoped though.”

“Ships? Aren’t there a shortage of soldiers to operate them?”

“Well, I won’t say that’s not wrong—it’s not a worrying amount exceeding the numbers we have.”

“Prince.”

Her face turning serious, Vileena looked upwards at Gil. Caught off guard by their unexpectedly close distance, the prince’s face strangely tensed.

“W-What is it?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

Vileena lowered her pallid face. Her shoulders dropped down powerlessly.

Gil, after seeing her hesitant action, spoke up.

“...You’re worried about Garbera, aren’t you, princess?”

Though she had been speaking about how to get the prince to send reinforcements to them just now, having that directly said to her made Vileena startle. The single worry she didn’t want him to know felt as if it had been pricked open.

“It’s nothing that has to do with the prince.”

“It’s not something that has absolutely nothing to do with me.”

Orba started to get angry. Vileena shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s the same for you, prince. You never do me the honour of divulging your stratagems to me. It’s the same for me. I have my own strategies.”

“Strategy?”

“Say for example…”

As Vileena began to speak, Theresia was horrified to see her pull out the hidden revolver. She thrust the gun at the prince, his eyes likewise open in surprise.

“If I were to, at some point, use this to take you hostage and demand some soldiers.”

“Take me hostage? What would you do with those soldiers?”

“I’m sure you already know. I’ll personally lead them and go running over to Garbera.”

Because she had said it with her chest held high, even Vileena at this point realised it was a crude plan.

“...Although I’ll have you know I’ve thought of a more elaborate plan. This is only an if.”

There was a short pause. Then Gil burst out into laughter. Vileena knit up her brows.

“Is there something funny?”

''Everything about it was, princess,'' Theresia whispered to Vileena in a hushed voice, but then Gil waved his hand.

“Ah, I get it. Then I’ll exercise my plans in a way so that you won’t have to enact your sure-kill plan.”

“Sure-kill...you’re making fun of me. I’ve thought of others. Really, I have,” Vileena obstinately insisted.

But why was it that she felt Gil was making fun of her from his behaviour, and at some point Theresia had also joined in on the laughter. Finally managing to suppress his laughter,

“Well then princess, be sure to hurry with the packing.”

“I’ve already finished that a long time ago!” Vileena voiced out in objection to the end.

As Theresia watched the princess who saw off the departing prince’s back, she quietly murmured.

''My, what a strange relationship the two of them have. They’re like a little brother and sister playing at war. That is amusing in itself, but it seems that it will take much much more time before their relationship develops into a romantic one.''

===Part 3===
The following day, Gil gave out official notice for their departure early morning.

With the exception of the Imperial Guards and Pashir and the war slaves, the soldiers were naturally forced into a large scramble.

As they held their heads from the pain of two day’s worth of drinking, they hurriedly put on their armour and saddled onto their horses.

“Shit! That damned ''fool''!”

The soldiers grumbled, a significant few not having had the time to tie together the string of their armours as a result of being rushed.

“He could have at least told us beforehand.”

“I’ll bet it was the gallant Garberan princess who’d given him a good kick in the arse.”

Everyone just barely arrived finishing lining in formation, and they then departed through the Birac gates. Their departure this time had been by the prince’s own discretion, so there was no crowd to see them off.

Serving as vanguard were the dragoons riding atop the small-sized Tengo. The carriage the princess rode in was protected by the best warriors handpicked from the imperial guards in the centre, and the horse cavalry in the front and rear, the clicking of their hooves echoing into the distance, with the foot soldiers fortifying the defences in all four directions further out.

Pulling the cages with several Baians within were the large-sized Houban. A flat body with eight long legs. In terms of appearances, it might as well have been a giant spider covered in scales.

Roughly one hour after departing from Birac.

“This is strange,” a single man muttered in the back of the march. Chains were fastened around both his arms, connecting to a cage harbouring several dragons in front of him. The man walking beside him, possibly owing to fatigue, used only his eyes to ask the meaning behind the words.

“The number of soldiers are decreasing. Why did he assign some of the already few troops to Birac?”

“Looks like you’re paying quite the attention,” another man behind him joined in. “As for me, I don’t have that leisure. My bet is that they ran away. If it weren’t for these annoying chains, I’d do that too.”

“If it’s about that, they were left to reinforce the personnel at Birac—”

“Pashir!”

At that point in time, a white horse turned around and came over from the front.

“Looks like you still have the leisure to chitchat. Should I try increasing the pace a bit?”

“Gil.”

Orba looked down from his horse on Pashir, who walked pulling the dragon cart. His eyes shone with light amidst the dirt and cloud of dust covering his face. The number of war slaves was a little over two-hundred. Already more than half of them appeared to be pulling the four dragon carts.

“About the whole rush. What for? At any rate, we can’t even hope to defend the fortress with these numbers. What are you scheming with the evil face of yours this time?”

“It’s nothing for a slave to worry over,” Orba sneered. “More importantly, what’s with that attitude? I went through all that trouble to save your skin. Be sure not to get on my bad side so that it doesn’t go to waste.”

“Then, if I may request a favour, crown prince,” Pashir spoke satirically. He was the only one making a face that seemed to indicate he could continue walking for months or even an entire year.

“What is it? Enlighten me.”

“Once we get to the fortress, maybe you could let me have a match with that gladiator, Orba. And a long sword, for a one-on-one. No, actually, I don’t mind if I have to do it bare-handed. I’m sure it’ll be an exciting sideshow as you drink yourselves off.”

“I was wondering what you were going to ask. You two already fought plenty in Solon, haven’t you?”

''—This guy...''

Orba remained cold, suppressing the ferocious smile that seemed to unconsciously form.

“Both our lives are still intact. The match hasn’t been decided!”

“If he also feels the same way, then I’ll eventually give you a chance.”

Orba flashed a smile and once more, trotted his horse back to the front.

Domick Flats—the entire plane was a colourless flatland. However, each time the horses’ feet tread the earth, Orba felt his spirits lift. After all, Orba’s hometown was within a short distance of Apta, and while it also contained gruesome memories for him, approaching near it now after over six years had resurrected those strong feelings once more.

Finally, after taking two breaks and around the time the sun cast a shadow over the lands, a change began to be seen in the expanse of rocky mountain scenery and sandy terrain. Greenery appeared bit by bit as they climbed up the hill. Situated some several kilometres further out was a village where a messenger had been deployed beforehand. They lodged in the village of no more than two-hundred houses as billets for the night.

The next day, the troops entered the woods. The branches of the trees densely weaved together like a roof, the lighting dim. It was as if they were advancing through the inside of a cave.

Apta was an invaluable region to Mephius for its abundance of forests and resources. Having it stolen by Garbera must have dealt Mephius a serious blow. And in spite of it finally being returned to Mephius, the emperor had sent over only a small number of troops. Orba couldn’t understand his intentions.

''Does he no longer see anything outside his own surroundings?'' Orba had even thought.

As he rode his horse forward, however, he quickly began thinking about other matters. He set aside whatever the emperor’s aim and schemes might be. Now Orba needed to focus only on the things at hand, to cope with his situation. He organized the information on the west’s history that he had heard from Zaj Haman in his head.

To the west of Mephius, commonly referred to as the Tauran Provinces, was a group of city-states.

The Zerdians dwelling there roamed the high grounds near the Mephian borders to this day, in the same way the nomads of the Ryuujin Faith and its founding ancestors had.

It was a tale from two hundred years ago, and even before then. The denizens of the grasslands that surrounded the desert, perhaps owing to their inherent nomadic dispositions, chose not to place trust in those of the same race and instead constantly engaged in strife.

And the one who set his eyes there was the man called Jasch Bazgan. Being the commander of the Mephian cavalry, he commanded his forces and forcibly tore the Zerdians apart from their territory. Of course, the Zerdians’ counteroffensive was also fierce, and it was then that he received reinforcements from the Mephian homeland and held out against them. From this occasion, he was said to have received one of two of the sovereign’s seals handed down since the olden era of magic kingdoms, the ‘Dragon’s Claw’, from the nomad elders.

Jasch, using this chance, christened the lands of ‘Zer Tauran’ under the name of the Dragon God and began to announce himself ‘king’. Furthermore, he gave the various fortresses located in a region of grasslands to his subordinates, and rebuilt the ancient ruins centred between into a grand temple. Using the Ryuujin Faith, he planned to unify the tribal collective.

When that time came to pass, Jasch delivered a letter to the Mephius emperor declaring them as equals. Enraged by this, the Mephius mainland deployed troops to subjugate Jasch. However they were too late. Not only were they driven back, but Mephius also lost several of its western territories.

However, Jasch Bazgan’s momentum ended with that. A mere four years after he ascended the throne, the night right after the New Years celebration came to a close, he suddenly passed away. There were those who said he suffered the wrath of the Dragon God for branding his own self-righteousness, while others believed that the elders, fearful of Jasch’s momentum, cast a curse on him.

The Bazgan household rushed to set up a successor, but by that time, civil strife had already begun appearing throughout the entirety of the Zer Tauran lands.

Having lost its cohesive force, the Bazgan family secretly fled from the capital, Zer Illias, they had once ruled in splendour. Amongst the two claws that could be said to symbolise Zer Tauran, one was in the Bazgans’ hands, but the other of the pair had been dedicated to the temple and they hadn’t had time to retrieve it.

Soon after, the Bazgan family, with the bare minimal number of troops, arrived east to what is presently the fortress city of Taúlia.

At this point, Mephius tried to regain its territory, but it was by the Bazgan’s luck that Mephius once again engaged in war with a clan from the southeast (now presently Garberan retainers).

At this time, in the capital of Zer Tauran, at the temple in the town of Zer Illias, a priest of the Ryuujin doctrines, chief magician Garda, tried to protect the temple from the hands of a hundred converts in addition to mercenaries and pillagers. He, at that time, performed a number of atrocious incantations that made such a tremendous display of power so fearsome it continues to haunt the Zerdians’ dreams to this day.

But even a magician could not completely eliminate a group made up of hundreds and thousands of cavalrymen, and Zer Illias was eventually engulfed in a sea of flames. However, while steel swords sliced off the heads of the priests and rams destroyed the fortress gates, Garda left a final declaration.

“I will ensure the dragon’s claw alone is handed to no one, should this body perish or turn to ashes and vanish into grassland soils.”

And with that, he vanished. The invaders killed most of the believers, and although they plundered a good number of treasures and sculptures from the temple, the pivotal ‘claw’ was never found.

Zer Tauran in this way changed rulers and continued as a country for the meantime. However, there being civil strife on end, it ultimately collapsed without lasting a third year. The small states governed the scattered towns one by one, raising their armies, tirelessly and repeatedly exchanging or breaking alliances over their disputes. In that time, they received attacks from the northern coastal regions and Mephius once more, but the Zerdians were strangely cooperative against the foreign invaders. They stood side by side with the enemies they should have been brandishing their blades against in hatred for their slain relatives just yesterday, and attacked the invaders who had come from the north and west together, taking on the name of a ‘Crusade to protect the Sovereign’s Seal’.

A long time streamed by coloured in blood and war, and now at present.

The current feudal lord of Taúlia, Ax Bazgan, was forty-one years old. Naturally, as dictated by his name, he belonged to a former house of Mephius, the Bazgan House, once ruling supreme in the west.

Having also crossed swords with the current Mephius emperor, Guhl Mephius, his hostilities with Mephius had not died out even now.

''He did mention that Ax got closer to Garbera during Mephius’ ten year war with them.''

With his body rocking up and down atop his horse, Orba recalled the minute details of what Zaj had said. They had even proposed to join hands with Garbera to attack Mephius, though that notice was directed to Vileena’s grandfather, Jeorg Owell. Of course, Jeorg had already stepped down from the throne at that time.

And yet purposely choosing Jeorg showed that, even now, he held tremendous influence over Garbera, and that they presumed if they could gain him alone as ally, the king, who did not amount to his father according to rumours, would have to concede.

“The very thought makes me sick.”

Jeorg, having seen through this, flew into a rage. Of course, negotiations broke down.

''Just what I’d expect from the man having influenced Princess Vileena the most. That itself is a merit.''

Ax, even now, seemed to occasionally slander him on remembrance as ‘that damned gramps’. Orba’s mouth swerved into a smile for a second.

He felt the winds beginning to blow.

However, the leaves and branches showed no visible change. He tilted his head, wondering if he had imagined it. And then, a mere four, five metres away from Orba to his flank, a cavalry soldier, and of course, the horse he was riding on, tumbled over. The horses following along behind it reared to a stop, with several soldiers being thrown off their horses.

''Tatan, Tan'', sounds of gunshot flew in front of and behind him. Ignoring the ricocheting sand and dust bouncing up from the ground, Orba pulled on his reins full force.

“Go, go, go!”

A slightly elevated peak rose up on his flank. The crowded trees standing there concealed the snipers, Orba saw. Anticipating the dragoons being sent to the front, they aimed at the main body where Gil was.

Orba, beside the soldiers who sprung to life and frantically spurred on their horses, cast a fleeting glance behind, and the Imperial Guards, beginning with Shique, rushed over on their horses while guarding the carriage. The gunshots continued without pause.

Orba turned to ride opposite the fleeing troops. He caught sight of his gunmen riding, half-stooped. He handed down a short command. Then, the carriage passed him.

“Prince!”

Vileena stuck her head out of the carriage and, for a split second, their eyes met.

“We’ll meet again at Apta.”

Immediately after saying this, he met up with Gowen and the Imperial Guard cavalry.

“Gowen, forward!”

“Got it.”

Leading the soldiers behind him who reared their horses into neighs, Orba spurred his horse into a speedy gallop and advanced through a gentle slope at the base of the hill. He pressed his body down against the horse, no guarantee that the continuous gunfire raining down upon him wouldn’t hit him, only advancing with conviction; advancing, and advancing.

Carrying the wounds from the Solon arena on his body, pain shot through him starting with his fractured right collarbone, but he nevertheless paid it no heed.

On the other end of the trees, the clustered figures of his enemies came into sight. A single enemy stood up from his knees and readied his gun—Orba’s eyes stared directly into the muzzle.

“Fire!”

Orba waved his hand as he cried out, and his artillery unit under the cliff fired. With the time he drew the enemy’s attention using himself as decoy, he had the artillery unit camouflage themselves under the trees and assume position. The majority of the fire had only bored holes into the bushes or blown away branches, but blood spurted out of several of the enemies and they collapsed.

“Cut them down!”

Orba straightened his back on top of the horse, and taking hold of the sword with the his left hand, swung it forward. Letting out a battle cry, his soldiers charged up the hill.

However, the enemy was also quick to react.

“Retreat!”

By the time they reached the summit, their backs were already distant. Their group of forty, fifty men smoothly steered their horses down the steep descent where trees packed densely with one another like a maze. They wore no armour. Many of them wore clothes torn to rags. Gowen reined his horse over.

“Looks like the usual bandits. Still, to pick a fight with a country’s army...well, they’ve got quite the nerve. What are you going to do? Chase after them?”

However Orba shook his head. The enemy was familiar with the terrain and most importantly their numbers were unknown. It was better to meet up with the main body of his forces. But something else bothered him—

“What’s wrong?” Casting a sharp glance rather fitting for a man in his years, Gowen stared at Orba’s face. “You’re making the same kind of face as someone who came across their own grave in some unknown place.”

“That’s an interesting way of putting it. It sounds like something Shique would say.”

“Would you rather I phrase it more smartly then? You’re not looking too well.”

“It’s ’cause everything happened so suddenly—We’re setting off!”

Ignoring Gowen’s face that seemed to say, ‘So you’re gonna be like that, are you?’, Orba returned to the road accompanied by his soldiers from whence they came.

''That voice...''

The piercing cry of the man appearing to be the enemy commander who shouted, “Retreat!” even now rang in his head. It resembled the accent of his home village.

The sudden gunfire had startled the soldiers and their horses, but above all, most disturbed were the dragons.

The Houban towing the imperial carriage let out a cry echoing throughout the forest, and the ones inside the carriage carried along by the dragon thought they would be flattened, far more fearful of this crisis than the attack from the bandits.

The Baians within the cages also stirred, and the carriage seemed about to topple over at any moment, when a single shadow fearlessly approached.

It was Hou Ran. The young girl, riding on horseback, drew near the Houban’s feet which would wholly crush several grown men and, bending forward from the horse, lightly touched its foot. What happened after couldn’t really be seen, for a cloud of dust had flown up, but when the view cleared the next moment, Hou Ran was riding the flattened back of the Houban, and from there she was extending her hand to inside the cage.

“It’s as if I’m watching a circus trainer. How marvellous. If a dragon were to get as attached to a person as that, perhaps we might even be able to keep and raise a small-sized one in the manor.”

Theresia spoke to Vileena excitedly now, when the men, horses and dragons had finally calmed down.

“Calm yourself down, Theresia. More importantly, is the prince—”

“Ah, I can see him now. He’s heading in our direction.”

Vileena pushed aside Theresia’s head and poked her own head out the window this time.

Now that she looked, certainly a group with the prince in the lead was joining up with them. Vileena ''heaved'' a sigh of relief. There was never a moment of boredom with the prince around.

“Prince.”

Vileena called out, sticking the upper half of her body outside.

Prince Gil slowed down his horse. It looked like he was calling out to the slaves behind the carriage. As a result of them being pulled along by the Houban, they were a moment away from being crushed by the cages. After that, he trotted to the front of the carriage.

He was saying something to someone with a smile. Hou Ran, riding the back of the Houban, waved her hand in response.

The dotted rays of sunlight gently illuminated Hou Ran’s thin smile. It was an awfully mature, inexplicable smiling face that nevertheless seemed to match the young girl’s age. After exchanging some more words, Prince Gil laughed again.

“Is there something the matter?”

“T-There isn’t.”

Vileena quickly pulled her head back into the carriage. Emotions that she herself could not sort stirred within her chest. Some time after,

“So you got out safely.”

Prince Gil approached the carriage on his horse.

“Thanks to your efforts,” was all Vileena offered as a reply.

The prince seemed to have taken this as the appropriate response for the gallant princess, and he returned to the front of the party.

Afterwards, they covered two hours’ distance without rest.

Together with the opening of the forest, Apta Fortress came into view.

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| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter3|Chapter 3]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter4

2017-07-27T16:14:04Z

Double Check: Removed : Duplicate sentence.

==Chapter 4: Defend Apta to the Last==
===Part 1===
During that time, there was a group proceeding south through the forest towards Apta.

They were a band of men on horseback. They all leaned over their horses, riding at a tremendous speed that cut through the wind.

Their numbers were probably over three hundred. Riding their horses at night, and what was more through the forest, it would be an impossible feat had they not been familiar with the terrain. ‘They’ had determined their route beforehand, even taking the time to chop down the obstructing trees in hopes that this moment would come.

“Yah!”

“Se!”

They wordlessly sped forward, only raising their voices so as to urge their horses on. The horses’ muscles pulsated and each time their backs bobbed up and down, the long-swords and spears hanging from their waists and placed onthe horses’ saddles struck their own armours with a ringing clang.

“Mmh?”

The rider in front suddenly lifted his lantern.

“Stop.”

Raising his voice, he pulled on his reins.

They were in an opening of trees that spread to open a circular plain. There, likewise hoisting their lamps upwards and standing in wait were several men. They were covered in hoods, and their real identities were insurmisable from their attire.

“Who are you?” the leading horseman asked.

The men behind him brought their spears and guns to their hands. For a while, the horses’ rough breaths jarred their ears. And then,

“You are all Garberans, are you not?”

“What?!”

The group of horsemen grew agitated at suddenly being recognised. The leading man—Noue Salzantes—waved his hand and restrained their outbursts.

“And you men would be?”

“Salzantes-dono, we have been awaiting you,” one of the waiting men said, ignoring the question. “We expect you to understand our business here.”

“—”

Noue did not speak. His face was far superior to the average beauty's, his lips slightly pursed, and his expression emotionless. Lit dimly under the cover of the night, his appearance emitted an uncanny eeriness.

“Our respective enemies are one and the same.” The hooded man said in an emotionless voice. “If you would, allow us to accompany you.”

Riding the tide of pursuit, soldiers rushed out of Apta Fortress in succession.

Gunfire rained down furiously from the airships and battlements.

“Retreat to the forest! Then they won’t be able use their airships!”

While having his gunners provide cover, Natokk gradually pulled his troops back. The enemy infantry seemed to have their share of impressive warriors, though sadly they didn’t seem too familiar with working together. Engaging them while retreating didn’t prove difficult.

''Mephius’ first prince, Gil Mephius—was it.''

Natokk conjured the name of the enemy commander. A man whose name had recently spread across the four directions. But in a free-for-all fight, this was all he lived up to be. In the end he was nothing more than a sheltered, spoiled child. Compared to that, Natokk had countlessly roamed the battlefield. The number of life-or-death battles they each experienced were different.

As swords mingled with spears, blood shed, and bullets bored holes into the ground, the enemy forces pushed forward. So far everything was perfectly according to plan.

And then,

''They’ve come.''

Natokk’s expression turned to delight. Cries resounded north of Apta. The secondary force that had detoured north of Apta had finally begun the pincer attack. Drunk in conviction of their victory, he began to signal for a counterattack with a large swing of his hand.

“What?!”

It was only a matter of seconds before his delight became a shade of unrest.

From the north along the castle walls, a group of cavalry came riding. They were no ally of Natokk. The hoisted flag they were waving was, to think of all things, the Garberan emblem. They passed the Mephius infantry, charging Natokk’s way. He went into a panic.

''Impossible! Weren’t they supposed to have evacuated the day before yesterday?!''

“Retreat!”

This was no time to get flustered. If they entered the forest, they could slow the airships and horses’ pursuit. Natokk’s main force, even under this situation, worked together and continued retreating to the forest. The Mephian infantry were hot on their heels.

“Commander, leave this to us.”

Several soldiers shouted determinedly and moved to block the enemy’s pursuit. A series of clashes rang immediately near Natokk. Biting his lips, he ordered the remaining soldiers to retreat.

''I would’ve never thought they were in league with Garbera to this extent.''

Mephius and Garbera had been warring for ten years. They may have been weary of war and thus formed an alliance, but their ties should have been anything but firm. To think that they would purposely make themselves seemingly withdraw and lay low. ''I was read,'' Natokk thought, grinding his teeth. That thought now materialised before his eyes.

“Halt!”

This time was an ambush in Natokk’s path of retreat. A party of gunners on high ground stood in a row, fixing their aim. The one who called them to halt was a man wearing an iron mask.

“Your reinforcements won’t come. We’ve shot down your cruiser. It seems they ran for their dear lives back to Taúlia, but it’s clear they won’t afford any soldiers for you.”

Natokk began to open his mouth, as if about to scream something. His aide, Shadam, took out his gun and began to aim at the masked man, as if lured by his commander’s force. The one to lower that hand, however, was Natokk himself.

“Commander!”

“—Leave it. His words aren’t lies.”

By knowing about the cruiser and the secondary force, the enemy had completely grasped their movements. Despite Natokk being completely convinced of his victory only a few minutes ago, he now felt like a trapped rat.

“We intended to snare the enemy into our trap—”

But instead, they were the ones snared before their very eyes. Natokk threw down his own weapons, and then spoke.

“I won’t ask anything for myself, who proclaimed war with you and advanced my troops against yours. I’m not asking much, but if you could, please be easy on my men.”

“Very well.”

The masked man nodded in assent.

Orba watched silently below him as the Zerdians who had surrendered their weapons were arrested. The one for whom everything had gone according to plan was not to them, but Orba.

At that time, an airship carrying the Imperial Guard Gowen came. He was the one who handled the enemies approaching the east gate. Jumping down from the ship,

“It went as you predicted.”

“Yeah. A surprise attack immediately after Garbera had evacuated is the ideal timing. On the other hand, if they hadn’t come ''here'', it would make the rumour that Ax Bazgan was aiming for Apta groundless.”

“So you read beyond the enemy’s reinforcements and strategy, huh.”

After analysing the information he gained from Zaj Haman, Orba predicted that if the enemy were to come attacking, it would be by passing through the southern Tsaga Mines. They would undoubtedly load soldiers onto their cruiser and drop them by the forest to the south of Apta.

Orba had Krau and Pashir, who were familiar with its geographical features, re-inspect the area and create a detailed map. He had originally planned to lay the majority of his forces there in wait, but on the off chance the enemy advanced through a different route, the fortress would be wide open, not to mention there were no suitable places to lay such a large army in wait to start with.

So instead, with Orba himself in command, he left only a few dozen skilled shooters there. Using an airship as messenger, Orba discovered the enemy was carrying soldiers with only a single cruiser; however, the enemy numbers were insufficient.

''They’re going to carry soldiers here a second time.''

Which in that case, naturally meant he could see through the enemy’s strategy. Orba gave them their instructions for the timing at which to shoot down the second transport.

Aiming for the the airship silently traveling through the deep gorge, they bathed it in a furious volley on Orba’s single command. There was only a single location they could set their cannons, but the ship's armour would suredly need to be thinned to fully accommodate a cruiser filled with soldiers that could maintain the ship's weight and ether propulsion balanced. While it was indeed a large ship, at point-blank even bullets were effective.

Taúlia’s air carrier descended into chaos, their enemy unseen before them. It took all they could to open the gunports on the ship’s hull and return fire haphazardly. Firing from its decks and lower compartments, the carrier turned heel running back on the path they’d just come up.

Orba didn’t risk pursuit, and leading his men, immediately rushed back to Apta.

“...And expecting Noue’s reinforcements to come, you laid your forces in wait, huh.”

Gowen eyed him suspiciously in thought.

“It’s almost as if you two had arranged this. But it’s a fact you and Noue barely met in Apta.”

“If that could’ve happened, things would have gone more easily,” Orba said with a strangely boyish laugh. “But I knew he would likely be thinking of creating a debt of gratitude for me. A man of Noue’s calibre should be aware of Ax Bazgan’s movements targeting Apta, and also understand what timing they would launch an attack.”

The seemingly excessive provisions he left Apta with was proof of that. They were making it seem that they were returning to Garbera, while actually concealing themselves in the forest waiting for Ax to move. That was why Orba sent his imperial guards to the road the Garberans used, had them wait for the most effective timing for a pincer move, then led them in.

“Noue’s calibre as a man aside, there’s no way you two are even that close.”

“Rumours, information, and lastly intuition.”

Gowen never stopped making his ‘I just don’t get it’ face.

Before long, the Garberan knights arrived. Leading them up front was, of course, Noue Salzantes. He swooped down from his horse and facing Orba, made a bow. Orba did the same, and then they descended off the high ground.

“Orba-dono is it. It has been since Solon—or so I would like to say, but you probably do not know me. I was cheering for you in the grand stadium, so I assumed us acquaintances against my better judgment.”

''Cheering? Aren’t you mistaking it for cursing?''

Prince Gil, and also the masked gladiator Orba. Both of whom were culprits that had torn his drawn-out plans asunder.

“However, this is...even I must take my hat off to you. I honestly wondered what you could do with your size of forces, but I would have never imagined you would make the enemy fall into your trap so magnificently.”

“It’s because we had the assistance of Lord Noue and the Garberan knights that we could make it happen.”

“As one whose movements were noticed, I can only see that as irony.”

“Wasn’t that because the prince’s belief in Sir Salzantes’ chivalrous spirit and faith in Garbera?” Orba added.

Ha! Gowen seemed to say silently on his face. After all, Orba was saying things he didn’t really mean.

“Mmnm,” Noue nodded. Whether it was because he was concealing his emotions, there was a trace of fatigue on his face. “Well, nevermind that. More importantly, I would like to request a meeting with the prince.”

“Acknowledged. Fellow knights as well, by all means head to Apta. Enjoy a night’s stay.”

“We shall take you up on that offer.”

Orba, saying he was ‘going to report to the prince’, hopped onto the airship prepared behind him. After ordering the pilot, the plane gently took off.

In the forest below him, how many were injured and crouching, or worse, how many lay scattered dead? The fortress front gates were the same.

The number of Mephian casualties was greater than that of the defeated Zerdians.

“—”

Some sort of emotion bubbled out of him, and faster than it could form into words, Orba impassively swallowed it.

''I knew it already.''

The war slaves raising cries of victory—''they'' were the infantry who launched themselves from the gates—and as these cheers reached Orba’s ears, Orba only stared straight ahead.

''I knew it. That’s why I won’t say anything. I won’t make any excuses.''

===Part 2===
Orba, having temporarily returned to his room, borrowed the help of his page Dinn to become the ‘prince’ in form. He walked the fortress interior, his cape fluttering majestically.

“It’s his highness!”

“Prince Gil!”

Crossing a corridor opening towards the town districts, what he saw below were the citizens waving their hands and calling out his name, praising him for this victory.

Despite it being deep into the night, the succession of the sudden bombardment, enemy attack, and dramatic turnaround victory all happening without giving them any time to grasp the situation left the majority now wide awake.

Orba waved to them smilingly, and at the same time gave a sharp glare at the regular soldiers who dumbfoundedly looked his way.

“During the fighting, I didn’t even see a single one of the regular soldiers supposed to be on duty!”

Orba barked angrily at several of the regular soldiers nearby.

“Are those swords and guns you carry on your waists for decoration?! Then I might as well hang you bare naked together with them on the castle walls!!”

Leaving behind these words that sent the soldiers who heard them into a tremble, Orba headed towards the western spire.

There at the very top in a small room that formed the roof of the tower, Noue awaited.

Declaring himself to the official, Orba entered and Noue stood up to greet him.

He wore a slight expression of surprise that Gil had come unaccompanied.

“This way talking will be easier.” Orba said, understanding Noue’s surprise. “Would you like a drink?”

“No. If anything, I’ll have one after our talk.”

“I understand,” Orba nodded. He commanded the chamberlain attending to Noue to retire, and it was now only the two of them.

Both said nothing for some time. They were surrounded by four pillars at the corners and a railing lower enough that even the flickering town lights could be seen. Movements near the main gate were particularly striking.

There the townspeople had taken it upon themselves to assist in the repairs throughout the night.

Ahem, Noue Salzantes cleared his throat.

“Your highness, do you possess clairvoyance?”

“Well,” Orba began, shaking his head with a straight face, “Wouldn’t that be you, Lord Salzantes?”

“It shames me to say. To be honest, I admit to having somewhat of a power to see through things. However, it is hopelessly clouded before your highness. If you don’t mind me openly asking, after we departed from Apta, did you tail my unit?”

“Regarding that, you were also quite strict on the lookout. That was why I just left it to intuition.”

“Your intuition?”

“That you, Noue Salzantes, should be trying to earn my debt of gratitude. That was also why you purposely didn’t disclose anything about Ax Bazgan.”

“Are you saying I would think to make your highness lower your guard?”

“Isn’t that the case?”

Orba said this easily, and without giving him any time to react, slipped into his bosom in a single fluid motion.

“You currently hold misgivings on the war that will occur with Ende in the near future. And the fact that the country of Arion will support them makes it all the more worrying. And in that situation, the allied country of Mephius will become an even more important existence than it is now. But my father, Guhl Mephius, also aims to get closer to Ende. For you, this is a grave crisis that will determine the life or death of your nation.”

“...”

All emotion vanished from Noue’s face. He brushed off the hair on his shoulders with his finger.

“Spending our time probing each others’ intentions would only be a waste. So I’ll say it openly. It’s because of that, Salzantes, that you laid low in the forest anticipating Ax’s attack, and returned as reinforcements. It was all to deepen our personal friendship. Am I right?”

“...It is as you’ve discerned, I’m afraid .”

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v03 155.jpg|thumb]]
“And?”

''Eh?''

Noue’s face changed to mirror his thoughts. Orba tilted his head slightly to the side questioningly.

“And? Sure, thanks to Garbera’s reinforcements, Apta was safely defended. And in exchange, what is it that you want me to do?”

“We’d also like you to provide reinforcements for us.”

Noue said faintly irritated, further twiddling his hair. This conversation might in fact have been unbearable for him, as he was usually the one leading the conversations.

“We’d like to receive reinforcements. Or rather, should we go to war, we want a guarantee Mephius will send us reinforcements. If Mephius also joins the fray, Arion will realize it won’t be an easy battle and pull back for the time being. And also, this isn’t a problem for Garbera alone. If they’re able to effortlessly cut down Garbera, Arion will certainly advance its army on towards Mephius, the coastal nations, and even the western lands of Taúlia.”

“Mephius and Garbera. Even with our two countries against it, Arion will be a tough opponent. And if we add Ende on top of that.”

Ende and Arion were both countries who had inherited the sovereign’s lineage, but despite their diplomatic relations, they had never once put up a united front. There was a time in Ende’s history when it was called the Ende Empire, during which it had even crossed swords with Arion’s advance troops. As a result, even if they shared the same interests, it was hard for them to instantly strengthen their alliance. However,

“We received information that last year, the Arion royalty paid visit to Ende in secret. It is likely that it was around that time that Ende was about to form an alliance with us, Garbera. I believe their visit was a means to prevent that. However, now that our relationship with Ende has been reduced to a blank slate, I wouldn’t be too surprised if they were already preparing to form an alliance.”

Arion was a large nation with a long history that also bolstering a huge military force. To satisfy the ambitions and avarice of the current king’s hegemony, it had subjugated the small countries scattered throughout the east, and after many long years they finally defeated their longtime enemy in the northeast, the religious nation known as the Dytiann Holy Alliance. Having ended its eastern expedition, it was viewed unlikely they would take any large-scale military actions, but it was still more than capable of deploying sizable reinforcements to Ende.

Orba could understand Noue’s worries.

“I see now.”

Orba stroked his cheek with his finger. After losing the mask, it had practically become a habit, and occasionally he couldn’t help confirming the touch of his finger against his warm skin.

And he would, at critical moments like these play those hidden cards he kept in reserve when it came to dealing with someone with at least a bit of wisdom.

“A situation where you’re betting the fate of a country. Noue-dono, you’re a patriot. Just as the Ryucown I confronted was.”

“Your highness.”

“In order to protect it you’re willing to sacrifice anything. Even the life of a princess loved by her country and adored by all her subjects.”

Orba clearly understood from Noue’s gulp. He stood up from his seat, and turning his back to Noue, leaned against the railing.

“The princess may still be a Garberan. But in a matter of time she will be my wife. If it were ''then'', Lord Noue, I wouldn’t have forgiven you. It would seem luck was on your side.”

“Y-Your highness.”

Turning around, Noue had his brows furrowed and appeared to be sending a look of disapproval his way instead. No, he really was. It was a fact Noue had spurred Zaat and the slaves in the Solon capital to aim for the princess’ life. And most likely, Noue should have admitted that Orba not only knew about that, but was the one who stopped it. Being aware of that, he still stood off against him in the Apta transfer and foolishly tried to gain his favour.

''This guy, just how much of an idiot can he be?''

Those feelings could be seen flashing across his face. It was because everything they needed to hide had already been exposed, and they both knew it.

“I believe I did say we should try speaking openly, Lord Noue. I’m at a loss. I do like setting traps and outwitting those I deem enemies, but doing ''that'' to those I could affiliate in the future is not to my liking. Lord Noue, I won’t mind if you still want to continue ''that'', but the both of us will earn very little from it.”

“Your highness, where are you heading?”

Noue stood up and asked as Orba prepared to leave the room.

“If it’s time you need, I’ll give it to you. It’s fortunate Garbera hasn’t many forests that you can pass through without worry of the evening dew, so you should still have provisions left. If you’ll excuse me, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

Forcing his exit, Orba descended from the tower.

What Orba who was now required to put up a front everyday revealed to Noue was only half what he meant. He didn’t believe he could negotiate without any decent preparations when facing an opponent as sharp as Noue.

''The Garberan troops, of course, also can’t just stay here like this.''

His thoughts never ceased as he climbed down the stairs. Even while smiling at the people who called out ‘Your Highness!’ to him, his mind had yet to depart from the battlefield.

''Next, is how Ax will move. There’s no way he’ll stay back and sit tight, and the possibility they realized there’s no rear guard is high.''

If he were in Ax’s position, what would be do? However, even as Orba immersed himself in that thought, there was still another immediate problem he needed to settle.

The next day, Orba went out to do an inspection of the town and after checking over the repairs on the gates and southern batteries, he assembled the commanding officers in the fortress courtyard.

The regular soldiers that served Oubary and Odyne, Gowen and the Imperial Guards, and Pashir and the sword slaves.

Calling on the names of the soldiers who reaped merits in the battle last night, he directly handed them their reward. Of course, the majority were imperial guards and Pashir’s infantry whom Orba had given orders to beforehand.

“Next. Is there anyone else?” Orba said, looking at their faces. “Step up if there is.”

The regular soldiers averted their eyes seeming uncomfortable. The majority had either gone out to play and not come back on time, or had been stricken in fear by the enemy’s sudden attack, that none managed to crossed swords with the enemy.

“Your highness.”

Stepping in at that point was the imperial guard, Aeson.

“What is it? I’m sure I awarded you more than enough money.”

“No, these two here, Rinus and Bran. They are from the Black Armoured Division, but joined forces with us and have contributed greatly.”

“Really. I’ve remembered your names. I will tell how within General Oubary’s Black Armoured Division, you two are the bravest warriors.”

Orba broke into a big grin, and without an ounce of reluctance, handed the monetary recompense to the two who contrastingly advanced forward timidly and reluctantly. Strictly speaking, these two had also been about to go out on the town when Aeson called them to a stop. This too had been under Orba’s orders.

“Why go out of the way?”

Shique asked, some thirty minutes later, in the prince’s private room.

“I mean, I do understand what you’re doing. You’re trying to make it seem the munificent prince measures value through performance. Especially those in the regular troops, seeing their own friends luckily taking part in the spoils, they would certainly think ‘Next time, that will be me’.”

“If you understand that much there shouldn’t be any problem, right?”

Orba currently held a late afternoon meal in his hand while stooped over a book spread open on the table.

“No, there should’ve been more effective ways. If you had also taught the regulars about the strategy, wouldn’t the battle have been just a bit easier, and the regulars moved by the prince’s abilities?”

“People exhibit their abilities strongest when putting their life on the line.” 

Dinn, seeing Orba about to flip the page with his sauce-covered hands, uttered a sigh and moved to undertake the task in his stead.

“With only that, it won’t end with them growing desperate. Bitter and having lost face, they’ll put more effort into those sword-clasped hands and trigger-wrapped fingers, all so that they might get recognised the next time around.”

“You’ve become quite the tactician,” Gowen remarked sarcastically.

“About that,” Orba said, not directly responding to his remark, “I was only thinking that if things turned into a serious fight, I’d need to make the enemy cautious and at the same time spread that same caution, or an even greater one to our own men.”

Some time after, Shique said to Gowen.

“It’s probably because Orba has a good nose.”

“A good nose?”

“How should I put it. If there are ten things happening in a given situation, there are those who might be able to see nine of them but are completely unable to imagine that last one. And then there are people who by seeing just two or three are able to foresee the remaining entirety. In Orba’s case, he foresees, or it might be more appropriate to say he instinctually sniffs them out. It’s something I often see from him. We’re always taken by surprise by the bold moves he makes, but in order to even make that single move, he pays extremely careful attention to everything around him and stores up information. And on top of that, he possesses a primal, or rather, characteristically sharp intuition. It’s easy to be mistaken because of his thoughtlessly excellent sword skills, but he was never someone destined to finish as a simple swordsman.”

“But you know,” Gowen said, crossing his big arms as he looked up at the sky, “I don’t feel it’s a good thing how his view is fixed at looking from above. That would make him the same as the other nobles and imperials.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Commander-of-the-Imperial-Guards?” Shique smiled revealing his white teeth. “I on the other hand am having fun. How far up will he, a mere gladiator, climb? Having the pleasure to watch it this close up is reason enough for me to tag along. What about you, Gowen-dono? Why did you choose to follow him?”

“Because I’m tired of raising sword slaves.”

Gowen spoke his true feelings, absent of any deceit.

“A view from above, huh. However, even if he’s aware of that, if he doesn’t attain it...only a world where he can get killed in his sleep awaits him.”

Shique finished with a murmur afterwards, as if in soliloquy.

Amongst the Zerdians captured as prisoners of war, most of the soldiers were safely released, although of course, the commander, Natokk, and his adjutant, Shadam, were locked in the dungeon. Orba made no mention of giving them any special interrogation or torture. Except that he had just visited them once to provide food, and have a chat, almost as if done on a whim.

Natokk was vigilant, and spoke a little of Taúlia in what ways that would cause them no harm. Orba tried to also probe a glimpse of Taúlia’s governor-general’s character, but as for whether that yielded any results, he himself wasn’t quite sure.

''Seems he’s a well-liked man.''

Orba found it odd that in just under two hours of conversation, he was able to grasp a general understanding of the man. No matter how he saw it, Ax did not give off the feeling of a great man. If he remembered correctly, Zaj Haman also said the same.

“He is not a bad man. He is also loved by his people. It’s just, he worships the Jasch Bazgan who established Zer Tauran like a god — though I do admit the Taúlian feudal lords have been like that generation after generation — and he believes that Jasch’s influence, even now, flows through the entire west. I don’t know when, but Ax Bazgan aspires to one day raise a new country himself.”

“Do you know of anyone else from Taulia? The saying goes that there’s no loss to knowing.”

“You’re right.” Zaat nodded fervently. “Archduke Hergo, who assumes a position similar to adjutant, is already an old man. His adopted son, General Bouwen, is young and spirited, and rumours say he will inevitably marry Ax’s daughter, Esmena. But he is not so much that his name would sing tales through the wind. Hmmm. Only...”

“Only?”

“Ax’s strategist, Ravan Dol. He works as a dragon handler and is approaching his years, but I hear he’s considerably sharp minded. On the one occasion Taúlia was attacked by Mephius ten years ago and was on the verge of ruin, I’ve heard the one who issued an appeal to the other states at that time and provided them the strategy that drove away the Mephian army was Ravan Dol. Stories of his genius in taming dragons have also reached my ears.”

''Ravan Dol.''

It was common for the Western Tauran Provinces to, like Mephius, train dragons and employ them in battle. They weren’t brought along when Natokk performed the attack on Apta because it would hinder covert manoeuvring, but if their force had come from the front, then Ravan Dol’s personally trained dragon squadron would’ve likely appeared.

And, while going over this information from Zaj Haman with Shique and Gowen, he elicited an unexpected response from an unexpected place.

Orba and the other two happened upon the dragoon training as they were talking, when the nearby Hou Ran who was checking the dragons’ condition spoke out.

“If it’s Ravan Dol then I know him,” she suddenly spoke.

“He was famous, even in the tribe I used to be in. A man said to be so great that he could make even a violent, wild dragon obey him in less than three days.”

Hou Ran was born of the western Mephian nomads. There was likely some Zerdian blood also mixed in. Orba was stricken at how he he hadn’t even considered asking Ran until now.

“He’s like a male Ran. Which of you is better?”

“Better or worse, I don’t know,” Ran said singingly. “Only, I’d like to see what those children are like by a man his calibre.”

Never dropping her smile, she was in unusually high spirits. At that moment, a dragoon fell sideways off his Tengo. His foot caught onto the stirrup, and Ran broke into a run towards them as the man continued to be dragged along by the dragon. With a stride that made it seem like she was walking on air, she went to the Tengo, whose mouth protruded outwards much like a bird, and touched the Tengo’s head, then moving to gently stroke its long neck. In the blink of an eye, the Tengo grew docile and stopped moving. The soldiers approached nervously and pulled out the dragoon’s foot.

“That little Ran.”

“What’s the matter, Gowen?”

“Looks like she’s burning with hostility.”

“That? It seems to me that she’s laughing though,” Shique replied, surprised.

“I’ve finally understood it after being tied together as parent and daughter and living together,” Gowen said with a strangely bashful face that didn’t suit him. “That’s really an abundance of expressions. Or I should be saying that she never knew how to hide her emotions from the start. She only knows how to express them in a way that isn’t easy to understand.”

“Right...”

“Her eyes are honest. They never lie.”

“Rather the doting parent.”

Shique said in a voice inaudible to Gowen, causing Orba to struggle to stifle his laugh.

However, Shique completely changed the flow of the conversation, suddenly switching the brunt of it onto Orba.

“By the way, Orba, have you met with Princess Vileena recently?”

“What are you saying? More than recently, I spent breakfast at the table together with her just this morning. You were there too.”

“I’m not asking if you did as the crown prince Gil. I’m asking if you did as the gladiator, Orba.”

“......”

‘Is that even necessary?’ Orba seemed to ask silently. Strangely, Shique rebuked him in an angry tone.

“You two share a relation where you once took hands and danced, right? Did you ever thank her for the medal you received at the gladiator tournament? But no, you haven’t even gone to greet her since Zaat’s rebellion. You should go see her now. It’s important to occasionally show your face as Orba and give her the impression Orba and Gil aren’t one and the same.”

“Wait!”

Even as Orba tried protesting, Shique called over the page Dinn and told him to bring a change of clothes.

“Come on, go on, go on.” Shique nudged him in the back. “The princess went to the airship platform to watch the airship squadron’s training not long ago. She should still be there. Go on, hurry now.”

In this way, Orba was pressured by Shique and dressed into the guise of a gladiator, still unsatisfied.

It couldn’t be denied that he hadn’t really considered what Shique pointed out. He also hadn’t given his thanks for the medal. If he had to say it, it felt awkward. That medal was the sign of friendship Vileena had given him.

''Tch.''

A former sword slave and a princess. The relative difference in status between the two went without saying. If a former sword slave continued ignoring a princess’ display of affection, it would foster unneeded suspicion.

''Shique you bastard, you planned this from the start, didn’t you.''

With his face covered by an iron mask and his torso adorned in leather armour, he headed towards the place serving as the airship platform. It was a location that led several meters higher than the highest parts of the Apta wall.

As Orba walked there, his resentments towards Shique quickly disappeared. The problems surrounding Orba, his difficulties, hadn’t decreased one bit. He gave so little weight to his own personal emotions that they were far off his list of priorities.

The matter with Noue Salzantes also held Orba in unease. It was currently a stopgap measure to buy him time, but it was a fact that he couldn’t keep hold it in place for long.

He didn’t need Gowen to tell him that he knew almost nothing about Noue.

But strangely enough, he held an odd sense of ‘trust’ towards him.

''He’s a man who prioritises the welfare of his country first, even if he has to kill his own princess to do so. If he’s a man that resolute, then he should have no problem temporarily setting aside his own emotions.''

When Orba found out Noue was trying to take advantage of even the princess’ life in the founding festival, he was furious. It was a fury that connected to Orba’s own past towards those selfish people in power.

At the same time, that very incident served as the founding basis of his ‘trust’ towards Noue. Orba hadn’t given it a single thought to the fact that these two conflicting emotions had the same cause.

''On that note,''

He had no definitive proof Noue would really accept his request. But by this point in time he had already set Ax aside and was thinking ‘ahead’. To achieve that end, it was imperative he have an open discussion with Noue Salzantes.

===Part 3===
Vileena Owell sat above a flight of stairs not far off the dock where the ships moored. She watched the silhouettes of the airships revolving around the high sky. The airship unit’s practice, that could even be called a hastily prepared one, was held day after day without break.

''Oh?''

Noticing the imperial guard approaching her, she smiled.

“I haven’t seen you lately. Were you in the middle of some secret mission on the prince’s orders again?”

“That, isn’t it.”

Orba, nervous over how he needed to create as many distinct personal differences as possible between himself and the prince, could do nothing but offer a curt response.

“It’s not something you can tell me. Pay it no mind.”

Vileena said, shifting her eyes back towards the sky. Her feet dangled, swinging back and forth, and her face was vacant.

''She feels strangely different.''

Her defenceless pose rattled Orba even more. It was his first seeing the princess make such a face. When facing the ‘prince’, Vileena would more or less shroud herself with an intensity that could cut. And now there wasn’t a single trace of that. If he had to say it, he saw in her not a ‘princess’, but a mere fourteen, fifteen year old girl.

Now seemed like a bad time to bring up the medal, so Orba wordlessly stood beside her and also stared up at the sky.

The wind blew.

“Ah.”

A fluttering leaf had tangled in Vileena’s hair. Vileena also realizing this, began to reach her hand to the back of her head.

“Pardon.”

With that single word, he gently removed the leaf from her hair. The ends held a softness that seemed to melt into his hands, and in spite of that, he could feel the smoothness from the strands. Surprised by the sensation, Orba scolded himself.

''I’m acting like a little boy who’s never known a woman.''

“Thank you.”

Again, Vileena smiled innocently. It was one so defenceless, that had she made that face to ‘Prince Gil’ from the beginning, she would’ve impressed on Orba, who wasn’t well informed about royals and nobles, that she was a ‘childish princess ignorant of the way of the world’, and completely fooled him.

“...Is there something weighing on your mind?”

“Does it seem that way to you?”

“Um, you seem strangely absentminded. It might be a bit impolite of me, but…”

“Don’t worry. It’s as you say. There have been too many things to think about here, and right now, I find this time where I don’t have to think about any of them strangely comforting. Although it might only be me running away.”

“No, it isn’t.” Orba denied.

He felt he could also understand it. He was also like that, driven into a busyness day after day enough to make his eyes spin. He would forget himself and obsess over his work, but occasionally in that single hour within the day, he turned his eyes away from the things he needed to think about to clear away all the troublesome things crammed in his head. He sometimes found that moment pleasant as if he was floating on clouds.

“You think and think about it, but many of the answers won’t come out. Then it gets to the point where it feels like you hit the dead end of a pathless labyrinth, but you can’t summon yourself to discard it, in fear it might in fact be very important. And when you wake up from a nap refreshed and re-explore the labyrinth, you’re surprised to discover a secret path at an unexpected spot and laugh, thinking ‘Oh, was it really this easy?’”

“I can relate,” Vileena strongly nodded. “However, Orba. This labyrinth is more endless, grave, and deeper than any I’ve encountered. Perhaps you might be able to answer it.”

“Go ahead, please ask away.”

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v03 173.jpg|thumb]]
“Then ask I shall. Orba, ''who'' am I?”

“Hah?”

The masked gladiator unintentionally gave an unrefined response. Vileena looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about it this whole time. Even when Ax Bazgan’s attack happened, the prince foresaw that, all while keeping it from me. The only thing he did was station the imperial guard Shique near me so I could safely get away. I was infuriated that time. In the end, I was another one of the ‘enemy’ the prince needed to deceive, and I was mortified to discover ‘what’ the prince saw me as.”

“......”

“However,” Vileena took a breath, “I myself am also unable to come to an answer. It’s as if within me, there are a crowd of other mes. Which one is real? Or are they all fake? I don’t understand even that. How am I, who cannot find a hold of my own ‘self’, supposed to make others trust me?”

''Nii-san.''

Thoughts of his brother passed his mind that moment, of how more than six years ago in their home village, they soaked in the pale moonlight and talked under the starry sky. Vileena lowered her head.

“I’ve been driven by shameful thoughts. I believed I was someone who could be a brave, decisive, able soldier, or even general. Just as my respected grandfather was. And here, I can’t even grasp my own self. Before, you had supposed it a labyrinth, but in my case, just where is the exit in that labyrinth packed with them, or rather, there are too many that I don’t know which to choose from. I also don’t have a destination—”

“Everyone, is like that.”

“Everyone?”

Orba’s voice had shook a little.

“What is our real self? Isn’t everyone unsure of that answer? Or maybe they don’t know if there even is an answer, as they live their everyday lives. No matter what kind of person they are—royals and nobles, slaves made to take up their sword and kill another person they’ve never met so they can live another day, philosophers, religionists, farmers, merchants—everyone grieves through their own situations; and not knowing what to do with themselves, they dream that there exists a true calling for them. Who are they? Who will they be? Those are as many and endless as the stars that fill the sky, and an inexhaustive worry that persists indefinitely.”

“—”

“I’m afraid to say that doesn’t change for Princess Vileena either, and even a person stained in blood like me.”

“I’m embarrassed.”

“Eh?”

As if he’d been woken from a dream, Orba directed a startled look over at Vileena. Her chin rested on her hands crossed above her lap.

“I’ve been going on thinking as if I was the only one in the middle of distress. But now that you mention it, yes, that might actually be the case. Everyone has their own doubts and feels lost. It’s because those are there that people seek direction and desire a relationship where they can support one another. I feel as if you’re always the one who ends up teaching me things.”

“No, you shouldn’t take my words that seriously. You’re over exaggerating.”

“Are you claiming you just happened to say that?” Vileena raised her eyes and stared his way indignantly. “That can’t possibly be. It’s because, Orba, you’re also lost and hold doubts that you’re saying this. But now my feelings have cleared a little. Everyone’s like this. Yes, grandfather, Theresia, you, and Gil Mephius as well.”

Orba said nothing further back to her. The things he said to the princess were nothing more than a retelling of his brother Roan’s words. However, actually speaking those words now had brought forth unspoken emotions, grief, and a bit of guilt.

At this moment, the airship unit’s flying ended and it prepared for landing. The first and second made a smooth landing, but the third ship hadn’t properly balanced the ether emission levels to match its changing speed and it’s wing grazed the ground surface.

“Pull the left lever and press the pedal!”

Orba raised such a startlingly loud voice that Vileena stood up.

The part of the ship the constituting the wyvern’s feet grinded against the floor and barely finished the landing without crashing.

The princess embarrassedly smiled.

“Keep this a secret from the prince.”

Saying this, she broke into a dash towards the airship without waiting for his reply.

“Noue-sama.”

Roger, commander of the Bronze Knight’s second cavalry, ran up to Noue Salzantes along the garden’s stone pavings.

“How long do you plan to stay here? We are at a situation where we don’t know when our homeland will open hostilities with Ende. If we don’t strengthen our defences at the border—”

“I’m aware of that.”

Noue stopped his feet and faced to watch the servants pruning the garden trees. Roger mimicked after him.

“Even without Mephius’ aid, we shall have Ende and Arion withdraw by our, the knight’s, power alone.”

“That may be.”

Noue also did not underrate his army’s power. If they mounted a defensive, they should hold out for some time even against Arion to a certain extent. There were other powers who wouldn’t so readily accept Arion’s expansion all the way to the centre of the continent, and they had the option of issuing an appeal to the northern coastal nations and forming an allied coalition.

''However...''

Garbera hadn’t yet recovered from the wounds it suffered from the ten year war and Ryucown’s rebellion. If possible, he wanted to settle this predicament before Arion came, or more precisely, before Ende advanced its army. For that, Mephius’ cooperation was required at all costs. In which case, rather than Guhl Mephius who sought to get closer to Ende, Prince Gil was by far the better negotiating partner. However,

''In a way, more so than Guhl Mephius, he is a man I cannot see.''

Just as Orba feared, Noue was presently troubled over how far he should trust ‘Gil Mephius’.

''While a master of wiles, his actions feel strangely immature when he engages from the front, or rather, it’s impossible not to sense his inexperience. That portion also bears semblance to Ryucown, but strangely enough, other than his burning ideals, I can feel little of anything bordering patriotism.''

''This is a serious matter, one which hinges Garbera’s survival. There is no way I can entrust that to a man I cannot see. Now then, where shall I prick him from?''

Strictly speaking, Orba had caused Noue to become exceedingly cautious. It was in this situation that Orba’s inexperience in interacting with ruling aristocrats served as his weak point.

“Oh?”

Raising his glance up over the gardener’s backs, Noue looked up at the sky. In the direction of the airship platforms to the fortress’ eastern edge, several airships were flying in formation. It was likely a part of training, but what caught Noue’s eye was the rider in front. From here it was no more than a small dot, but there was no mistaking that figure.

“That is…”

After Roger said this, he broke into a smile. ‘Same as always,’ the smile evidently expressed..

The pair headed in the direction of the platforms. As surmised, hopping off one of the returning ships was Vileena Owell. No matter how many times they had seen it, her pilot suit accentuated the curves on her body; it was not something fitting for an exalted lady. Young ones like Roger tended to turn away in embarrassment. But Noue wasn’t one to fuss over attire. Noticing them, Vileena waved her hand and approached them.

“Salzantes-dono. How long do you intend on staying in Apta?”

“There is something of an issue I must straighten out first...yes, I would say either tomorrow or the day after.”

“I see. It must be tough.”

The princess responded cheerfully, wiping the sweat off her cheeks.

“It seems no matter where you go you will always be fond of the sky, princess.”

“Aah. I asked the impossible and borrowed a ship. I only intended to go for a short spree, but the soldiers were so insistent I lend my hand in their teaching that I happily did it.”

The Mephian airship pilots all collapsed onto the ground in total exhaustion. Vileena was skilled enough to go head to head against Garbera’s world-boasted, finely trained pilots. Keeping up with the princess had likely taken their all.

“The sky is wonderful. Even as the lands are divided into countless countries, the world is tied together by a single sky.”

''Oh my.''

Noue looked up at the same sky as the princess, but let out a chuckle in his mind.

''How sentimental.''

“Speaking of which, Noue,” Vileena called his name and hushed her voice, “how are things faring with Ende?”

“Honestly, things are looking unfavourable. Our messengers have also been turned away at the gates.”

“What did Prince Gil have to say?”

“That as well was somewhat...”

Noue tried to jest.

“My apologies,” Vileena lowered her eyes. “That person is ''always'' like that. He shows no interest in the things that concern others, but is surely thinking of something. I’d like you to have faith in that.”

“I would like to. However…”

“Do not fret. Whenever I feel as if I’m about to exceed my patience and decide it’s time to give his bottom a good hard kick, he has always begun to move, as if those feelings have been transmitted to him. And once he does, he moves quickly.”

“Haha.”

Noue was taken with heartwarming thoughts. The reason went without saying. And simultaneously…

''She’s already completely taken the stance of Mephius.''

Words like ‘my apologies’ and ‘I’d like you to have faith in that’.

However, Noue did understand the princess herself was impatient and frustrated with the prince.

And while being so, she could do naught but speak to Noue, who belonged to ‘another country’, in that way. He had previously seen it as sentimental, but if she had maintained a composed attitude while suppressing those emotions, then it was proof the princess had become an adult.

“If anything, I wouldn’t mind really giving him a kick on his bottom. I’ll drag him by the heels before you and have him talk with you.”

“N-no. There’s no need to have you do such a thing.”

As Noue Salzantes exchanged words with Princess Vileena who at some point decided to take things into her own hands, he felt his heart brighten, strangely enough.

''Why not. If he can speak openly, I’ll also lay my feelings bare. It’s a fact that nothing will progress by thinking of where to prick him from the get-go.''

Orba was at this time watching Vileena and Noue’s exchange at a distance.

Even if he could not read all of Noue’s changing emotions on his face, he knew.

''Tonight, he’ll be coming.''

And so, he effortlessly turned his eyes back towards the young girl calling to the pilots dismounting from their ships..

''I never got to mention the medal—''

That night, as predicted, Orba and Noue talked once more sitting face-to-face in the room at the top of the tower.

Noue no longer hid anything. His request was for Mephius to once forthrightly raise its flags in Garberan lands. After resigning himself to some degree of humiliation, that is.

“For that, allow me to finish all the necessary preparations on Garbera’s end.”

“I look forward to it,” Orba said pulling his chin.

The talks progressed exceptionally fast. Promising to send reinforcements to Garbera was a simple task, but this was on his own accord. He risked incurring the emperor’s anger, more so than Fedom’s.

In preparation, Orba had sent airships on standby as messengers to Solon to spread news of how a group of reinforcements led by Noue Salzantes helped defend Apta. He was expecting this as the perfect justification for his sending reinforcements to Garbera.

''If the emperor shows any reluctance towards it, it’ll increasingly fan anti-emperor sentiments. Fedom isn’t one to sit still and watch as this happens. He’ll definitely find a good opportunity and cover for me.''

Were that to cripple Mephius or push Mephius into insurrection was of no concern to Orba.

''But, before that can take place...''

“First, we’ll have to settle Ax Bazgan. All of the soldiers I can mobilise are here. Which stands that as long as he isn’t pinned down, I won’t be able to move for Garbera.”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t it be hard for him to come in if both Garbera and Mephius send him notice?”

“I wonder about that. I’ve tried investigating the west in my own way. The battles in the west have settled to a calm during this year, but it seems to be beginning to erupt into strife again. And to note, their methods of fighting are completely different from before.”

“That would mean...”

“I don’t know the specific details, but I also have news that a new power has risen in the west. This power has begun to exert its influence and subdued countless cities and nomads. They’ve set up camp in the temple ruins of the former Zer Tauran, and are even calling for an allegiance between the small states.”

Orba was amazed. What he had just heard was also in Zaj Haman’s information, but Noue had in his own clever way devised a network through which to investigate this.

''A man I can’t let my guard down against. If I ease up after becoming friends, I feel like he’ll even find out the colour of my morning poop.''

Unintentionally, ludicrous thoughts filled his head.

“It’s likely for that reason that Ax is rushed for time. Zer Tauran is a country established by the Bazgan House. Naturally, if the west is to be united again, he believes that one of Bazgan descent is most appropriate to fill that role. And then for a man to appear and name himself king in the temple ruins that symbolises Zer Tauran...If I were Ax, I would need to find a way to display my might to the other city-states.”

“However, if he were to point his sword at the Zerdians as he’s done until now, the new power might join the other towns and eliminate him.”

“Yes.”

“That’s why he aimed for Apta Fortress right when the foolish prince became keeper, huh.”

Orba folded his arms.

“If we were to say it the other way around, we can’t expect much cooperation from the west with it now in disarray. This could even be a chance for me...but I can’t imagine Ax is someone who would give up so half-heartedly.”

“So this would in fact require that we make Ax swear us his allegiance through force. Moreover, when the time comes we let them know both Mephius and Garbera have arranged to deploy reinforcements to aid them against the new threat in the west...”

“Through force...”

Orba raised one of his brows. That would mean a full out war with Taúlia. It would take time to crush them, not to forget that tomorrow or the day after, Noue’s troops would be pulling out.

“Surely you must have already thought of that.”

Noue said testingly. No, he ''was'' in fact testing Prince Gil. Even for Noue, there were few strategies he could think of that would make Taúlia fall in a matter of days, and they each held their accompanying risks. Would Prince Gil satisfy his expectations? Namely, was this man such that he had something Noue himself didn’t?

Gil Mephius stayed still, his arms folded and him standing. His glance coincidentally fell on the map laid out on the table, seldomly blinking.

Noue would not break be the one to break this silence Orba created.

''Now, Oh arrogant, inexperienced, Gil Mephius. Won’t you surprise me? Won’t you teach me the vastness of the world?''

Noue was trembling in excitement, waiting, just waiting for Gil to open his mouth.

The night was still long. Before, the soldier’s clamouring voices downstairs could be heard from far away, but now Apta had fallen dead silent. They were likely on strict guard.

“No,”

Gil—Orba shook his head.

“I won’t decide ''now''. For the time being, why don’t Noue-dono and I send a notice to Ax with both our signatures. I would appreciate if you could stay in Apta until the response comes.”

“I cannot stay long. I can at best put it off another three days.”

“I don’t mind.”

Gil bluntly replied.

''Is he being cautious against me? Or could it be...''

As Noue obliged, he felt doubt and disappointment dye his chest in turn.

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| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter5|Chapter 5]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7 Chapter6

2017-07-24T15:56:07Z

Double Check: “I see. Was it at your instigation that that foolish prince seemed to change? He was stupid too. I see... Was it at your instigation that that foolish prince seemed to change? He was stupid too.

==Chapter 6: A Traitor's Banner of Justice==

=== Part 1 ===

At around the time when the sun was starting to descend from its zenith, the Garberan princess was once more standing where she could look out over Apta. She could see a sprinkling of townspeople in the streets. During the day, when Vileena had seen them as she walked along the covered gallery facing the streets, their expressions had been truly heart-breaking.

Prince Gil had been the lord protecting Apta for only a very short time.

Nonetheless, Gil had first driven back a sudden surprise attack by Taúlia, and then, thanks to the clever ploy of evacuating the people and bombing his own position, he had captured Ax Bazgan and had immediately concluded peace. On top of that, he had left from Apta to help their ally Garbera during a crisis, then had once more returned to this fortress in triumph. The people had all welcomed him with loud acclamations.

Not surprisingly, they saw Prince Gil as a hero. They probably mourned his death far more than did the people living in Solon or the nobles at court.

''What should I do?''

The previous night, she had lain in bed but, just like the night before, had been largely unable to sleep. According to General Rogue, Nabarl was steadily advancing in his military preparations and might be departing for the front as early as tomorrow or even today.

''If they invade Taúlia despite being bound by a peace agreement and without any declaration of war…''

Would Mephius retain even the minimum amount of dignity that a country should have?

Besides which, as he had been the one to offer peace to the west, she also believed that Gil Mephius’ name would be smeared in mud. Furthermore, if the lie took hold in Mephius that the west had assassinated Gil and if it came to be seen as the truth, the former Imperial Guards who were now being confined would be in danger. If lies about them having conspired with the west were to circulate, there was a good chance that they would be executed.

''Flying by airship, would it be possible to give Taúlia warning of Mephius’ invasion?'' She even wondered.

If Taúlia were aware of the planned attack and made proper preparations against it, Nabarl might be more cautious about moving his troops.

But if she were to do something like that, Vileena would not be able to avoid being branded a traitor. She feared that she would be banished, or otherwise punished for her crime, not only by Mephius, but also by its ally, Garbera.

''Grandfather…''

Vileena quickly drove away thoughts of her grandfather whose face had suddenly appeared in her mind. It was a bad habit of hers to go running to her grandfather, Jeorg, every time something worried her too much.

Just when the princess was once again asking herself what she should do, a voice called out from behind her.

“May I bother you, Princess?”

When she turned around, she saw a man with characteristically dishevelled hair. He was a master blacksmith by the name of Sodan.

“I don’t know if it’s alright for someone like me to talk directly to a princess like this so, I’m sorry if it’s rude.”

Perhaps it was part of his nature to not be very good at speaking, since his somewhat cloudy eyes were darting around all over the place. Vileena tilted her head to one side.

“It doesn’t matter. What can I do for you?”

“The fact is…”

As Sodan continued talking, Vileena doubted her own ears.

“The fact is... I have something that I’m keeping for the Prince.”

“T-That,” Vileena almost spluttered unconsciously, “what is it? Is it a letter for me? When was it given to you? How did you receive it?” She fired off her questions in rapid succession.

So this ''was'' all part of one of the Prince’s strategies and he had left something behind to tell her about it when the time came – for one short second, Vileena was able to convince herself of that.

“Ah, no, it’s not a letter… It’s this.”

Sodan held out a package in his chapped and scalded palm. Something glittering peeped through from inside. Vileena almost snatched it from his hands but when she saw the parcel’s unexpected contents, she was left speechless.

“I got a request to fix it but… now, there’s no way for me to give it back anymore. I don’t really know myself if giving it to you, Princess, is the proper thing to do.”

Sodan had experienced this before. Handing something over to someone who then stood stock still, for some reason, staring at it fixedly without saying a word. Gil Mephius had done so and, just like Gil, Vileena did not seem to notice when Sodan left but remained there for a while longer, her head bowed.

In Vileena’s hand was a medallion on a chain that the princess, herself, had once given to the imperial guard, Orba. She had sent it as a proof of friendship for him, who would be taking part in the gladiatorial tournament.

It had also protected the Prince from a bullet shot by the rebel Zaat Quark. Although it should have been handed to Orba, it seemed that the Prince taken it “as a lucky charm”. It seemed probable that he had asked a master blacksmith here in Apta to repair it before returning it to his imperial guard.

A horse and sword, the crest of Garbera, were engraved on the medallion’s surface. A single transparent teardrop fell onto it.

The Princess’ platinum blond hair swept forward and hung down, concealing her expression. But it could not conceal the sound of her weeping as the teardrops continued to rain down on the medallion.

After all this time – right, even after all this time, a heavy sense of loss welled up within her heart.

''Is this what I came to Apta for?'' She wondered.

Not to look for Prince Gil’s trail, but to experience with certainty the reality of Gil Mephius’ death.

She would never see those mysterious eyes of his again; she would never see his smile, with its trace of boyishness, again.

She would never drive him into a corner, or conversely, have her nose put out of joint by him again. She would have no other chance to try to get closer to his heart, or to be infuriated by his secretive way of doing things.

Images of Prince Gil, the masked swordsman Orba, and Shique swirled around and around in her mind.

Vileena finally collapsed to her knees and seemed about to abandon herself to her emotions and cry out loud.

And that was when –

Something strange suddenly struck her tear-filled vision. A glittering line seemed to be weaving its way through the streets of Apta.

A group of armed soldiers. They looked like they were going to depart from the town’s north gate. A military troop automatically suggested some kind of emergency, but there were no townspeople in sight to see them off.

''The surprise attack?'' Vileena guessed.

In that moment, the bottomless sense of loss within her heart felt as though it were being filled by another strong emotion.

It was Prince Gil Mephius who had chosen friendship with the west. He had bombed his own fortress and then personally gone to Taúlia; all because it had been necessary to remove the threat from the rear when going to help Vileena’s own native country, Garbera.

A tear ran down her cheek. With a sudden jerk, she wiped it away with the back of her fist and raised her head.

''I did not come to Apta simply to wallow in grief''.

If by some chance she had been led there by fate, then there was something that she needed to do here in Apta. Vileena Owell placed the medallion around her neck and before she realised it, she had started to run.

Countless doubts and conflicts still filled her heart. As though to crush them underfoot, she took a firm step forward and continued to run.

The River Yunos separated Mephius and Taúlia east from west. Vegetation growing along them, the cliffs on either side of the river rose ever higher as one went west and about a hundred Taúlian border guards were permanently stationed at the top of them. Following the ridge even further west were the Gajira Plains where Mephius’ Prince Gil and Taúlia’s Lord Ax had once met in conference.

Since the reconciliation between Mephius and Taúlia, the area around the River Yunos had become very quiet, but that day, for the first time in a long time, the guards all grew tense. There was a report that armed soldiers had been sighted on the opposite bank. Naturally, they were Mephian troops. It had been confirmed that a large number of boats had been launched across the river.

There was also a report that a ship had flown down towards Apta from the north. Since it carried no weapons though, it was probably not a warship. Nobody knew what to make of it.

Just as the captain of the guards was preparing to get in touch with Taúlia, the soldiers were thrown into complete confusion. An airship had been sighted crossing the River Yunos and headed towards them.

“At the ready!”

Following the captain's orders, soldiers armed with guns formed an orderly row at the top of the hill.

Having apparently anticipated this, the Mephian airship, which was shaped like a wyvern, rapidly lost altitude and landed right in front of the riflemen. The reason why they did not immediately open threatening fire was because the pilot was clearly a woman. As proof that she was in no way hostile, that woman spread her arms wide on either side of her.

Five or six soldiers, their guns still at the ready, surrounded her. Then one of them rushed to the captain.

“What?”

Not surprisingly, the captain’s expression was the very picture of bewilderment. The pilot had identified herself as the Garberan princess Vileena Owell and her errand –

“Mephius is going to invade?”

– Was to bring advance information.

The only reason he did not write it off as complete nonsense was because of the Mephian troops on the opposite shore. He had certainly been anxious about whether they were preparing to ford the river.

But neither did he know whether this person was really the Garberan princess. There was a risk that the woman’s information was itself a trap.

Still, either way, it did not change the fact that the situation was urgent. The captain of the border guards went to meet directly with the Princess and talked with her for a moment. As the result, he reached a decision.

“This is beyond my authority. Dohrai! Choose three of your men and guide the Princess to Taúlia.”

As per these orders, Dohrai and the three other men were to take the woman who called herself Vileena – who was of course the real Vileena Owell – to Taúlia by airship.

“Please be careful,” the swarthy-skinned Dohrai called out to her just before the airships were about to take off together.

“I have some confidence in my piloting. Please do not worry,” the girl answered, but Dohrai, his expression serious, pointed to the handgun that hung from his waist.

The girl’s cheeks tensed. Although he was young, Dohrai had grown a truly splendid beard. The mouth that was surrounded by that beard did not speak the words, but the warning was there. ''If you act suspiciously, I have orders to shoot you''. That “be careful” included the meaning of “be careful what you do.”

Vileena’s airship took off, with Dohrai and his men surrounding it on all sides. Stopping to replenish their ether at a relay base on the way, they hurried towards Taúlia.

They arrived at the city just as the sun was about to set. Things being what they were, and so that the Princess would attract as little attention as possible, just before they entered Taúlia, she was asked to change from her flightsuit to the simple clothes of a Taúlian girl and was covered in the veil that unmarried women sometimes wore.

They passed through the gate and entered the town.

“Keep your face lowered,” Dohrai advised her.

It was the first time Vileena came to this land, but of course, there was no leeway for her to view her surroundings. So she walked forward, watching only her own feet.

There must be a banquet going on somewhere since she could hear the sound of laughter, singing and the beating of a drum carried on the wind.

They continued along the town’s streets and this time, her ears caught the rough whinnying of a horse. The horse stopped just next to their party, its front legs suspended in the air.

“What?” Dohrai glared agitatedly at the rider.

That other person’s laughter was like a clap of thunder.

“I’m on my way to buy wine. But everywhere I go, they’ve run out.”

“It’s right after a war. People can’t be too extravagant.”

“My unit rendered the most distinguished service, you know? We got warmer welcomes in the other places. It’s complete bullshit that Taúlia is overflowing with hospitality.”

He spoke with insolence but he seemed to be the kind of man that no one could hate. Dohrai gave a crooked smile –

“Go visit old Hamdi’s shop on Third Street. That old man’s a boozer himself. He should have some left over that isn’t meant for customers. He loves war stories, so if you tell him a few, he’ll let you have some.”

“Thanks.”

“Is it an order from your captain?”

“Our captain doesn’t know how to have fun. He found a woman he liked in Eimen, so I thought he might’ve loosened up a bit, but, yeah.”

The man’s laughter boomed like a gong as he galloped off again.

“Isn’t that…?” Asked one of Dohrai’s men.

“Yeah, it is,” Dohrai answered while he urged the Princess to continue on. “That kind of giant isn’t seen in Taúlia. I bet the quantities he drinks are impressive. His name’s Gilliam, isn’t it?”

''Gilliam?''

Something brushed against Vileena’s mind. That name rang a bell. She also felt that she remembered having heard the voice from earlier before.

With that being said, she was on an important errand. Her increasing nervousness as they approached Taúlia castle drove any speculation about Gilliam right out of her head.

It was Bouwen Tedos who received her.

As previously mentioned, despite his youth, he was currently the one in charge in Taúlia.

''Princess Vileena is here with information about an invasion from Mephius''. Even when he heard it from the soldier, it was too sudden for Bouwen to believe it. On top of that, only moments earlier, he had been thinking about how they would be strengthening their ties with Mephius from here on.

Still, he was from the war-torn land of Tauran. It was not rare to suddenly be at war with yesterday’s ally.

By the time he left his seat at the banquet, Bouwen’s feelings had completely changed.

During the war against Mephius, for a while, Bouwen had been held captive in Apta, but he had had no opportunity to meet Princess Vileena in person. Which was why he sent for Natokk, who had arrived in Taúlia not long after Orba’s unit. The commander of the Sixth Army Corps had in the past gone to Apta as Princess Esmena’s guard, and so had met Princess Vileena.

“That is, without a doubt, Garbera’s princess, Vileena Owell, in person,” that self-same Natokk assured him.

Bouwen entered one of the rooms in the castle to meet with her.

''Oh, she…'' Upon seeing her, he felt his eyes go wide.

A girl with regular features who was beautiful to behold. Although her countenance had a childlike innocence, he could sense the graceful dignity behind it. In a few years’ time, she would certainly grow into a beauty on par with Esmena Bazgan.

And yet, this princess who should have been at court being admired, had come with information that Mephius’ army was marching towards them. This was not a normal situation. According to what she said, hundreds of soldiers had already left Apta.

However, there had yet to be a report of a beacon being lit at the border. Even so, he did not believe that the princess who had crossed the border was lying.

“Princess,” after listening intently to her words, Bouwen pressed his fingers together on top of the table, “I am deeply grateful for you coming all the way here with this report. However, you are a princess of Garbera, Mephius’ ally. Won’t your actions risk compromising both your position and Garbera’s?”

The Princess lowered her head for a moment but then immediately lifted her eyes again.

“But leaving things as they were would have gone against all sense of justice. I sincerely wish for peace between both countries… just as my husband-to-be Prince Gil did.”

''Her husband''.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v07 227.jpg|thumb]]

The way she gave that justification was very girlish. And in a way, that made Bouwen trust her more than anything else had.

“I understand. What will you do now?”

“I will return to Mephius,” answered Vileena, unfaltering and unhesitating. “Of course, if you prefer that I stay here until you have verified my words, I will do so.”

That was almost like saying that she would remain as a hostage. Bouwen closed his eyes. And then said –

“Prince Gil pledged his friendship to my liege, Ax Bazgan. Imprisoning his fiancée would be inconceivable. Dohrai will escort you.”

''But'' – Bouwen could not help but think – ''returning to Mephius will be far more dangerous than staying here in Taúlia''.

That was of course something that Vileena knew as well.

=== Part 2 ===

After the Garberan princess had left, things suddenly got busy for Bouwen.

He first reported to Ravan Dol, who was confined to bed, and to Toún Bazgan, who was in voluntary confinement within his own chambers; then he personally reconfirmed the military manpower currently available within Taúlia.

The city’s Defence Force, led by Toún, now stood at a mere two hundred soldiers. Normally, there should have been at least five hundred men, but about two hundred had been taken for the Zer Illias capture force, and about a hundred of those remaining had joined Raswan Bazgan in his recent uprising.

The Fifth Army Corps, which Bouwen should originally have been commanding, had essentially been annihilated during the battle against Garda’s army and Greygun’s forces in the outskirts of Helio. The last remaining trace of the ‘Fifth Army Corps’ was the mercenary unit attached to it, currently led by Orba, and which was about fifty men strong.

Less than a hundred of Nidhal’s soldiers had escorted Princess Esmena back as her guards, and Natokk had likewise returned from Eimen with about fifty men.

There was also the crew of the cruiser that Esmena had returned in, but this was after a major battle: they did not have sufficient arrangements either for personnel or for ether.

''Tsk''.

It was very obvious that if Mephius were to march in earnest, forget about repelling them, with their current military strength, they would be hard pressed to even defend against them.

''But'' –

Taúlia’s fate depended on it. Bouwen lived in constant shame over the defeat in the battle at Helio and of the disgrace of having afterwards let one of Garda’s lackeys kidnap Esmena. If Ax had given him permission, he would voluntarily have abandoned his position as general.

But now, before him was a fight worthy of a warrior, one in which he could throw his life away proudly.

''Since it means death either way''.

He hoped to die reclaiming his honour as a warrior, holding fast until the end and defending Taúlia until reinforcements arrived. He would consecrate his death to Ax, who had placed expectations in him, and to the now deceased Archduke Hirgo Tedos, who had adopted him as his son.

It was close to midnight when Bouwen summoned the various commanders. Three company captains under Toún’s command, Nidhal, Natokk, and also – although as a foreigner he stood out – the mercenary platoon captain, Orba.. Bouwen briefly explained the situation. As it would only invite needless speculation, he concealed the fact that the messenger who had brought the advance warning was Princess Vileena. The fastest to react to the name ‘Mephius’ was, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, Orba.

“Impossible!” He almost leapt to his feet.

That was rare for him, who never expressed any emotion and whose face was hidden behind a mask; it was usually impossible to know what he was thinking. For a second, everyone’s eyes turned towards him, and even though he immediately returned to his senses and sat back down, he could not conceal how shaken he was.

Nor was it only Orba; informed of the emergency, the warriors whose faces had been flushed red after the banquet suddenly looked tense. And hatred towards Mephius of course filled the room.

“Curse Mephius, so they can’t be trusted after all.”

“They must have caught wind of the war with Garda. The alliance was probably a trick to throw us off guard.”

“So this is how base you really are, Guhl Mephius!”

But cursing Mephius now would only be a waste of time. They quickly moved onto discussing the real issues at hand. Most of them were of the opinion that they should use what little ether they had left to fly airships requesting reinforcements. But even after sending messengers to their nearest neighbours, Helio and Cherik, help would not arrive for about eight days – even at the very lowest estimate, it would take at least five days.

''Can we hold out that long?'' That thought was written on every one of their faces.

The messengers would of course continue from Helio and Cherik to Eimen, where Ax was.

“It would be good if you report that the enemy numbers over ten thousand.”

The one who said that was a man who had barely opened his mouth until then – Orba.

“Ten thousand?” Bouwen asked.

He did not have detailed information about their numbers, but ten thousand must surely represent the vast majority of the total number of troops that Mephius could mobilise under normal circumstances. But as he was asking the question, he realised the intention behind that ‘ten thousand’.

“You want to give the impression that this isn’t a request for reinforcements for Taúlia but a call to arms to every city to defend the whole of Tauran?”

The masked swordsman gave a slight nod.

It was the same as saying that the threat was not simply against Taúlia, but that Mephius was going to invade the entire western region. And this was also right after all the cities had united to subjugate Garda.

Messengers requesting reinforcements would be sent immediately. What came next was deciding how to defend the city with their remaining troops.

“Should we increase the guards at the border? It would let them see that we’ve made preparations. Since the enemy is planning a surprise attack, once they’ve realised that we know what they’re up to, they won’t be so quick to cross the border.”

“No, we should call back the guards. According to the messenger, the soldiers have already left Apta.”

“They’ve lined up formations on the opposite shore? I still find it hard to believe that they’re going to violate the border…”

At that very moment, a messenger came rushing from the border zone. The enemy force had crossed the border. The reason the guards had not sent up a beacon was to hide the fact that they had noticed the invading troops.

Everyone there was feeling increasingly furious.

Naturally, everyone understood that it would be a difficult fight. In a way, the sense of crisis was even greater than when Garda's army had taken Helio and were drawing in on Taúlia. The problem was not only the number of soldiers. Their ruler, Ax Bazgan, was away and the old sage, Ravan Dol, was confined to bed since his injury had been a serious one.

Because of that, the warriors were even fiercer than usual and the blood was rushing to their head. It looked like at any moment now, bullets would start flying right there, and they would grab their swords or guns and go charging out.

They could no longer postpone things by wasting time and words. Having reached that conclusion, Bouwen was going to have the entirety of Taúlia's military take up position and prepare to defend the city.

''Slow'' – Orba muttered in a low voice. The nearby Bouwen lashed out.

"I know," he barked. "We've lost the initiative. That's why we have to hurry and..."

"No," said Orba. His arms were crossed in such a way that it looked as though his nails were digging into his own skin, but he did not seem to have any intention of unfolding them. "It's Mephius who is being slow."

"Captain!"

Dohrai exclaimed in surprise when he saw the unit of guards that he belonged to earlier than he had expected - which was to say- when he saw them near Taúlia rather than at the border.

They were in the middle of escorting the Princess back. The sun had set, so flying at low-altitude without guidance was difficult. When they stopped at the relay station to replenish their ether, they had taken a three-hour nap. Even after waking up, there had still been no report of a beacon being lit.

The night had already been considerably advanced when Vileena, Dohrai, and the others had touched down there to resupply before covering the final distance to the border only to run into the border guards.
About three hours earlier, these guards had seen lights on the River Yunos and had immediately dispatched a messenger to Taúlia – who seemed to have stopped by while Dohrai’s group was sleeping and so had missed them – after which, the captain had decided to pull back. Considering how low their numbers were, staying would simply have meant needlessly squandering Taúlia’s military manpower.

“Princess,” the captain of the border guards turned anxious eyes towards her. Now that the enemy invasion had become a reality, her position had become far more perilous. And it would become even more so if she returned to Mephius.

Vileena, however, shook her slender neck. “I do not think that I will be able to do anything more. But still, I will try my best.”

She once again sat astride the airship. Aware of how determined the Princess was, Dohrai and the others acted sensibly and furnished her with a tank of ether from the supply tanks in their ships. With no one to guide from there on, she would need to pick up altitude. And for that, one could never have too much ether.

“Thank you… Well then, see you next time.”

With those parting words, Vileena speedily flew off. In no time at all, she had ascended high and was cutting her way through the wind.

''Next tim''e – she herself did not believe in it. She had done her best to keep her expression unconcerned for the sake of the Taúlian, but once she was alone, she bit down hard on her lip.

''So they crossed the border after all''.

She had been expecting it, but now that it had actually happened, even the wind, which should have been lashing at her from the front, seemed to have turned into a heavy weight pressing down on the girl’s shoulders.

How could they tear up an agreement so easily?

How could they smash peace as though it were nothing?

As expected, Nabarl was in the lead with three hundred of his soldiers. They had set up camp and lit their fires on top of the hill which had been occupied by the Taúlian border guards until just a short while earlier.

Having noticed the sound of the airship, the sentries had the raised the muzzles of their guns. Vileena was unfazed and dropped her altitude when she was right before them, just as she had earlier with the Taúlian border guards. Realising that the pilot was the Garberan princess, the Mephian soldiers all broke out into cries of surprise and confusion.

Their commander-in-chief, Nabarl, stepped forward with an understandably equally surprised appearance. Thinking that there would be enemy guards in this area, he had from the start made an ostentatious show of fording the river and had expected a verbal challenge or warning shots to be fired, so it had come as a surprise to find the border area completely empty.

His unit of course included Pashir, who had been made up to look like Felipe.

Once Vileena had alighted from the airship, her long hair swaying, Nabarl started interrogating her like he wanted to rip her apart.

“Princess, would you care to tell me why you are here, across the border?”

“I also have the same question to make.”

“Princess.”

“I have just been to Taúlia.”

Although the Princess’ complexion was a little pale, she stood up straight and faced Nabarl.

“What, Taúlia?”

Unease flitted across Nabarl’s face. Vileena nodded.

“Is there something strange about that? The relationship with Taúlia is one of sworn future friendship. The Princess of Taúlia, Lady Esmena, was received at Apta. This time, as the daughter of the king of Garbera and as the fiancée to His Highness Gil, the crown prince of Mephius, I was the one to visit them.”

“…”

“Ah yes, by the way…” Vileena deliberately paused as she was speaking. That way of doing things resembled her fiancé. “Just before leaving for Taúlia, I observed a military unit departing through Apta’s north gate. I thought it strange since these are not times of war, but being a woman, it is not something I would understand. When I talked about it with the people in Taúlia, everyone greatly wondered at it. Oh but right after that, for some reason everyone seemed to become very busy. The gentlemen especially seemed to be hurrying to prepare guns and armour.”

“Princess!’

A commotion ran though the soldiers while Nabarl was left temporarily open-mouthed. His thoughts could not catch up with reality.

''This commander-in-chief'' – This commander-in-chief– a new thought struck Vileena as she observed his expression– she might be able to sway him depending on his mental state.

Meanwhile, Nabarl had finally grasped that this girl had betrayed information of the surprise attack to Taúlia.

“Princess. I do not know what you are playing at, but this is an act of treachery towards Mephius.”

“Playing? I merely went to Taúlia. Did I not say so? If it comes to that, what are you gentlemen planning? Surely you are not taking guns and swords to go sightseeing in Taúlia?”

“It’s a shame, Princess, but we don’t have time to waste playing word games with you,” Nabarl barked, visibly irritated.

Vileena frowned slightly at his rudeness, “even if you continue to drag your cannons to go and ‘play’ in Taúlia, those on the Taúlian side already know and will be preparing their swords and guns to ‘play’ with you. Your strategy was no doubt to suddenly go and ‘play’ without prior declaration, but that plan has already failed. Fortunately, there has not yet been any exchange of gunfire. I am willing to return, once more, to Taúlia and apologise for your ill-manners which have induced this misunderstanding.”

Nabarl’s face was thunderous but he remained silent. Convinced of her victory, Vileena clapped her hands together. It was a strangely discordant sound on that almost barren hilltop.

“Right, it will soon be dawn. If you tarry too much in returning home, the families of the soldiers will get worried, won’t they? It would be wise to move back for now. I am sure that Taúlia will welcome you if you come to ‘play’ another day, bringing a visiting gift rather than weapons and…”

“Ha ha,” Nabarl snorted with contemptuous laughter, cutting through the girl’s words. “Are you imitating Prince Gil? He also seems to have liked putting himself forward, pretending to be a hero.”

“What?”

“You might be royalty, but you’re very young. You seem to think that you’re some sort of envoy of justice, but what happens if I decide not to step back?”

“What is it you are trying to say?”

Nabarl rudely stepped up and shoved his face near hers.

“Because you betrayed information, more soldiers than expected will die on Mephius’ side. Which is the same as saying that you killed them, Princess.”

Vileena’s face was even paler than before. She clenched her trembling fists.

“Absurd. If you know that there will be casualties, then that gives you all the more reason to turn back. What justification does this war have?”

There was no more playing with words.

“So,” Nabarl suddenly stooped, bringing his gaze level with Vileena’s, “this conversation is over, Princess. I guess what I’m saying, in a roundabout way, is that you are stupid.”

Vileena said nothing. This time, it was the Princess’ thoughts that were having trouble catching up to the reality of so much disdain. Nabarl barred his teeth and laughed.

“Hand over information.. befriend our enemies... do whatever you like. I’m sure you don’t know this, but Taúlia doesn’t currently have the military strength to stop us. In other words, what you did was completely pointless. Do you understand why I said that you’re stupid?”

Nabarl then continued in a voice too low for the soldiers to hear.

“I see... Was it at your instigation that that ''foolish'' prince seemed to change? He was stupid too. Seduced, by an empty-headed woman, he took himself for a hero and died.”

This time, Vileena’s face flushed crimson.

The sound of slap rang out as her palm struck Nabarl’s cheek. Hidden from the soldiers view, at that moment, Nabarl’s hand had brushed Vileena’s breasts.

Nabarl stroked his cheek with a smirk.

Her face still flushed in anger and humiliation, Vileena quickly turned her back to him and rushed back to the airship.

Nabarl sneered, “What do you intend to do, Princess? Are you going back to your country to cling to your father in tears?”

“I’m going back to Taúlia.”

“Oh?”

Straddling the airship, Vileena glared sharply at the Mephian soldier.

“If you bomb or charge at Taúlia knowing that I am there, it will be the same as turning your sword against Garbera. Mephius will then unilaterally have broken its alliance not only with Taúlia, but also with Garbera. It will not be able to escape censure for baseness.”

“Ooh. Protecting your dignity by dying with the people of Taúlia?” Nabarl still jeered.

''I’ll show you even if it means dying'' – Vileena wanted to retort, but it just felt to childish, so she kept her rosy lips shut in a straight line.

Nabarl, commander of the Blue Zenith Division, watched the airship once again soar into the sky.

“Take up formation. That little girl has spared us the trouble of lighting a beacon. Taúlia’s first wave of troops is coming!”

He seemed rather joyous and his paunch juggled as he laughed.

=== Part 3 ===

Lights were moving in the dead of night.

They flew by so fast that they almost seemed like nothing more than a hallucination, but the darkness that followed was filled by galloping cavalry and dragoon units. The only ones carrying torches were Orba, who was riding in the lead, and the soldiers who were handling the dragons that were pulling the cannons.

His iron mask warmed in the flames, Orba silently galloped on.

''Mephius is invading''. – When Bouwen had said that, Orba had not been able to draw a clear ‘picture’ of it in his head. And that despite the fact he usually had good insight.

Mephius was, of course, his native land. It was a little different from not being able to believe it. For he, who had spent several months as the crown prince, had at some point subconsciously started to feel that a part of ‘Mephius’ belonged to him. It was a strange impression, as though he were in a corridor and, despite there being no mirror at the end, there was someone who looked exactly like him, who then drew their sword and charged to attack.

However, when he had heard the details from Bouwen, the ‘Mephius’ that was embodied by the figure of the Crown Prince – or in other words, by Orba himself – had vanished like smoke, and gradually a different figure had formed.

''Guhl Mephius''.

Orba could see those eyes, filled with suspicion and lust for power, and those lips that were twisted into a vicious smile. At the same time, what had once been Orba’s image of a statesman and a man in authority superimposed itself on top of that until it almost entirely filled his field of vision: Oubary Bilan, smiling on horseback as the village burned and the villagers, whom Orba knew, had their heads sliced off by gleaming swords and spears.

In the middle of the council of war and behind his mask, hatred had made his temples throb, and he had ground his teeth and clenched his arms crossed so strongly that their muscles bulged and that he himself would have trouble uncrossing them.

Orba did not wonder – ''why attack the west now''. Rulers such as Guhl Mephius constantly burned with the ambition for supremacy. He had probably been told of the military campaign against Garda by the spies he had sent west, and had judged that now was a good opportunity.

The troops which had been observed to have left Apta had crossed the River Yunos and had set up camp on the Gajira plains. Therefore, it seemed that they either intended to wait for troops following behind them, or they were not yet clear on how to move next.

After the council of war, Orba was given a hundred regular soldiers on top of the fifty or so from his mercenary unit, as well as two cannons. Originally, he would have preferred a few more guns, but Mephius could be intending to use its troops to attract their attention before appearing from above in ships. The city’s air force could not be increased, so most of the cannons currently in Taúlia had to remain in position around the it.

There was one cruiser currently in Taúlia. This ship, which had brought Esmena back from Eimen, would for now be the central pillar of their defence. If the point came when they decided that they had no other choice, they planned to use it to allow Esmena and the queen to escape.

In exchange for not being able to give him as many cannons as he would have hoped for, most of the soldiers he received were riflemen. Bouwen Tedos had responded as best as he could to Orba’s request.

“Orba is Mephian.” During the council of war, Bouwen had deliberately brought up what should have been best left unsaid, no doubt also as a way of showing consideration to the surroundings. “He knows more about the enemy than we do. There’s no objection to entrusting soldiers to the hero who killed Garda, ''right''?”

The commanders did not say a word.

What the situation required more than anything was a swift response. The more time passed, the more the enemy numbers would increase and the more the difference between them would widen. Forget the fact that reinforcements would take about a week to arrive, they were afraid that if they made a single mistake, Taúlia would be engulfed in flames this very night. Although no one said it, the atmosphere inside the room seemed to throb.

The fighting was finally over. That's what people thought, not only in Taúlia but everywhere in the west. In this land, where swords had once constantly been soaked in blood and where at any given time a stone city was surely ablaze, everyone now shared that one belief. And yet now, the castle belonging to Ax Bazgan, the leader of the western union which had defeated Garda, was on the verge of falling at the hands of its base and treacherous neighbour.

With that, they had deftly avoided a pointless fight among comrades on the same side.

After the council of war had finished, Orba summoned everyone from his unit. That of course included Shique and Gilliam as well as Talcott and Stan.

“We’re going to be attacking the Mephian forces which have invaded Taúlian territory.”

That curt announcement astounded everyone in the unit.

He dispassionately explained what tactics they would be using and then, still with the same lack of emotion, he finished outfitting himself.

“Orba.”

Shique looked like he had something he wanted to say but Orba responded by making the first move.

“There’s no time to rest, huh?”

“Ah… Yeah.”

“If we manage to push Mephius back, I should give the men a holiday. Neither Bouwen nor Ax would say no.”

“That’s for sure,” Shique interjected. “What will you do on your holiday?”

“Me?”

Orba stayed silent for a moment as he sheathed his blade in leather.

“Right,” he opened his mouth to speak, “I could swim the Yunos. I was always playing about in the river when I was little, so I’m confident in my swimming. I could go and show off to those guys in Apta.”
''No'' – smiling unintentionally, Shique used that smile to show his agreement with Orba, but inwardly, he was thinking something else.

''When you have the time, you read books – while jotting things down with a sullen face in that terrible handwriting of yours – and if you’re not doing that, your training with a sword... or a horse... or a dragon''.

''It’s like you can’t live fast enough. I don’t know anyone else who’s as bad as you at taking it easy''.

“Are they coming?”

Having established their position in the Gajira Plains, Nabarl gave a huge smile when he caught sight of the line of torches drawing closer to them.

“Probably a reconnaissance team. How many?”

“There aren’t that many lights. It looks like trying to trick us but… it should be less than two hundred.”

Hearing that answer from the soldier who was looking through a telescope, Nabarl’s smile grew wider and wider. After all, the soldiers from his Blue Zenith Division as well as the guards from Apta were likewise a mere two hundred apiece. While that was twice as many as the enemy numbers, this was the enemy’s territory. Besides which, the surroundings were still wrapped in darkness. They would have to wait to engulf the enemy like an inferno.

Although actually, the Mephian soldiers in the encampment were not the first to have crossed the River Yunos. He had previously sent soldiers out along the route which the enemy was now marching on. When those scouts had pulled back, he had received a rapid succession of reports from them. Nabarl heard them while stroking his cheek.

“Right – we’ll install one of the guns on higher ground. César!”

He summoned the vice-captain of his main troops. Incidentally, the former Imperial Guard Pashir had placed under this César’s command.

For the next half-hour, he fired off instructions to his men, César included. The enemy had started to line up along the ridge of the Gajira plains. They had been fast so most of them must be mounted soldiers. And then, no doubt to stall for time, a single messenger rode up, a torch in one hand.

Held in check by the Mephian riflemen, the messenger called out so that Nabarl could hear him from within the camp.

“You all from Mephius, what kind of situation is this? You are treading into our territory. We received neither prior notification nor declaration. We ask that you turn back at once. If you do not, even though we are linked by a peace agreement, we will not leave things as they are either.”

''Fire!'' – Nabarl desperately repressed the urge to give that merciless order. If they fired, the enemy guns would commence bombardment. On the grounds that the battle had not yet started, and also with the intention of delaying things, Nabarl forbade that any threatening actions be made against the messenger and simply allowed him to shout.

Probably coming to the conclusion that things could not be settled, the messenger returned to his own side.

For a while, there were neither gunshots nor raised voices as the face-off continued into the night. From the enemy’s point of view, wasting time was not a bad trick. Since Mephius had been intending a surprise attack, they might be hoping that once morning came, they would be compelled to turn back having used up all of their resources.

The sky was finally starting to turn light.

The darkness had served as the slender thread that maintained the balance between both sides, and at the same time that it was dispelled, movement appeared. The soldier who had been monitoring the ridgeline suddenly raised a flag and sent Nabarl a signal. Nabarl stared hard in the same direction then –

“Fire!” This time, he gave the order.

The guns in the camp roared.

Although, as mentioned, the sky was starting to grow clear, the bombardment had to be done without their having a proper grasp of the enemy’s position. Although they did not receive any substantial damage, the Taúlian side became strangely agitated.

Not because of the gunfire.

But because flames could be seen rising up further west, beyond the ridgeline – from Taúlia’s direction.

<noinclude>

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7_Chapter5|Chapter 5]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7_Chapter7|Chapter 7]]
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume6 Chapter7

2017-06-26T14:00:42Z

Double Check: typo: "1" was accidentally added into text.

==Chapter 7: The Champion of the West==

=== Part 1 ===

Moldorf trod cautiously forward. Because he worried that the sound might get him noticed, he didn’t wear any armour. A sword in a thick leather scabbard hung from his waist and he grasped a short spear in his right hand.

Although he had remonstrated with his younger brother, the regret and anger in his heart was no less than Nilgif’s.

He had been prepared to bear eternal dishonour and had fought. Because there was something that he wanted to protect even in exchange of his own reputation. But in the blink of an eye, Garda had turned it into ashes.

When he thought of the people’s anguish, even he felt like letting his cheeks bathe in hot tears, just as his little brother had. In truth, the reason that Moldorf didn’t cry was because his heart had already wept so bitterly that his tears had all run dry.

But they hadn’t been entirely abandoned by the Dragon Gods. What had worried Moldorf the most was that it would take at the very least an entire day to reach Zer Illias. If the battle ended while he was making his way there, there might never be another chance to get close to Garda. But then unexpectedly, that very Garda had left Zer Illias that he had always remained secluded in since appearing in the western lands and had moved to Eimen. Moreover, penetrating the tower was easy since the entire military force was being thrown at Ax’s army.

The spear in Moldorf’s hand was one used for throwing. He had vowed to himself that it would all be decided in a single strike.

''If I had done this earlier'', he thought. But he purposely decided not to dwell on it. What they had been anticipating up until now, Ax gathering together the west and making a move, had created a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Ten or more women, among them Lima Khadein, were gathered in a circular hall. In the centre was Garda. He was holding his hand up before a woman that Moldorf guessed was Taúlia’s princess. The hand gripping the spear grew hot.

''Don’t think. Just do it. Just pierce him through the heart''.

With his skill, he only needed to move forward and throw the spear in the same breath. And then it would be over.

But… That was only if his opponent was human and could he really compare Garda to a human being? Wouldn’t it be better to take one more step closer? He needed to consider that there might not be another opportunity. In order to be absolutely certain, shouldn’t he close the distance at least by another half a step? No, he was close enough. If he made a false move now, Garda might sense something.

Then, like this…

“Fool.”

For a second, a sharp pain seemed to pierce Moldorf’s forehead. Garda’s hoarse voice could be heard. ''Have I been spotted?'' Moldorf felt his entrails go cold, but Garda’s back was still turned towards him. On the other hand, a strange sight appeared before him.

No, it couldn’t be said that he saw it with his naked eye. The image that flashed through Moldorf’s brain was of something like a mist rising from each of the ten or more women, with Taúlia’s princess at their centre. It formed a spiral and filled the hall. Hanging like clouds from the ceiling, the mist next spiralled counter-clockwise and contracted into a shape that resembled an arrow then suddenly pierced straight through the top of Garda’s head.

Garda roared with laughter. The one he scoffed at for being a “fool” was Ax when he brought out the air carriers.

Assailed by headache and nausea and with his body feeling like it could break, Moldorf tightly grit his teeth and through sheer force of will, succeeded in not making a sound.

''Is this sorcery?''

It felt like a power that shouldn’t exist in this world. The scene before him seemed somehow to spit on all living creatures like a blasphemy against them.

''Gods'', Moldorf took a throwing stance. His large biceps bulged, the muscles along his shoulders and back were stretched tight. ''Dragon Gods, Spirits, every kind of god that anyone anywhere believes in, anything is fine. Gods! Grant me the strength to strike down this sorcerer who twists and distorts the laws of this world. Please let my insignificant self purify this evil at a single blow''.

He pulled back the right side of his body with all his strength and took a quick step forward.

In an instant, is body’s taut muscles were released towards a single target.

The spear whistled through the air.

The spear drilled into Garda’s chest and with unabated force, the tip pierced through his back and pinned him to the floor.

So it should certainly have been.

But in practice, Moldorf remained frozen in position as he took a step forward. His spear was still in his hand. As though it were stuck to his palm, the weight of the steel would not leave it.

“Fool.”

This time, the voice was obviously directed towards Moldorf. The face of an elderly man peered out from under the hood. There was something evil about his smile.

“Did you think that I hadn’t noticed your presence? As I am now, no plot, no sword and no spear could find me. I have a clear grasp of every phenomenon that occurs within the surrounding area and can freely manipulate them in actual fact.”

“B-Bas-Bastard.”

Moldorf let out a feeble voice from between his clenched teeth. He was struggling with all his might to break free of this curse but every time he tried to take a step in Garda’s direction, invisible wire ropes seemed to bite into his entire body. The pain was so intense it almost reaped the valiant, long-serving general’s consciousness.

“Y-You knew, so why…”

“You have already served your purpose.” Garda chuckled mysteriously at his own words.

“Purpose?”

“After I have defeated Ax, it will be your turn next. Every last person in the west will consecrate their ether to me. Including of course everyone in Zer Illias. But you, you fought better than anyone and served me, Garda, well. As thanks, I will show you how I will devour the entire battlefield and gather ether. It will be the very moment of birth of the second Magic King Zodias, of the one who will rule the world!”

Moldorf’s eyes became bloodshot and the lines of his sinews bulged. The sorcerer was saying that he would kill everyone. Not only Ax and his troops but also his little brother, Lima Khadein and the people in Zer Illias.

He roared. It was a bellow like a dragon’s, fitting of his nickname, but as he couldn’t break free, it was entirely pointless. Darkness stretched out between Garda and him, and even if he spent his entire life trying to cross that darkness, even if he spent a hundred or a thousand years, it felt like it would not be enough.

''Bastard!''

Moldorf’s eyeballs that he could just barely move freely rolled left and right. He could feel that the thing like mist was continuing to be released from the ten or more maidens.

Then,

“Hmm?” Garda raised his eyebrows.

Something urgent must have come up because, even as he was still turned to face Moldorf, he looked at the bracelet on his left wrist. Moldorf saw a small shadow pass through the round jewel that was encrusted within it. Although he had absolutely no knowledge of sorcery, the scene that had appeared on its surface was surely the battle that was even now unfolding outside of Eimen. It was as vividly reproduced in this distant place as if a part of it had been cut off and trapped there.

Just as Garda had supposed they would, Ax’s forces were finally fleeing. The troops led by Nilgif continued to press forward without slowing their offensive.

Garda’s eyes were wandering around the battlefield when they suddenly stopped on one point.

As the chariot squadrons and cavalry had cut off their path of retreat, Ax’s army was caught in a pincer movement to their front and rear when, from behind the enemies at their back, a group enveloped in a cloud of dust came galloping. Brandishing spears and swords, they lunged at the chariots with the force of a hurled javelin. Because of the unexpected surprise attack, the archers were flung one after another from the chariots by the Mantos dragons and even the cavalry was reeling.

They were strong.

And fast.

“Survivors from Kadyne?” Garda muttered balefully.

He knew who they were. The sorcerer dispatched to Kadyne to serve as a pathway had not only received ether from Garda but had also sent it to him. Garda had been able to sense that person’s death. Conversely, he did not know what had happened in Kadyne after that.

But he could not have imagined that people who had been hideously tormented by his magical trap would turn to come to Eimen.

Above all else, there was the one horseman who was racing in the lead. Although his build was slight, he galloped fearlessly into the fray, unheeding of the forest of spears or of the dragon’s claws. The man was undoubtedly responsible for fanning that army corps’ vigour. He wore a mask.

The man suddenly grabbed something that was hanging from his horse’s neck in one hand and held it high above his head.

“The sorcerer of Kadyne is dead!”

Amidst the steel blades that were moving to fall on him from all directions, his voice was clear and resonant. What he held to the sky was a man’s severed head.

“Even a sorcerer will die when they’re cut down. Garda is the same. How long will you let a single sorcerer deceive you? The one you should be fighting isn’t us. From here on, I will defeat Garda. Know that anyone who gets in my way is an enemy to the west!”

“What!” Garda’s eyes trembled with hatred.

In that instant, perhaps because his senses were turned elsewhere, the spell that bound Moldorf shattered into tiny pieces.

Moldorf stepped forward.

When Garda noticed it, startled, he once more put himself on guard. But the reason his reaction this time was slow was because Moldorf’s target was incomprehensible. Having switched his position, he seemed about to throw the spear in completely different direction from Garda.

He threw the spear. Not at Garda.

The spear whistled up wind as it flew and its tip pointed towards a single woman.

Lima Khadein.

=== Part 2 ===

“What did he say?” Nilgif groaned low, his face painted dark in the blood of his opponents.

Of course he remembered that masked swordsman. Both he and his brother had been made to suffer humiliation at his hands. As the man raised a severed head up high, he started to cross the battlefield.

Naturally, Nilgif also remembered the face of the sorcerer who had been stationed in Kadyne. He shivered at the thought that it might match that of the head the man was brandishing aloft. Nor was it just Nilgif. He could clearly see that unrest was circulating around this battlefield where friend and foe were jumbled together, communicating itself to both sides alike.

At the same moment, the allied air carrier which had been navigating shakily seemed to recover itself and stabilised its flight, then lowered its hull behind Nilgif and the others. From inside, five hundred soldiers of Taúlia’s Sixth Army Corps, led by Natokk, were let loose like a pack of wild dogs. Garda’s army found itself attacked from front and back.

“Blue Dragon!”

Hearing a voice call out to him, Nilgif had the impression that it was his brother scolding him. It was probably because he sensed genuine anger in that voice that his heart was overwhelmed.

“Gather your troops and go to Ax Bazgan. If you go over, Garda’s army should lend him their support bit by bit.”

“Wh-What are you…”

To Nilgif’s surprise, even as the masked swordsman said that, he galloped his horse straight towards him and raised his sword overhead. He was barely able to parry with his spear. As their weapons clashed a second then a third time, the swordsman brought his horse ever closer.

“I was in Kadyne,” his voice was almost a whisper. Nilgif stared at him wide-eyed. “Garda’s bombing raid killed many. But even so, many of the people are still alive. Believing that we, and you, the warriors of Kadyne, will bring victory, they remain there and live on.”

What further words could be needed? Nilgif’s bearded face was once more wet with tears. Those tears were unexpectedly warm.

“Where is Garda? In the ruins of the temple at Zer Illias?”

“N-No,” for some reason, Nilgif didn’t find it strange to answer as sword and spear collided between their respective armour. “For now, he’s in Eimen. Should be in the tower’s underground.”

“Then that’s convenient.”

“Wh-What’s convenient?”

Beneath his mask, the swordsman grinned and Nilgif felt shaken to the core.

“If I kill him here, it’s all over for them. Not even Garda can harm the hostages in Zer Illias once he’s dead.”

So saying, the swordsman kicked his horse’s flanks and, without the slightest vigilance against Nilgif, started to race away. He didn’t pay the any attention even when he was shouted at to “Wa-Wait!” Although Nilgif was dumbfounded, he called out once more as there was one thing he had to know.

“Your name. You, what’s your name?”

“Orba.”

That was all the answer he gave.

After that, he simply went onwards and ran and ran and ran. The severed head of the sorcerer was like a talisman that protected Orba from blades and the soldiers of Garda’s army didn’t go near him. No, at least half of them could no longer be called “Garda’s army”.

More than five hundred soldiers led by Bisham rushed to Ax’s side without a moment’s delay. They strengthened his defence and as Natokk’s force was also bearing down from behind, Garda’s soldiers were no longer able to focus solely on attack as they had a short while earlier. The sand-laden wind coiled around the battlefield like smoke, giving it a strangely stagnant appearance.

That stagnation was enough for Orba. With only a few mercenaries, he raced straight towards Eimen. There was no sign of enemies about to catch up with them. And even when some did try, they did so hesitatingly and only to be pushed back by Shique’s double swords or Gilliam’s battle-axe.

''Is that it?'' On the other side of the outer walls, a tower soared into the heavens. The sky was dull and cloudy but Orba could see darker clouds that seemed to swirl around its top.

Having crossed Eimen’s gates, Orba and the others rushed headlong to the tower at the centre. There was not a shadow of the townspeople to be seen. A dry wind blew through the streets.

They jumped from their horses once they were just by the tower but before its door hovered a silent shadow. As they wondered what it was, the shadow formed one-by-one into black-clad soldiers who drew the swords from at their waist.

“Move from there,” Gilliam almost growled, his battle-axe on his shoulder. “If we defeat Garda, he won’t be able to threaten you anymore and your families won’t be in danger anymore. Now move!”

But as though they had no ears to hear with, the soldiers in black simply attacked. Let alone ears, they showed no evidence of having mouths to shout with or even minds of their own to think with.

“Looks like it’s useless,” said Stan. Because of the effects of ether, his complexion was still bad and he was swaying at the waist, but he still pulled out his sword. “They have a strange “colour”. This bunch probably aren’t being threatened. They might be Garda’s personal guards.”

“Then we don’t need to worry, huh.” No sooner had he spoken than Gilliam was the first to throw himself into the fray. As his battle-axe collided with the swords, the silent town was suddenly filled with the sounds of fighting.

The enemy was unquestionably skilled. Since Stan wasn’t in his normal condition, even Talcott who usually preferred to stay safely behind him had no choice but to step forward and wield his sword. While hurling abuse, he showed off his lightning-fast swordplay.

Only Orba seemed to take up a position from which he could watch the struggle but, so smoothly and quietly that his feet didn’t seem to be moving, he swiftly made his way past their backs and sides. Alone, he dived into the tower.

To deal with Garda, every second was precious. No matter how superior their position might be, the terror of sorcery permeated the body. So until he had snatched that life away with his own hands, he couldn’t afford to be careless.

He felt dark killing intent draw up to him from behind but the one who thrust it away from the side was Gilliam.

“This is your chance, Capt'n. Go and seize greater glory than anyone in the west.”

“I’m grateful.”

Leaving those brief words behind, Orba’s figure disappeared into the tower.

Gilliam jumped nimbly to put some distance between himself and the swords that were bearing down on him from front and back.

“Grateful, you say?” He shook his mane-like hair and beard and laughed. Swinging his axe in large, sweeping movements, he added, “It’s just like Lasvius once said. He really does speak like nobility.”

The spear struck vigorously. Lima Kadhein’s eyes opened wide and she went rigid as she stopped breathing.

Right next to where her soft hair swayed, the spearhead had embedded itself entirely and cracks were running in all directions along the stone wall.

Lima’s brown face paled, her eyes trembled and soon, large teardrops started to spill from them.

“Ngh,” Garda groaned.

Needless to say, the role of the maidens he had stolen away was to provide ether for as long as they lived. Yet it was clear that the blow from the spear had allowed Lima to regain her heart and consciousness. That was because a part of the ether supply system had been destroyed.

Moldorf knew nothing of sorcery but, with the intuition almost of a wild animal, he had aimed at what was causing unease to his five senses.

He then immediately pulled the sword from at his waist and rushed at Garda. It would not take him a second to reach a position from which his blade could send that head flying. The sorcerer’s face, which was like that of an unremarkable elderly man, showed anxiety.

But –

“Idiot.”

The sword was repelled by an invisible shield and Moldorf’s large body went staggering backwards. Garda’s arms that were like dead trees, both stretched out towards him. Underneath his hood, his entire face glistened with sweat.

“For a mere human, your judgment was sound. My compliments. But, after all, this is as far as you go. Do you think I, Garda, am so powerless that I could be taken down by you alone?”

Garda had absorbed the ether swirling about in the hall a number of times already. Unable to let out his voice anymore, Moldorf reeled even more violently. It felt as though the air in the chamber had transformed into dozens of arms that were strangling his neck with superhuman strength.

The sword fell from his hand. Large veins stood out at his temples and his face was stained a deep red. But suddenly, it went pale. Froth dribbled from his lips and his countenance had a faint look of death.

“Moldorf!”

At that moment, a shadow ran towards Garda, aiming at his back. Completely focused on Moldorf, the sorcerer had let himself be approached surprisingly easily.

The glimmer of steel drew close. The tip of the blade sank in.

If that person had been a master swordsman, or not even, if it had been a grown man of normal strength, Garda’s life would probably have been cut short right then. But his opponent was Lima Khadein. She had picked up Moldorf’s sword, yes, but the weapon was too heavy for the princess’ arms and she was only able to tear a piece of skin from Garda’s back before stumbling to the ground.

“You!” At the searing pain in his back, Garda savagely turned around, his eyebrows contorted with hatred. Moldorf’s powerful frame fell like a stone. “You accursed Kadynians plague me one after another. Enough, I’ll kill you now for good.”

Garda made his bracelet gleam then suddenly raised a finger. The sword which had fallen to the floor seemed to squirm by itself then soared lightly up into the air. It rose higher while turning its tip around then stopped abruptly. Its point was aimed straight at Lima’s back where she had tumbled down.

Then it immediately cut through the air.

The rapidly accelerating sword had no less force than the spear that Moldorf had thrown earlier and it should have easily impaled Lima’s body.

But just as it was about to do so, the gleam from another blade shone.

Sword and sword clashed in mid-air then clattered to the ground as sparks scattered.

“What!” Garda turned his eyes wildly to the hall’s only entrance.

A shadow raced like a tempest. Faster than his eyes could follow, it rolled forward and picked up one of the swords that had fallen to the floor then without pausing ran to drive it into Garda’s breast.

“Gah!” Garda instantly invoked new magic. The fallen sword once again came to life and thrust itself between him and the shadowy figure.

The shadow suddenly stopped moving. But the hostility blazing in its eyes on the other side of the interposed sword could clearly be felt. A sharp glare pierced the sorcerer from behind the mask.

Garda now stood in Orba’s sight. The sorcerer who had claimed a name that had terrified Zerdians since two hundred years ago, who had taken the lead of a large army to invade the west and who had offered countless lives as sacrifices. He looked like nothing more than an ordinary old man and moreover, unexpectedly did not seem to be Zerdian. Something like a fragment of a jewel was buried in his forehead and glittered before Orba’s eyes.

“You are…” started Orba.

“You’re…” Garda said venomously at the same time. He recognised him as the self-same swordsman that he had seen earlier in his bracelet.

The sword between them again floated in the air, glittering. Orba swept it aside and was about to step towards Garda but he jumped back as lightly as though wings had grown from his feet.

“You’re not Zerdian. Do you think that a brat like you could defeat Garda?”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v06 287.jpg|thumb]]
“You’ve pointed a sword at me, think about what you can do next, sorcerer.”

“Ha. You seem confident in your own skill. Certainly, that you were able to track me down here means that after Moldorf, I now need to praise you.”

“The sorcerer in Kadyne said the same thing. And immediately after lost his life.”

“You’re conceited merely from having destroyed my pathway. I had already accomplished my goal in Kadyne. Thanks to that pathway, Zer Illias will be awash with ether.” Garda laughed arrogantly, displaying his slightly yellowing teeth. “Besides, there will be plenty more ether to be had on this battlefield. And I also have Esmena Bazgan here.”

Just as Garda indicated, there was the figure of a girl whom Orba knew by sight in the hall. He was naturally unable to prevent his surprise but he did not make the mistake of letting his agitation show in the middle of a fight.

“You were a step too slow, Boy. If you had arrived just a little sooner, you might have been able to beat me.”

“Shut up.”

As Orba was about to cut down the distance between them, Garda raised both hands. Black smoke poured out of the bracelets he wore on either arm. Orba was resolved not to stop advancing no matter what happened. That was because he was afraid of being bewitched by the sorcerer but, faster than Orba could predict, in front of his eyes – or no, everything he had been able to see was suddenly shut away in darkness.

“What!”

The sword he had jabbed forward tore through shadows. About to pitch over, he was just barely able to stiffly brace himself. He could only halt his movements and ready his sword once more.

In all directions: darkness.

He couldn’t even see his own hands and feet, nor the gleam of the steel whose weight was in his hand.

Orba took a single deep breath. Then he held it and, like a wild beast, let his five senses work at full throttle to try and detect any sign of the enemy by scent or from the flow of air.

He did not know how long he remained there quietly but at a time when his eyes would have adjusted had it been a normal darkness, a red light suddenly shone to Orba’s side.

Quickly raising his sword, he turned to face it while shielding his eyes. The colour of flames was flickering up there. By the time he felt the heat against his skin, a wall of fire had risen to above his height all around him.

''Is it an illusion or…''

He couldn’t make a wrong move. Were these flames supposed to burn Orba to nothing or would his blind spot be attacked while his attention was focused on them?

Just then, he noticed that the air was flickering behind him.

''There?''

Without saying a word, balanced on the tip of his toes, Orba rotated his body at the same time as he swung his sword in a wide motion. The tip suddenly went still. Behind the mask, his eyes wavered. The one who stood there was not the abhorrent sorcerer. Nor was it a swordsman dressed and armed all in black.

“Orba,” said the man.

“Brother.” As his own voice burst out, Orba felt dizzy. How many years had it been since he had called out that word?

The one before him was without doubt his brother Roan.

But his brother’s face was pale and the hand stretched out towards him was wet with blood. Unwittingly, Orba stepped back. Alice was also beside Roan. Her clothes emitted a pale, flickering light. The scene of the village being set ablaze vividly resurged in Orba’s mind.

And behind the two of them was the unmistakable figure of his mother. Of his mother who had somehow lost her spark and whose eyes had grown dim after Roan had left for Apta.

''No''. This wasn’t real. But even though he knew that, Orba couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. They were the people he had never stopped searching for. The people he had already lost. Every time they took a step closer to him, the colour returned to their faces, their clouded eyes grew brighter and they smiled at Orba with the same appearances they had had when they were alive.

“Orba, Orba. What’s wrong?” Roan’s expression was one of gently chiding his rowdy little brother.

“Really, what’s with the mask?” Alice giggled. “You’re playing at heroes again, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be going back home soon to give your mother a hand?”

“That’s right.” His mother – like she always did whenever she saw that Orba had been in a fight – gave a smile that was half exasperated, half resigned. “I won’t tell you to be more like Roan. But you can’t stay a child forever. Honestly, you get more and more like your reckless father every year.”

''Stop''.

He was supposed to have said that out loud. He had meant to shout it at the top of his lungs. But his lips were trembling and much less speak, he couldn’t even move a single step away from there, letting the ghosts draw near him.

Roan extended his hand and was about to touch his shoulder. In that instant, a feeling of inexplicable disgust surged throughout his entire body.

“Stop!”

He shook away the hand and leapt two or three steps back. He raised the tip of his sword and put himself on guard.
“What is it, Orba?”

But without his having noticed it, Roan’s figure no longer stood before him but was by his right arm and had seized hold of his hand that was grasping the sword.

“That’s right, didn’t I tell you you’ve played enough?” Alice was at his left. She held his arm immobile with surprising strength and laughed softly in his ear. “Or perhaps…”

“Do you want to kill us?”

His mother approached from in front. Her lips slowly curled upwards, forming into a ghastly smile, tearing up higher and higher. And from that mouth a different face emerged, slimy with blood.

“Yeah, are you going to kill? Like you did us?”

At some point, the number of people around Orba had increased. The faces dripping with blood were those of all the gladiators that he had cut down and of all those he fought on the battlefield.

Flames crackled behind him. They always seemed to decorate his fights.

And there was one more –

This time, Orba almost screamed. Breaking away from among the ghosts, walking unsteadily towards him, was Oubary Bilan.

=== Part 3 ===

“Y-You.”

A broken-sounding voice escaped from Orba’s mouth.

Oubary Bilan.

When his brother Roan had left as a soldier for Apta, he was man who had let him die. He was the man who had then burned the village that Orba and the others had taken refuge in.

He should already be dead. Orba had not landed the death blow when he caught that hated enemy in a trap but had successfully pinned the blame on him or the Crown Prince’s assassination. He had believed that he should already have been executed.

But that man was now approaching him, his whole face covered with soot.

“Impostor.” Oubary opened his burned, festering lips and spoke. “A fraud posing as the crown prince. Why did I have to be killed by the likes of you?”

“Why, why!” Orba screamed. His body was still being restrained by Roan and Alice. As Oubary drew closer, Orba’s eyes were filled with murder. “You should know why. You brought it all on yourself. Isn’t that right!”

“No,” Oubary pointed straight at Orba. As the finger was completely smashed, more than half of it dangled loosely. “You are not a noble lord. And yet you manoeuvred a great many people and killed a great many people. That is a privilege allowed only to those who bear a duty. Even though your existence is not recognised by the populace, you brandished your fake authority merely for the sake of your own goals and of your own desires. And then you killed. And killed. And killed. And killed.”

Killed, and killed, and killed…

The gladiators echoed Oubary’s voice like a chorus. The frightful sound encircled Orba and overwhelmed his ears like the reverberations of a tolling bell inside a narrow bowl.

Perhaps so as not to lose to it, he shouted, “It’s because you killed. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had to kill anyone!”

“No, no, no, no,” the pallid ghosts all shook their heads at the same time. “The one who killed Oubary was you. The one who killed Roan was also you. You were the one who cut down Alice and your mother and cast them into the flames. You who tossed duty aside from the start and wanted nothing but the privileges, you who murdered the innocent populace, who put branded slaves to the sword, who built a pile of corpses in your life.”

Oubary’s hand stretched out in the air. The crowd of hands of the gladiators followed it. And the hands of the soldiers.

Feeling as though his heart would stop, his field of vision filled completely with those hands, Orba watched as they approached towards him.

He was no longer able to tell if they were illusions or not. The voices of the dead had reawakened the pain concealed in the deepest part of his heart, exposed it and twisted it.

A scream like that of a child tore from his mouth.

The hands were approaching. The hands, the hands, the hands…

“Stop!”

He swung his sword wildly. From his haphazard swipes, you wouldn’t have thought that he was a master swordsman but, by chance, one of the approaching hands was sent flying.

At that,

“Will you kill?” Roan’s voice whispered in his ear. “You will kill, won’t you Orba? Those who get in your way, those who are inconvenient, all of them.”

“You’re wrong. You’re wrong, Brother. You’re wrong.”

“Then draw back your sword.” This time, Alice’s voice seemed to be pleading with him. “Don’t kill. We’ve always been waiting for you.”

''Right''. Behind the mask, tears spilled from Orba’s eyes. He didn’t want to hear anyone’s voice. He didn’t want Roan or Alice or his mother to condemn him. He had only been focused on revenge. Even while knowing that what was lost could never be regained. Even so, he had had no other purpose.

“Come, Orba.”

“It would be good if you were here.”

“You don’t need to be afraid or to hesitate anymore. We will gladly take your heart. And then, we can all be together for ever.”

“Come on, Orba.”

“Come on.”

Half stupefied, half in a sort of ecstasy, Orba looked up at the crowd of hands descending upon him. The strength had left his body and the tip of his sword also hung down.

And then, he was enveloped.

Innumerable fingers stroked his skin. Those fingers that he felt slowly crawl over his arms, legs, torso, back, groin, granted him the same feeling of relief as when he had been an infant, sleeping cradled in his mother’s arms.

''Right''.

All of his tension melted away into the darkness, his fervent heart was smoothed out under those fingers and seemed to disappear. The swarm of fingers reached the nape of his neck then crawled up towards his lips.

Orba was on the verge of abandoning himself to that soft sensation. In a corner of his mind, a voice echoed incessantly, warning him that if yielded now he would never be able to return to the real world, but now that voice, the voice of instinct, was merely an annoyance.

Behind the mask, his eyelids slowly started to drop. The sensations from his body were now far away.

Almost everything that made Orba, Orba was crushed and scattered under the onslaught from that black wave until finally, even his consciousness grew murky.

Meanwhile, Garda was right under Orba’s nose. He had neither concealed himself nor called forth a shadowy dimension. The darkness that had wrapped around Orba was no more than the shadows within his own heart.

No matter how great or noble a person might be, there was no one whose heart was entirely encased in impenetrable steel armour. Somewhere, there would definitely be a spot that was weak and soft and on the other side of which, everyone harboured shadows to a greater or lesser extent.

When Garda seized hold of someone’s heart, his first step was to amplify those shadows. If his purpose was merely to remove an opponent, there was no need to go beyond that. A person who was swallowed by their own darkness had their heart destroyed.

Garda smiled triumphantly at the swordsman who had dropped his weapon and fallen to his knees.

“Hmm,” he chuckled, “he might be usable.”

He was the man who had killed Kadyne’s sorcerer, who had gathered the routed soldiers together and had brought them to Eimen. And furthermore, he had after all chased Garda down all the way here. So once this battle was over, he intended to brainwash Orba and make him into one of his personal guards – in other words, into one of the black-clad swordsmen. Just as it had with the maidens he had kidnapped, it would take time for Garda to sift through his very memories and alter them himself.

“And so, you’re going to be in agony a little longer. I need to strike another blow against that western lot so that they don’t get carried away.”

When he once again gazed into the jewel within his bracelet, the state of the battle was changing. The soldiers glared at each other on the blood-soaked plain, unable to tell who was a friend and who was a foe.

There was still people engaging in combat but at some point the low moans from the wounded and the sound of the wind had grown greater than that of rough voices and shouts.

Garda focused his mind and closed his eyes.

Those on the battlefield did not notice that at that moment, the air carrier, after having disgorged its many soldiers, was visibly jerking and squirming, like a flying ant putting up its last resistance after having been crushed by a human hand. Garda had hit it with the ether that was swirling around the battlefield and had swatted it towards a group of soldiers who would probably soon make their way to Eimen, with the intention of dropping it on their heads.

Whether they were allies or enemies no longer mattered to him. If he could ultimately weaken the enemy's chase and delay them, then that small bit of time would allow him to leave for Zer Illias by airship..

From that demonic capital, in which far greater stocks of ether were stored than here, he would ambush whatever few opponents remained. Naturally, that wasn’t what he had initially planned but given how things were turning out, he didn’t have any choice.

“It’s fine. Troops can easily be scraped together again. But since you defied Garda to this extent, know that you will never have another peaceful night. I will obliterate the western people and utterly drain your souls of ether.”

With both hands, he traced a complicated pattern in the air. The air carrier’s large frame undulated. A blaze seemed to burn within the ether-emitting engines.

Garda smiled broadly.

“Ah yes, Princess of Taúlia. Send me stronger ether. Open your heart to the point of being as one with me, then consecrate your all to me. Just a little more, just a little more and I will grant your wish.”

Thereupon, the mist rising from Esmena grew denser and the movements of the air carrier grew correspondingly fiercer. The jewel fragment in Garda’s brow turned a colour that was impossible to describe and emitted an ominous radiance. Sensing a strong surge of ether within his body, he laughed out loud.

“Yes, so that your beloved Gil Mephius will be revived!”

At the same moment, like wind blowing from far away, the name “Gil Mephius” brushed past Orba’s ears.
Suddenly opening his eyes wide, he became aware of the innumerable hands encircling him and of the innumerable faces surrounding him behind them. The dead who had been raised from his memories drifted in this space outlined by flames and dyed a grotesque colour, neither black nor white, as they smiled at him, cursed at him, spoke to him.

But amongst them, there was one who had its back to him.

''Who is that?''

Preoccupied by that person, Orba’s vanishing consciousness surfaced as though rising from the muddy depths of an ocean.

''Who are you?''

Orba called out repeatedly. As he did so, other faces and swarms of hands got in his way and prevented him from seeing, while the figure seemed so ephemeral that it looked like it might disappear in an instant. But –

''Ah!''

When the person glanced over his shoulder and turned his profile towards him, Orba’s re-surfacing accelerated.

“You’re…”

A pair of eyes looked out from a suntanned face. His build was somewhat on the small side for a fighter but he was extremely nimble and smoothly escaped whenever Orba seemed about to catch hold of him. Somehow, that figure was perfectly identical to the one Orba saw whenever he stood in front of a mirror, and so he called out a name.

“Gil Mephius.”

The man standing opposite him seemed to part his lips slightly. But not into a smile with any warmth. It was an unpleasant smile, one that made the recipient feel as though they had been hit by a wave of utter contempt and disdain.

“You, why are you here?”

For some reason, he felt extremely agitated. “He” should no longer be in this world. Meaning that it couldn’t be the real Gil Mephius. Orba had replaced him and, after struggling through numerous battles, he was supposed to have buried Crown Prince Gil with his own hands.

''Are you scorning me? Me, who even used innocent people and killed them?'' Orba wondered for a moment but then, the ghosts that had been about to bear down on him turned their hostility against Gil Mephius, even though he should be the same kind of phantom as they were.

Each of the dead bore the faces of soldiers from the opposing side of the battles that Orba had been in command of as Gil. There were Garberan knights, Mephian fighters who had risen in rebellion with Zaat Quark, Taúlian soldiers and warriors from Ende.

Faced with that vast number of ghosts, Gil again seemed identical to Orba in body and spirit. His blade flashed before Orba’s eyes, glittering red as it reflected the flames.

“Stop,” he almost said unintentionally. But Gil didn’t display the slightest hesitation as he cut them down one after another. The ghosts were careless and nowhere near good enough, and they seemed to jump up merely for the sake of being killed by Gil once again.

Heads whirled, limbs flew and as each one lost part of their body, they sagged in Orba’s direction.

“Stop, stop, stop.”

But even as he cried out –

''What is there to hesitate about?''

Orba heard a voice like his own within himself. Or rather, wasn’t it the voice of Gil Mephius’ phantom?

''I was the one who killed them. Whether I defeated them directly myself or whether they were killed by someone following my orders. Why should I need to hesitate about killing them again? After all, they can’t rest in peace unless they accept their own death''.

To Orba’s stupefaction, the thing that looked like Gil Mephius shook off the ghosts and as he watched, walked towards the flames that surrounded the area. He seemed to have chosen to commit suicide. But, just as Gil was about to step into the fire, the ghosts that he had cut down jerkily staggered up. Gil raised his hand as though giving an order to his subordinates and, looking like puppets hung from strings, they climbed on each other’s shoulders, joined hands and feet, then fell forward, creating an arched bridge that extended over the sea of flames.

Without hesitation, Gil firmly trod on the bridge formed by their backs and started to cross it.

“Wait!”

This time, Orba felt horribly afraid of being left behind by Gil Mephius and unthinkingly chased after him. Just like Gil, he was about to step on the ghosts’ backs when,

“Orba.” Roan’s voice called out once more. It wasn’t chasing him from behind however. It came from in front, from exactly the direction of the “bridge” that Orba was about to place a foot on.

“Hii,” he let out a strange voice. The ashen-skinned ghost whose arms and legs were intertwined in a complex pattern with those of other people was Roan himself.

“Where are you going, Orba?”

“Are you going to leave us and run away?” With Roan’s hand wrapped around her foot, Alice formed part of the bridge. Further beyond, he could see his mother and people that he recognised from the village.

“Orba wouldn’t do something like that. Isn’t that right?”

“Right. You’ll stay with us here forever. Since that’s your wish.”

Roan and Alice’s voices once more drew up from behind him so that Orba felt like he was being attacked from all sides by echoes that seemed layered one on top of the other.

Gil Mephius, who had reached the summit of the bridge’s arch, turned to look back at Orba who stood petrified with horror.

''You’re not coming?'' He asked with his eyes. He sneered. ''Are you afraid? That you will never meet these people again? What a complete idiot''.

“What!” As Orba bellowed reflexively, Gil smiled faintly and suddenly vanished. In his place, a voice was projected from far away.

''Lord Gil''.

Orba’s eyes widened in surprise. Now that Gil was gone, he could make out the end of the bridge. Something was flickering. At that one, single point, the surrounding darkness lifted slightly and what lay beyond it could just be seen.

Garda was there. And standing as though to block the way between him and Orba was Esmena. Perhaps by some trick of the ether, this time Orba could see the wave of magic power rising from her. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at the sight of what looked like a giant hand tightening around Esmena’s delicate body, as though to squeeze every last drop of lifeblood from her.

Amidst that, she sobbed like a child, incessantly,

''Lord Gil, Lord Gil, Lord Gil''.

As her heart called the name of a man she had met no more than once or twice, the princess of Taúlia wept. The tears trailing down her cheeks were the colour of blood.

Orba gulped.

''I’m…''

He felt himself unable to move. It was different from when the ghosts’ hands had been holding him back. It felt as though rather than his arms and legs, something within him, a softer, less tempered part inside of him had been seized hold of.

In front of him, a bridge of corpses. Behind him, a crowd of ghosts drawing ever nearer.

For some reason, at that moment, Esmena’s anguished voice and figure overlapped with those of completely different people that he could perceive on the other side of the rising flames. He could see the figure of the mother who had died protecting her child when Kadyne was set ablaze. And mixed with Esmena’s cries, he could hear those of the young mother who had lost her child and who was clawing at the surface of the road.

The sound of swordfights shook his eardrums. It seemed to him that he was seeing actual images of his comrades and of the western soldiers who were still fighting.

The clammy heat of the flames licked his entire body. The beat in his chest pounded until his ears hurt.

Of course, even if he stretched out his hand, it wouldn’t reach Esmena. The wails and gasps of agony of the people and soldiers filled his ears and echoed directly inside him.

''To get to them'' – he had to step on the dead that now stretched out before him. He would have to shake off those he had lost and had never stopped longing for.

Orba understood. Why Gil Mephius had appeared among the semblances of the dead. His heart overflowed with emotions and desires that he hadn’t been able to grasp hold of since taking revenge on Oubary. And then –

Esmena’s hair now swayed platinum and the figure of a completely different girl was projected before him.

A girl with a strong gaze who steadfastly looked him straight in the eyes. Orba, who wore a mask of falsehood, had always fled from those eyes. Even now, the girl directed them right at him.

Orba lowered his head.

''I’m…''

But immediately raising his eyes, as though pulled towards that strong gaze, he trampled on the ghosts’ backs. Treading firmly on Roan’s head, stamping on Alice’s back, feeling the heat rising from the flames below, he raced across the bridge.

“Wait.”

The ghosts behind him simultaneously emitted hostility and crossed onto the bridge, stretching a crowd of hands towards him once more.

“Wait.”

“Wait, wait. Are you running away?”

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re leaving us behind. You’re banishing us. Are you planning on running away?”

''No'', as he looked back, Orba brandished his sword. As it hummed through the air, he cleaved at a single stroke through the swarm of pursuing hands and through the very shadows themselves.

He wasn’t a bystander this time. Orba swung his sword as an expression of his own intent.

''I’m not running away. Rather…''

Orba did not avert his gaze from the resentful eyes turned towards him, and even though the surrounding darkness had cleared away, he gave his body over to them.

=== Part 4 ===

Orba’s body suddenly grew very heavy. It was the weight of a body and heart that others had entrusted themselves to.

Noticing Orba’s voice when he coughed violently, Garda’s face showed surprised.

“What!” Seeing Orba starting to stagger to his feet, Garda’s expression then momentarily turned to one of utter amazement. However, “Eei, I don’t have time to deal with you. Sleep a bit longer!”

Genuine animosity finally darted from his eyes as he pointed his staff towards Orba. Just as darkness seemed about to spill from it once more, Orba closed his eyes.

He had encountered many “Roans” on the battlefield. The faces of the phantoms he had just seen flittered across the back of his eyelids. Here in the western lands of Tauran, he had witnessed more than enough people like his mother and Alice who had lost their families and their everyday lives when their towns were burned down.

''It’s already…'' What hesitations did he harbour within himself, what decision had he reached?

He lifted his hand and held the edge of his mask with his fingers.

“Whatever a mere human does, it’s useless,” Garda sneered as he was about to cast magic on Orba a second time.
At the same moment, Orba removed his mask.

“It’s me, Princess. Gil Mephius!” He yelled at the top of his lungs.

Of course at that time, Garda could not possibly have guessed. That when the swordsman removed the mask concealing his face, he would still be wearing another “mask”. And that as soon as that “mask” appeared, the flow of ether emanating from Esmena would rapidly dry up.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v06 312.jpg|thumb]]
Life almost instantly returned to her face that had been blank and as that of one who was dreaming. A reddish tinge spread over her cheeks and a steel grey sparkle appeared in her eyes. Orba yelled again,

“Mephius’ Crown Prince Gil Mephius didn’t die or run and hide. I’m here!”

At the same time as Esmena’s expression was struck with surprise and tears spilled from her eyes, Garda looked towards her in confused dismay.

“What is the meaning of this? This…”

At that moment – Orba’s feet kicked the ground.

As sharp as an arrow, he covered the distance between Garda and himself. The startled sorcerer again escaped backwards at a speed that seemed unthinkable for his age. But Orba’s steps did not halt. He leaped up and brought his sword down towards his opponent’s head. Garda held up the staff in his hands.

Orba’s feet landed on the ground. The tip of his sword instantly changed direction and swept towards the sorcerer’s heart.

“Guh!”

Garda staggered, clots of blood smearing his beard, but he still hadn’t lost his tenacious fervour for life and he swung the staff once more, stopping Orba’s sword as it lunged towards him.

The shock ran through his arm. That strength was also unthinkable for an old man. That too was probably the power of sorcery. For a while, both of them fought without speaking.

“Send it!” Garda yelled, blood spraying from his mouth. “Send the ether in Zer Illias to me at once. Do you hear me, Tahī? What are you doing!”

What happened at that moment in that area that only a sorcerer could understand? Garda’s face wore an expression of far greater astonishment than it had when the supply of ether coming from Esmena was severed.

“Why, why? My ether is being sucked up. What’s going on? It’s as though… there isn’t a pathway towards me!”

“Garda.”

“Yes, I’m Garda. Garda himself.”

Pressing on with strength, Orba suddenly sprang several steps forward. He gave a shout that almost sounded mad and, just as Garda raised his staff in defence, Orba’s sword drew a glittering arc.

The wind it raised was still whistling as, this time, steel drove into Garda’s head.

With a dreadful expression, his eyelids peeled back from the whites of his eyes as blood trickled from their outer corners, the old sorcerer collapsed without a word.

Something fell from Garda’s head. The jewel fragment that had been at his forehead. Even though it had seemed deeply embedded, as though the jewel itself had lost its power along with its owner’s life, its ominous glow faded and it looked like any valueless stone as it rolled to the floor.

His breathing ragged, Orba gazed down at the remains of the man who, just a moment earlier, had been on the verge of controlling all of the western lands. It was clear that the heat was rapidly being snatched from the body. It was always the same thing. His heart that had seemed to be set ablaze in the moment he brought the fight to its end was cooling down along with his body and in its place he experienced a sense of futility and lethargy.

“Moldorf, Moldorf!”

He heard a woman shouting. When he looked, he saw that Moldorf, who had collapsed, was starting to regain consciousness. Lima Khadein – although of course Orba knew neither her name nor her identity – was kneeling beside him and had lifted him up in her arms.

“P-Princess,” gasping for breath, Moldorf raised his upper body.

He stared at the sobbing Lima in a daze then looked around the hall in utter amazement. His eyes travelled between Garda’s corpse, the mask that had tumbled to the floor and then towards Orba.

“B-Boy. You. You did it!”

Silently, without so much as smiling, Orba simply gave a slight nod. Moldorf heaved a sigh that seemed to come from the depth of his being. After a moment, he appeared to be concerned over something and separated himself from Lima, who was still holding him.

“Princess. I pointed a spear at you. I am unworthy of being in your presence like this.”

“What are you saying. Moldorf, I am in your debt.”

“If my aim had been off by even a fraction, I would have taken your life, Princess… No, at that moment, I even thought that even if that happened, it didn’t matter. How could someone like that ever face Kadyne’s royal family again.”

“Yes, Moldorf. You were kind enough to kill me.”

“P-Princess.”

Tears glistened in Lima’s eyes and, nestling close to the bearded general as though to the man she longed for, she took his arm.

“I am the one who lead Kadyne to ruin. You killed that person that I was and in doing so saved me. I thank you, Moldorf. You are a true protector of the royal family.”

Having come to that point, Moldorf finally allowed himself to weep. His figure, as his shoulders heaved and he shook with sobs, greatly resembled that of his younger brother.

As Orba was watching that scene, he felt a presence standing before him and turned to face it.

“A-Are you…” It was Esmena Bazgan. Her eyes round, she stretched out a trembling hand. “Are you, Prince Gil? Are you truly His Highness, Gil Mephius?”

Orba didn’t answer. Although his mask had fallen within reach, for some reason, it seemed terribly far away.

“Am I still being tricked by Garda’s magic? Is this another sweet illusion? Please, Your Highness. Please say something. Please say that you are Gil Mephius.”

The tears flowing from those steel grey eyes seemed ceaseless. Orba shook his sword and blood flew off it.

“Princess, I…”

His voice wouldn’t come out to give the name. His eyes also avoided Esmena’s. He knew that he only had to say a single sentence. All he needed to say was “I’m Gil Mephius.” But,

“I’m –”

All he could manage was to repeat that. Then,

“It doesn’t matter.” As soon as Esmena cried out, Orba could feel himself being warmly embraced. “It doesn’t matter. A dream or a phantom, it doesn’t matter. Your Highness Gil! Please, even if it is only a dream, please stay like this a while.”

As she sobbed, Esmena clung to Orba with unexpected strength.

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| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume6_Epilogue|Epilogue]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter5

2017-02-13T12:37:06Z

Double Check: typo mistake "father's" to "grandfather’s" (was referring to the grandfather in the story)

==Chapter 5: Conference==
===Part 1===
Ax Bazgan had received the notice while in Taúlia’s Memorial Shrine.

“A request for an audience from Mephius’ Prince Gil, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Did he send a messenger? I won’t receive such a notice!”

Ax glared at the surrounding soldiers and slaves. He had little patience for when things progressed without his involvement.

“No,” the soldier delivering the message answered palely, faster than the slaves could tremble in fear at having roused their master’s anger. “Amongst the soldiers imprisoned, several have been freed. They carry a message from the prince.”

''Say that sooner,'' Ax’s blatantly showed on his face as he angrily took the letter from the soldier.

Ax Bazgan. Now aged at forty-one and as the seventeenth head of the Bazgan House, he stubbornly named himself the eighth Zer Tauran king succeeding after Yasch Bazgan, and it went without saying that he was the acting governor general of Taúlia.

With a large build and veins constantly bulging across his wide forehead, his eyes, characteristic of those of mixed Zerdian and Mephian blood, were a metallic grey, and though his eyes held vitality, there was a certain dimness to them.

“A conference in the Gajira Plains, is it. Hmph, not a single mention of our attack. I’m being underestimated here.”

Staring at the kneeling soldiers as if he blamed them for their defeat in the first battle, Ax tossed away the letter. Promptly catching it was the the strategist Ravan Dol, who waited behind him. Ax gave a sharp stare at the old man whose eyes followed along the letter’s words.

“Your strategy also came to nothing. Looks like you couldn’t predict that Garbera would conspire with Mephius to set up a cowardly trap for us. Thanks to that, I’ve lost soldiers and even had two precious long-range cannons stolen!”

“I believe I warned you it was too early.” Not the least bit perturbed by his lord’s anger, Ravan continued to scan the letter. “But the one who willed it saying this was a chance that wouldn’t come again was you, Lord Ax, despite me saying we should wait at least a week after Garbera withdrew. Because the enemy numbers are clearly so few, we wouldn’t know where they’d set ambush in wait. I had warned you over and over that if we didn’t carefully scout them out, the possibility we would be caught in a trap was high.”

“You must be satisfied, having my honour sullied like this in front of my men.”

Ax’s mouth bent in irritation. And shortly after, his simmering eyes softened a little.

“...Well? What do you think the Mephian prince’s aim is?” he asked in a surreptitious voice.

The old man, whose dark-brown wrinkled body was wrapped over by a single rudimentary cloth, replied,“I highly doubt he has hidden his soldiers to perform a surprise attack. It might be to restrain us or to ascertain the extent of our damages from the defeat by seeing it with his own eyes.”

“Hmph, I’ve also considered those. That damned greenhorn who was only able to win thanks to Garbera’s timely aid is getting ahead of himself.”

“Garbera also has to tend to its affairs with Ende, so I suspect they will not stay for much longer. Short of soldiers, Prince Gil should be wanting to temporarily settle everything with his victory. Thinking along these lines, there likely won’t be any reprimands on our attack at the conference. Instead, he should be offering to negotiate with us.”

“Won’t there be any reinforcements from Mephius?"

“They did display movements almost as if they had predicted our attack, but the one to arrive to aid them was the Garberan army. It appears the reports describing the friction between Guhl Mephius and his son can be trusted.”

“Hmmm.”

Ax paced around the shrine’s hall. Step. Step. The irritation dying his face disappeared with the echoing of each footstep. Inside the Historical Memorial Shrine were the remains, documents and treasures accumulated over the Bazgan House generations shrined in a circle: mountains of jewels, models of temples, golden armours, and coffins engraved with pictured hieroglyphs. Even now, they told not only Zer Tauran’s, but also the Bazgan House’s splendour and brief glory. However these were not his ancestors’ bearings but rather mostly items plundered from province storehouses or those they bought back with money.

“Gil that coward...looks like he went crying to Garbera because he knew he had no backing.”

Ax bashed his fan against his palm. That too was an item handed down the Zer Tauran generations and furthermore, an item more important than anything else that could be found in the Memorial Shrine. Encased in its relatively thick handle was the Dragon’s Claw, the one item the Bazgan House brought with them when they fled Zer Illias. Ax held dearly onto this relic that was also known as the sovereign’s seal of the magic dynasty, and never allowed it to part from him.

He dreamed to take back the Bazgan House’s glory and power within his generation, no matter the cost. Ax drilled his soldiers, bought weapons from the north, and devoted himself to training the dragons everyday. Although many years had been spent repeatedly skirmishing with the other Tauran provinces, he had finally completed preparations to carry out large-scale military operations together with the northern Eimen. Eimen was one of the few comrades that valued the Bazgan House even after Zer Tauran’s dissolution and the country Ax’s older sister married into.

But half a month earlier, reports coming from Eimen suddenly ceased. According to the rumours that travelled past the desert and grasslands, three provincial states including Eimen had been integrated into an emerging power. The leader of this emerging force named himself a magician who could control the ancient arts, even referring himself by some blasphemic name and using some ridiculous power. But it was a fact his influence was spreading. And this magician had declared he would revive the former Zer Tauran with himself as centre. He had also decreed that, in accordance to the past oath, ‘all Zerdians are destined to gather under me’.

''That the likes of a magician dares to resurrect a country that rightfully belongs to the Bazgan House!''

Ax nearly lost himself in his rage. The other fortress cities were also shaken. Some feared this mysterious power that could overthrow three cities in the blink of an eye, while some burned with ambition that if they owned this power they would be able to revive the Zerdian’s country and leave behind their names amongst the rivalling lords. However, Ax belonged to neither group.

This much was as Noue foresaw. Ax wanted to immediately mobilise his army and destroy this abominable magician himself. However,

“This is a chance that won’t come again, my lord.”

Ravan Dol had whispered to his ears.

Naturally, many states would try to resist this magician. But they would also have doubts whether this was an opponent they could face off alone. This was where the Bazgan House’s legitimate successor, Ax Bazgan, was meant to bring the forces togethers as its central figure through an alliance and rout the magician. Then he would permanently seal the impromptu alliance and declare the birth of a new Zer Tauran.

“However, in order to do that, Lord Ax,” Ravan sternly cautioned him, “you must make a show of power. Lineage may denote your noble origins, but that alone will not make people follow you in these turbulent times. First, you need power. Unwavering power exemplifying the creation of a new Zer Tauran.”

It was for this reason Ax set his sights on Apta. He would first take the fortress through sheer might, and then form alliances with the remaining Zerdian provinces. With their combined might, they could fend off any attack from Mephius while resolving the course of action to best engage the magician’s forces. Or, it was possible the Zerdians that became the magician’s subordinates would, at that time, be incited by the Bazgan House’s strong spirit and rebel against him.

“Certainly, if Garbera and Ende break out into war, it would throw the continent centre into disorder which is favourable for us. It is a time that won’t come again. Still, those Mephian curs. I thought they’d definitely aid Garbera and move their army towards Ende, but they haven’t even sent a single platoon out from Solon yet. Aren’t they being too cautious with us?”

“I wonder. In any case, there’s nothing in Apta but Prince Gil’s own forces. It’s already the third day, but scouts have reported no movements from Solon. Ax-dono, you should agree to the conference. It would do well if we also directly probe the enemy’s intentions.”

“All right.”

It was his occasional display of irritation and anger on his face that Ax demonstrated the great trust he placed in this old man. He made a generous nod.

“Regardless of the conference’s outcome, we have to continue preparations for war. Ravan, the new breed of dragons you mentioned, if we use—”

And before he could finish speaking, a piercing scream rang out. Fast as Ax drew the sword from his waist, a single maid came running into the Memorial Shrine.

“My lordship! The princess...Esmena-sama is!”

Hearing the pale maid’s frantic cries, Ax stopped in alarm.

“After me!”

Ordering the soldiers, he left the Memorial Shrine and travelled the inner castle walkways with haste. He wrenched his way through two, and then three bronze doors, leading into a garden surrounded by tall walls. A young girl was moving falteringly through a ceilinged passage that connected into the garden. What was bizarre about the scene was how despite there being three maids desperately clinging onto her legs and back, her strides were adamant and the girl continued walking, easily pulling them along as though unaffected.

“Esmena.”

Ax called her name sharply. However Esmena Bazgan did not respond. Her unkempt figure dressed in a thin nightgown unsteadily and insistently advanced forward, her gaze wandering absentmindedly.

“My lord!”

As Ax began running over to his daughter, his soldiers pinned his arms from behind.

“It’s dangerous! That bastard’s foul magic may have caused this. We don’t know what danger—”

“Eei, let go of me! I don’t care! Hold her down by brute force if you have to!”

Receiving this order, the fearless soldiers, adding onto the maids, held down Esmena. This time, being pinned by armoured adult men, even Esmena could not move. Ax had also shaken off the soldiers’ restraints in that interval and went running over to his daughter kneeling down on the pavement.

“Esmena, get a hold of yourself! Esmena!”

“...sama. …..sama”

Her normally faintly rose coloured lips were pale, and she continued speaking in delirium.

“Yes, your father’s<ref>Ax believes Esmena is trying to call out otou-sama, which means father.</ref> right here. Esmena, get a hold—”

“...r, da-sama, gar, da, sama, Garda-sama!”

Roughly alongside his daughter’s raised cries, the soldiers and maids also raised unsettled screams.

''Impossible!''

Gnashing his teeth, Ax grabbed his daughter with both hands. Her face was in contrast a crimson red, her eyes were narrowed in ecstasy, and her breaths came in ragged gasps. The nineteen year old Esmena, as if to bely her usual innocence, was now plastered in a bewitchingly feminine aroma.

“Garda-sama, Esmena is here. Garda-sama, won’t you come see me?! —Garda-sama!”

“That’s enough!”

In an outburst of anger and alongside some hint of jealousy, Ax slapped his daughter on the cheek. Esmena blinked with a start as if something had been knocked out of her, and placed one hand against her throbbing cheek.

“F-Father? I—Why am I...?”

Returning to her usual self, she stared at her father who gripped her by the shoulders. Ax breathed a deep sigh of relief. Oppositely, unease filled those eyes of hers whose colour mimicked her father’s.

“Could it be...that I...again...? Ahh, th-that’s right. I saw that dream again. Within the deep darkness, a voice from within a dreadful whirlpool layered like folds beckoned me. Countless hands reached out from there and grabbed my shoulders, hair, feet...”

''Ahh''. His daughter covered her face both hands, crying face down. Ax hugged her.

“Don’t worry. Everything’s all right. It’s just that you have a sensitive heart and were a little disturbed by those weird rumours about Garda’s revival.”

Giving a glance at the maids, he signalled them to escort her all the way to her room.

Even after Esmena had gone, the surroundings remained in tumult for some time. ''Tch''. Ax smacked his lips.

“I hope no weird rumour starts up again.”

“Will things really stop at a rumour?”

Saying this was Grand Duke Hergo Tedos, a man who had supported Taúlia after his father and was also currently an existence much like Ax’s right-hand man. His dignified face was now white as a sheet.

“Garda was a man serving as a Ryuujin priest in the former Zer Tauran. I hear that even after our founder Jasch Bazgan passed away, he defended the Zer Taúlia capital to his last. His whereabouts, along with the other claw, have faded...”

“And now, in 200 year’s time, you’re telling me he’s been revived? Ridiculous,” Ax spat out.

He tried to make a show of courage, but as he remembered his daughter’s spellbound face that he had seen close up, he could not suppress that feeling of something freezing over within him.

''This makes the third time.''

Esmena Bazgan had suddenly slipped out of bed, and like a sleepwalker unsteadily attempted walk out the castle while calling Garda’s name. The first time, he’d heard she tried to seduce the door guards stopping her.

Ax was furious and was even about to cut their heads off right that instant to prevent the news from leaking. But just as he was going to do so, he was stopped by Ravan Dol.

To his horror, this type of incident appeared to have been occurring throughout the western lands. Young maidens of high stature all similarly muttered Garda’s name and wandered the castle night and streets with entranced faces like pilgrims trying to make their way to the former Zer Illias temple.

This was hard to believe, but nothing except magic could elicit such eccentric behaviour from his own daughter.

“Ancient magician or not,”

Ax’s face grew sterner and he ran his hand against the fan hanging on his waist.

“There’s nothing steel can’t cut. Stay firm, Hergo. I’d like to believe there’s no soldier so weak-willed he’d get disturbed by gossip, but there’s always that one in a thousand. Superiors must make a show of their valour.”

“Besides, our current enemy is Mephius. The Mephian imperials may name themselves descendants of the Dragon God, but they don’t actually expect any idiot to believe that, do they?” Ax scoffed.

He was a man who lived through the feuding west. Even if he harboured fears within, Ax was no fool that would so easily let it come on his face.

===Part 2===
The conference took place in the Gajira Plains, distanced equally between Apta and Taúlia. It was across the Yunos River and seven kilometres west through mountainous terrain within Taúlia dominion. Ax thoroughly investigated the area in case some uncalled-for schemes from the enemy awaited him and set up tent.

There was still a bit of time until the promised noon. The sky was cloudy, and lukewarm winds blew aimlessly. It was unpleasant weather.

Ax led a mere twelve soldiers here. Other than that, there was only two airships he had prepared to to survey from air. It was to show of Ax’s boldness, but there was a crowd in his surroundings.

“Seems the lord of Taúlia is having a meeting with Mephius’ prince!”

“I wonder what kind of person the Mephius successor is.”

They were the people living in the nearby villages, and desperately trying to get a closer look across the fence the soldiers had set up.

In the western world that prospered the collapse of countless powers whereby(and) the prospering collapse, the Bazgan House’s history was all the more long and its people’s lives also protected. In the other regions, it wasn’t rare for rulers to change several times in the span of a year, and each time, the governing body would be thrown into disarray and the people wheezing in hardships, to only have the soldiers and mercenaries turn burglar and assault them frequently. Many things happened that disrupted peaceful living.

“Should we drive them away?”

A soldier from within the tent asked as he pushed the opening to look outside.

“Leave it, leave it.”

Ax shook his head as he wiped the sweat off his neck. It was humid.

“Our Taúlian people are dogged. Even if you drive them away, they’ll immediately conceal themselves and watch us. Did you know? When there’s a struggle nearby, there’s even a bunch that bring boxed lunches to watch it,” Ax said straightly.

And though his people’s backbone was clear as day to him, that same notice did not reach so far as to his own blood relations’ action-taking.

In a place separate from where the citizens gathered, were people viewing the conference spot from far away. A man leading his horse and a hooded women closely cuddling up to him. Their appearances were suspicious, so a soldier had called them to a stop and asked to remove the hood, but then they were immediately driven away.

“I wonder if he was ordered to by father.”

“I gave him plenty of threats. That guy knows what will happen if he angers me.”

“Well,” the girl spoke in a laughing voice that rang out like a bell, “you sure are scary, Bouwen. Even if you are reputed as the gentle boy that loves birds and flowers.”

“P-Please stop it, princess. Look, we don’t know who might be watching.”

The one with his face reddening was the adopted son of Grand Duke Hergo, Bouwen Tedos. He was still young, some would even say child-faced, but he was also a general commanding a part of Taúlia’s army; those eyes that occasionally kept watch of the surroundings were stern.

And the woman referred to as ‘princess’ was Ax’s daughter, Esmena Bazgan. Unlike her father whose forehead was surrounded by incessant wrinkles, her features were extremely gentle. Her big eyes glistened with curiosity and her luscious lips naturally broke into a smile.

“Aah, outside feels great! As I thought, I can’t go being holed up in my room. It feels like my body and mind are rotting. That’s why I had that repulsive dream.”

Bouwen returned a smile, though in fact, he was looking at his childhood friend three years younger than him with heartrended thoughts.

''That she can say a cloudy day like this, with such ill-blowing winds, feels great...''

It should be considered extremely depressing weather. The princess, raised under Ax’s fundamentally overprotective bearing, had been confined in her room since the aforementioned disturbance with the nightmare, and additionally guarded by some several dozens of soldiers; a state of house arrest. Surveillance so strict that taking even a single step out the door warranted her father’s permission, and that might cause her to raise the white flag before the various nightmares could.

''Although, even with assigning that many guards, it’s a fact things will end up like before. It’s abnormal.''

All the soldiers he questioned on guard duty that evening heard the princess’ weeping. And their memories from thereon had been completely wiped. When they were discovered, everyone—those outside the room, those in the corridors, those on the roof were all fast asleep.

Everyone. There was not in the slightest way this was simple negligence.

''Magic that affected a covered distance was from more than 200 years ago. Why would that manifest now—''

Bouwen ground his teeth, when the people rose into a stir. A single air carrier appeared as a dot under the ashen sky. It drew closer before their eyes. It appeared to be a cruiser-class ship. Bouwen had collected his share of information on Apta. Since the prince had not used any ships when he departed from Solon, that would make it the sole carrier available in Apta.

From it, small airships launched, carrying its passengers to the ground.

“Ho, so that’s…”

Bouwen muttered. Esmena also watched them intensely. Descending were five people. It went without saying the leading youth was Mephius’ first prince, Gil. He was lightly armed, but as per custom, he placed the sword hanging on his waist onto the ground.

He walked up halfway towards the tent. Ax exited and exchanged words of greeting.

“I’ve heard stories, but he’s surprisingly young.”

Bouwen glared at the young successor of his longtime enemy Mephius with piercing eyes. These were turbulent times such that it wasn’t rare for men to adorn their first campaign at the age of thirteen or fourteen, but seventeen was a bit too young to be attending a meeting as a country’s representative.

''That is...a person from a different country.''

Esmena murmured in an inaudible whisper. Although there had been merchants from other countries that came to Taúlia, the number Esmena could meet were severely limited. Especially with those from their historically contested enemy, the Mephians, although she had heard many stories of them.

''Well, I wasn’t really expecting them to be any different from us.''

Seeing them with her own eyes, she nodded convinced. There was no way they would have horns or tails, and she didn’t see them as that savage. Mephius’ prince was certainly young, but she could also see all his retainers valiantly confront her fearsome father. As proof of that, her father tried to invite them into the tent, but the prince declined and pointed to the surrounding ground.

After her father made the usual sour face, he ordered the soldiers from inside the tent to set up a long table and chairs. The prince had likely proposed to hold the meeting outside. Before long, her father was seated across from him.

''What could they be talking about?''

As far as Princess Esmena was concerned, even this trivial matter was like a great adventure to her. It was a heart-pounding excitement.

Above all, the prince of their archenemy. Esmena unwittingly felt herself drawn towards this youth who carried features from a land unbeknownst to her. That might have been an omen of the future.

“Now then, O’ young Mephian prince,”

Ax Bazgan initiated.

“Our ancestors have long since thousands, and tens of thousands of years past, explored our homeworld and settled into these lands, handing them onto us. We have succeeded their frontier spirit, but their decennial oath sworn in the lands of the Seirin Valley was ultimately never fulfilled in ten years time.”

“So long as there is merit, I shall not seek conflict.”

“That’s right,” Ax shook his head. “‘These vast lands and boons are before us. Why do we fight and divide them?’ —Those are famous lines used even in plays, but in the end, humans are beings who inflate to match their insatiable desires. In the midst of the battle against the former inhabitants, the Ryuujin Tribe, the one to turn his gun on his own brothers was none other than one of the five sages who established the decennial oath, an old female scientist.”

“You’re well informed.”

“And in this way, we now shed our blood competing with one another. I won’t say anything clever, like how this is truly absurd. However, if a futile battle can be avoided, I believe there’s nothing better than to do so. I’ll say this outright, Prince Gil. Withdraw from Apta.”

“That’s a really interesting proposal.”

Prince Gil grinned and looked back into Ax’s eyes.

''This damn greenhorn’s getting ahead of himself.''

Of course, Ax did not think once he would obediently accept the proposal. He was observing Orba's behavior taking a high-handed attitude, regardless of his character.

“Once I obtain Apta, the west’s power balance will undergo a drastic upheaval. Within two years, no, in under a single year, I will unite it. Moreover prince, I’ve prepared to form an alliance with your Mephius.”

“My thoughts of avoiding a battle are the same, Lord Ax. All the more reason why there should be no need to put things off. We should join oaths of friendship ''right here, right now''.”

“And who would believe that the prince and I joined hands and pledged here? You aren’t the emperor yet. When a man of no credence hopes to get something, he must provide some definitive compensation in return. That would be Apta. It is to our mutual benefit that—”

“I don’t have the least intention of leaving Apta.” Gil’s expression remained unchanged. “Bazgan-dono, you’re saying selfish things. It’s you who desperately wants the alliance with Mephius so you can focus on the west.”

“What?”

“But you’ve been in conflict with Mephius for a long time. As far as the Bazgan family is concerned, it has been stirring into its men that Mephius is their longtime enemy. That you would just join hands with that enemy without gaining anything is bound to brand you a coward and traitor. That’s why you first tried taking Mephius’ fortress through armed might.”

''Tch. I won’t be able to strike a deal with this one.''

Saying it so outrightly like this would only cut off both sides’ path of retreat. Ax irritatedly flexed his hands over his lap.

''Or could it be he even hopes we have a frontal collision? No—if that was the case, then he wouldn’t have gone out of his way to request an audience like this.''

Gil had his own weakness. Ax was of course aware of this, but he was hesitant if he should actually say it. That would really be the final straw in cutting off his final path of retreat.

“Prince Gil, aren’t you being a bit discourteous? It was you who proposed this meeting. As a matter of fact, I expect you to return the men you took prisoner using your cowardly traps as compensation for responding your invitation.”

“Do you still not understand, Lord Bazgan?”

“What is it that I don’t understand?”

“The one who triumphed in battle was us, Mephius. And the ones who will continue to triumph shall also be us. However, I’ve been thinking of having Taúlia function as a buffer between us and the west. That’s why I didn’t storm you by force. It should allow you, Lord Ax, to concentrate on unifying the west without worry of being attacked from behind. It is ''we'' who are offering you our hands.”

“Ho—”

Ax felt a violent rage surge within. Ax had never engaged with a man who irritated him this badly. He felt as if his long-standing Bazgan House’s authority had been trampled under his feet. So he too, finally unleashed those words he had locked within himself.

“I see. Triumph, huh. I’ll concede that. It was you that cornered my beloved vassal Natokk and his men, who fight so heroically. But all of that was because you had Garbera’s reinforcements! They cannot stay in Apta forever. Now, when the time comes, O heroic Gil, can your forces alone withstand Taúlia’s onslaught?”

“That is…”

Even Gil’s spirit had dampened from that, and he averted his gaze. A feeling of relief washed over Ax as he saw this, but it appeared the warning had been ''too'' effective, and he suddenly raised his head.

“That was a declaration of attack, huh. You heartlessly refused our hand, and insist on shedding blood in battle to the bitter end, is it? Very well. I, Gil Mephius, shall neither run nor hide. Even without Garbera’s troops, do you believe I will be defeated by a swindler like you?”

“What?!”

While Ax’s roar continued to resound in the surroundings, Orba kicked himself up from his chair, turned around, and hurling orders to his soldiers, once more rose into the sky. Completely dumbfounded by his actions, Ax Bazgan did not make a move during that time and watched as the airship was taken into the cruiser disappearing into the ashen sky.

“How dare he,” Ax roared in a fit of anger as he beat the fan into his palm. “A mere kid dares to sully my honour? Ravan! Ravan Dol, are you there?!”

“I’m here,” the old strategist replied, sticking his head out from within the tent’s curtain to confirm the situation. He approached Bazgan, his eyes turned away from the commotionally astir people.

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v03_209.jpg|thumb]]
“It’s as I’ve heard from the rumours. He’s a fool. Words won’t reach him! Ready the preparations. Once you’ve confirmed Garbera has left the fortress this time, attack them immediately. We’re doing it over!”

“Please wait, my lord.”

In contrast to the lord who almost seemed to have steam blowing from his ears, Ravan Dol was as cool as could be.”

“It is a trap.”

“A trap?”

“As far as rumours go, that prince is neither foolish nor without discretion. He likely has some plan. Provoking us into attacking is a part of it. Well, if he was truly discerning, he would also be able to tell bad acting when he sees it.”

“Are you trying to make fun of me, or are you giving me advice? Which is it?” Ax demanded, clenching his teeth. “But still, a trap you say? I don’t believe it. That an ignorant greenhorn would draw up such a plan. Then as I suspected, it means the Garberan reinforcements are coming.”

“I’ve set watch over the roads connecting to Apta, yet there are no signs of it. That in itself is stranger than strange. Hmm...my lord, why don’t we take up his invitation?”

“What are you saying? You’re the one who called it a trap.”

“There is a big difference between charging the enemy without knowing anything and moving your forces aware that it is a trap. Even if the enemy forces may be lurking somewhere, purposely provoking us can only mean one thing. They are waiting for us. Understanding even that much allows us to proceed a number of ways.”

Ax watched as Ravan Dol stroked his chin saying this with ample confidence. “Fine,” he said, and reached out to grab the fan in his waist. He flicked the stem of the golden-stringed fan against his lap.

“No matter what, I’ll see to it that he gets on his knees begging and never sees a peaceful sleep ever again. This time, I’m heading out personally!”

He declared with a face worthy of a man who had charged through many battlefields.

On the other end, some distance away, Esmena Bazgan’s shoulders were trembling.

“I wonder if it will turn into a war.”

“It will.” Bouwen’s young face flushed red. “The lord is making that sort of face. This could become the decisive battle with our longtime enemy Mephius.”

Esmena kept silent. She was uneasy and fearful but somewhere else the figure of the prince who had come from another land she’d just seen had, like a heavy boulder, impressed itself and submerged deep into her heart.

''Garda...''

It dealt a blow to Esmena Bazgan so heavy it was enough to dispel the darkness she’d seen in the midst her dreams. To phrase it more commonly, at that time Esmena experienced something akin to love at first sight.

===Part 3===
The prince’s proclamation of war against Taúlia had circulated inside Apta Fortress for half a day.

The place became a riot—or so one would think, but a large number calmly received this piece of news. Things were more or less due to turn out this way, and with the prince’s quick wit now revealed, they figured the prince must have worked something out.

''However,''

Vileena thought,

''That is all because everyone believes reinforcements will be coming from the Solon capital.''

In her opinion, that probability was exceedingly grim. She had tried indirectly asking the imperial guards but couldn’t get any sure proof. In a week from now, Oubary Bilan, who will have finished suppressing the slave’s insurrection, was set to make his way to Apta, but by then it would be too late.

Further into the next morning, the forces Noue Salzantes led had at long last pulled out to return to their own country.

“Is there any message you’d like to give to his majesty or your mother?”

Just before he left, Noue had gone to Vileena to offer his farewells. Vileena thought over it a little, but shook her head.

“I had written them a letter before. That should be enough. If I get too unrelenting, I’ll surely get scolded.”

While smiling, Noue never lost the meek expression in his eyes. They unspokenly enquired, ''Is it fine for you to stay here like this?'' And all the more reason because she understood this that Vileena pretended not to notice it.

“More importantly, I trust father and mother in your hands.”

“I understand.”

That Noue was pulling back meant the outbreak of war with Ende was drawing near. Like previously, Vileena stood and saw Noue off, and once that ended, she strolled the fortress interior accompanied by Theresia and caught her target.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“W-What’s the meaning of what?”

Darting his eyes was the Imperial Guard, Shique.

“It may be presumptuous for a woman to speak matters of war, but the way things are now the chances of victory are slim. I’m sure Prince Gil is thinking of something, but would you happen to have any knowing of this?”

“Aah, no, the likes of me is not something he’d reveal his innermost thoughts to…”

“Stop lying,” Vileena declared assertingly. “Whenever that person sets something into motion, the few of you will unquestionably carry the brunt of the strategy. The ones he trusts most are you.”

The moment Vileena mentioned the word trust, she felt a slightly bitter emotion stir within her chest.

''I’m amazed she’s noticed.''

Theresia silently stood behind Vileena not showing any change.

''I had thought something was weird when the one she decided to catch was Shique.''

At a glance, he was a gladiator used to handling women, but before Princess Vileena, he was the one to stand most at attention. Vileena undoubtedly grasped this intuitively. He was awkwardly respectful towards herself, and couldn’t give her the cold shoulder.

''That Vileena-sama could resort to this kind of device is proof she has become a splendid ‘woman’. Well, I can’t say there’s much appeal in taking it this far. It’s much more becoming of Vileena-sama for her to do this unknowingly.''

Sure enough, Shique was cornered speechless. Seeing Shique shift his sights in search of help, Theresia took a step forward.

“My, princess. You are troubling Sir Shique. Why don’t you let him off at that?”

Because she was prevented from cracking down on Shique, Vileena’s bounded destination was all but one.

Vileena stood still shortly, as she delved into that feeling of having finally getting closer to her purpose.

These past few days, or rather since she had come to Mephius, she had been conflicted with problems that ate away into her. Should she move as the Garberan princess, or the fiancee of Mephius’ crown prince?

Simply, what was it that she should do?

These all too burdensome worries felt more than she could handle, but after speaking with the Imperial Guard, Orba, that load somewhat lightened. And it was then that she had a revelation.

“At times like these Vileena,”

Suddenly, she could hear her grandfather’s voice in her ears. She had a revelation.

''I remember now!''

Her grandfather had said that ‘people stop being the self they were when they were born’. When she had the conversation with Orba, those contents had begun to resurface, but Vileena could now vividly recall it by word.

''Occasionally there are times when a person is created from shouldering a position. Even people that no one holds expectations from, when given the appropriate post, cheer up and fulfill them.

Fulfilling them means carrying the necessary responsibility that comes with it.''

“That might be similar to acting someone’s life in a play.”

Her grandfather Jeorg Owell smiled at the young Vileena as she listened obediently.

“They wear a mask that is the ‘post’, and do their best to perform the most suitable personality. They might laugh at you thinking you’re doing a monkey show, especially in the beginning. They might call you incompetent. No matter what the mask, given the necessary time to play it out, they will grow used to wearing it. Before they know it, their surroundings will also grow used to it. The more they get used to it, the more naturally they and others will perceive it. They’ll grow more and more into your role. By then, the mask will have become a part of the person’s face.”

“Then what will become of the flesh on that person’s face?”

That was when she was 11 or 12—if she remembered right, that was her age at the time. Towards his granddaughter who asked him impertinently, Jeorg laughed with a “Hm?”

“Will the flesh on the face disappear? Will it be replaced with the mask?”

“There are those where it does disappear,” Jeorg said without any signs of deceit. “There are also those who can skillfully wear both their skin and flesh, conflicted over which is the real them. Take for example, Vileena.”

“Yes?”

“I am the previous Garberan king.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m also Ainn’s father, as well as your grandfather.”

“Yes.”

“Which is the real me?”

“Both of them are real.”

“That’s right.” Jeorg made a wide smile and placed his hands over Vileena’s shoulders. “Having you say that both are real to me makes me really happy. But even I wasn’t born wearing the mask of ‘king’. At the beginning, I was also confused by this mask I was half-forced into putting on. There were also relatives who pointed fingers behind me saying it didn’t suit me. I could even feel the flesh on my skin slowly disappear bit by bit, and that also terrified me.”

“Yes.”

Vileena also made a terrified face and felt her grandfather’s cheek with her finger.

“As for whether I can skillfully use both the flesh and mask, I do not know. No, at some point, the mask started becoming my flesh. Should I say that they’ve fused together to become one, or that one of them was torn apart without me knowing, I still do not know at present. Say, Vileena.”

“Yes, grandfather.”

“You’re also my granddaughter, Ainn’s daughter, and Garbera’s princess. You might be someone’s best friend, and someone’s enemy. Before long, you’ll become someone’s lover, someone’s wife, and someone’s mother. Each time they add onto your face, you mustn’t turn away. It’s fine to think, it’s fine to be lost, but you mustn’t never run.”

Having her father say this to her with a stern face, Vileena also stiffly nodded.

“If there ever comes a time when you no longer know which is your real face, as you anguish, anguish, and grieve. At that time, Vileena, look into the mirror and do ''this''.”

Saying this is Vileena, her grandfather pulled his finger over one eye and stuck his tongue out.

“Once you do this, the mask will naturally come undone and you’ll feel yourself seeing the real you.”

Vileena had been surprised for a moment, but she immediately broke into a giggle and wrapped her arms around her grandfather’s neck and hugged him.

“Princess?”

Theresia called out worriedly to the princess who had stopped walking.

“A mask...”

Vileena had since been pondering, that wasn’t it her halfway position her half-hearted self? That as well, was one such mask. As long as one desired it, they could remove it at any time. And yet, at some point, her face had been usurped by the mask.

The only thing remaining then, was her resolve. Would she bear her fangs as Garbera’s princess playing the poisonous snake sent into Mephius, or would she resolve to bury her bones as a Mephian princess.

“I, Vileena, cannot decide on either.” Speaking her honest thoughts, Vileena faced her unseen grandfather and spoke. “However, everything is clear to me. There is one thing I ''want'' to do right now.”

“Princess? Princess, is something the matter?”

Theresia had finally felt uneasy that something might have happened, when Vileena quickly began walking off.

Just as Theresia thought she was retreating to her bedroom, Vileena stopped in front of a large dresser and took a deep breath in.

“Blehhhh.”

Pulling down one eyelid, she stuck out her tongue as far as she could. Theresia, who had finally caught up to her mistress, in the face of this scene nearly toppled over. Vileena nodded.

“Yup.”

“What do you mean, ''yup''?”

“Okay, I understand.”

Next was to commence something similar to a surprise attack. She was abiding by her grandfather’s maxim, that speed is most prized in battle.

Prince Gil was at the fortress’ first floor in the western study. Vileena suddenly appearing had startled him, but he regained his composure.

“So you came to scold me again?”

He asked with a bitter smile.

“Am I making such a scary face?”

”Ah, you aren’t. Last time’s was more...should I say that it’s because you’re being discourteous.”

“I’ve done some learning. Should I vent my emotions on the prince, I’ll only be effortlessly driven away. Anyone opposing the prince has ended up like that.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“From your appearance, I assume you have something in mind. I take it you can win against Ax Bazgan?”

Her perfectly open question had Gil renewing his expression. Returning the book in his hand back to the shelf, he answered back.

“We’re at the disadvantage if the enemy prolongs the war. I don’t know how much reinforcements to hope for after all. So I provoked them.”

“You seemed to have talked to Noue this morning about something.”

“Yeah.”

Although Gil Mephius—Orba was a bit hesitant, he had experienced firsthand the worries and unease Vileena harboured from the time he came in contact with her as the masked gladiator Orba. He understood the reason why she, while afflicted with those worries, had come here. So he honestly answered her.

“I’ll make Ax ally us within three days. After that, I’ll have our forces hurry to Garberan territory, as promised.”

“Prince…”

For a moment, Vileena felt the breath squeezed out of her and then she looked at the prince.

“I’m repaying the debt to Noue. And also, I can’t bear the thought of being threatened by a gun and taken hostage by you.”

“But then won’t you earn your father’s displeasure if you do this on your own?”

“I was originally the incompetent prince. I’m already prepared for my share of scolding.”

At some point in time, Theresia had offered a single bow behind Vileena and excused herself. Vileena, not realising this, stepped up closer to the prince.

“It looks like I keep piling onto the questions, but still, making Ax swear allegiance in under three days is somewhat challenging. Do you have a plan?”

“I do,” the prince replied straightforwardly.

Vileena’s gaze further met his.

“Then, can I in any way help?” Vileena asked.

Orba couldn’t hide the surprise on his face.

“The princess will? Don’t you hold any doubts on my plan?”

''Now'' you bring that up? her face said. Vileena smiled thinly.

“During Ryucown’s subjugation and also Zaat Quark’s rebellion, I knew nothing. No, even if I had known, I who held doubts towards the prince, would have refused to take your hand.”

“...”

''And everytime after when I came to find out about it, I’d regret having you treat me as a child.''

As she reflected on this, her mind was painfully calm.

''But now I realize the reason I was treated as a kid was because I really, didn’t know anything. The prince is always wavering, worrying, and handing down his decisions where I don’t know it. What vexes me isn’t that he kept it secret from me—yes, it must have been because I couldn’t be of help to him.''

''That’s why right now, I want to help the prince. That’s how I feel. There’s a part that also wants to do it for Mephius and Garbera, but more than anything, those are my clearspoken feelings.''

But what Vileena actually spoke out, was this:

“This time, it’s a matter also concerning Garbera. Just this time, I’ll entrust everything to you and offer my services.”

She said, chest out, chin up, exerting her excellence. Orba couldn’t stop that wry smile from forming.

“So as I was saying, if I were to help you, feel free to tell me to do anything. This time, I won’t disobey or scold you. I’ll move as you say.”

''She’s really a changed princess.''

This too, Orba had felt at this late hour. Thus, as she would when she tries poking her head in quarrels, Princess Vileena’s cheeks blushed and her eyes shone vividly.

And then those eyes began to quickly waver.

“As I thought, it’s no good.”

“No, hold on.”

''She’s making a face like a child that’s picked up a new toy.''

Orba quickly erased the smile that seemed to form around the corners of his lips. The princess as well, had not said this for play. In fact, he could see her commendable determination and resolution surrounding her.

“Fine. I’ll also have you take a part in the battle plan.”

“Will you really?!” Vileena’s face lit up in the bat of an eye. Then what is it I should do? Use an airship to scout the enemy? Or maybe disturb them? Or should I act as decoy and distract…”

“Okay, Okay, hold your horses.”

Orba held his hand up to restrain Vileena, whose excitement was getting ahead of her.

“Then tomorrow morning, I’ll have the princess depart from Apta. Take ten imperial guards with you. Then head for Birac…Whoa, hold it, you said you wouldn’t scold or disobey me. This is a crucial part of the plan. Won’t you take my word for that, Princess Vileena?”

<noinclude>
==Translator's Notes and References==
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| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter6|Chapter 6]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter7

2017-02-08T13:57:27Z

Double Check: correcting a typo "Otba" to "Orba"

==Chapter 7: Sword’s Engraving==
===Part 1===
“You expect me to go along with such a farce?”

Ax Bazgan expressed his disapproval.

It was only the following day after he marched his army to attack them and became a defeated general, and yet he still responded arrogantly to the prince’s summons at the breakfast table. Of course, he must have suffered a great shock, but it was likely the pride of the Bazgan House that compelled him to proudly attend the meal, by not only drinking the wine but praising Princess Vileena who was seated together with them and additionally admitting to Gil’s cunning.

But as this was Gil Mephius’ invitation, Ax had refrained himself from a third helping of wine and scowled at Gil.

“I, who attacked Apta came across you at the top of the fortress, and as we fought we acknowledged each other and bravely came to an agreement not to shed any more unnecessary blood--? Sure, that might save me face, but who would believe a made-up lie like that?”

“That’s right, no one will believe it.”

“What?”

“But what’s most important is you carry out that stance. Even if it’s an obvious lie, if you firmly stick to it, you can make them think that it might actually be the truth.”

“Are you serious?”

Ax looked to his side at him incredulously. Gil--Orba gave a light smile and after giving a side glance to Vileena,

“One of my old acquaintances once said, that ‘Even if your wife finds you sleeping naked together with another woman, it does not mean you are having an affair.’”

“Ha?”

This time, both Ax and Vileena raised their voices.

“Use whatever excuse you will. You can say the woman broke out in a fever and you were warming her up because she was cold, or say she is your separated sister and how you used to often sleep together like that when you were young.”

“''Who'' would believe that?“

Even Vileena joined in objection.

“Like I was saying, no one would believe it. But if he gave up there and admitted to his infidelity, that would be the end of it. If he decides to take all the blame, then the wife will most likely stop listening to what he has to say from there on. That’s why, even if it’s a lie, even if it’s rubbish, you go through with your excuse to the end. You do it seriously, time and time again. If he gets his partner to even consider that he might be telling the truth, then it’s his win. It’s a wide difference from letting it be known it’s a lie.”

“And what kind of win would that be?”

Ignoring Vileena’s sullen remark, Orba proposed the offer to Ax again.

“What do you say? It will protect both our honour.”

“Our long years of hostility won’t quiet from that.”

Ax could guess what Orba meant by ‘both our honour’. But he fully knew letting it visually show that special consideration was being given to him was also poor etiquette.

“Very well. No matter how arduous the path, it won’t start without taking that first step.”

“It’s decided,” Orba clapped his hands. “Then settling this quickly will be best. We will return all your captured men. Lord Ax, you should also ready your preparations.”

“Preparations...Well, what preparations would they be?”

“To do it now—would be impossible. Then, tomorrow you should board your air carrier with your commanding officers and head for Taulia. We will exchange our pledges to the alliance there.”

“W-wait, Lord Gil. Aren’t you rushing this a bit? I’m sure this alliance runs opposite Emperor Guhl’s intention?”

Vileena jolted to a start and carefully watched Gil. But Gil cooly replied,

“It’s not a problem to make out of at this point. Now, you should hurry, Lord Ax. I also have to ready my preparations immediately.”

The repair of the fortress was underway, but as expected the damages were severe. There were of course, the doors, walls and batteries, and then the heart of the fortress that functioned as Orba’s living quarters was now entirely unusable. They now resided in the eastern wing of the barracks. They had managed to somehow restore it back to its shape, though it was likely only halfway done. On the other hand, it was because an alliance could be gained from this that Gil had wagered his own fortress.

To say it in other words, in the current situation where Apta could not perform its role as a fortress and Taulia effectively being Mephius’ western line of defense, if another western force were to attack Ax, Gil would not be able to send reinforcements.

Ax also understood this situation and so, gave no further protest.

And as it happened, Gil and Ax advanced through the main streets of Taulia side-by-side on horseback the next day.

They had boarded the same ship and crossed the Yunos River together, and waved hands besides another as they entered the Taulia gates and received the people’s cheers.

It was a historical moment for the Bazgans and Mephian imperials who crossed swords since two hundred years past.

Ax Bazgan was a fine actor. He responded brightly to the cheers raining down on him with a lie of some oath he had engraved on the prince’s body in battle as if he wished this from the start.

Ax always regarded Mephius as a long-time enemy. The number of subjects that held suspicions over his sudden change of heart did not stop at ten or twenty, of course. However, they all understood that with the current threat of the new mysterious growing power threatening the western nations, any further dispute with Mephius was not a good idea. And with Mephius as their ally, many hoped they would earn the Mephians’ cooperation and instead be able to defeat this ‘Garda’. Orba looked out at the Taulian landscape strewn with its giant watchtowers, and then donned the mask of the smiling prince once more and continued waving.

That night, a feast celebrating the establishment of the alliance was held in the Taulian palace.

Given the abruptness, the Taulians were unable to prepare anything too elaborate, but they still arranged an abundance of the finest food and drinks they could.

Orba was exchanging greetings with Taulia’s chief vassals as he watched the scantily clothed dancers, a staple local attraction of Tauran, dance to the uplifting tune of the flutes, when the elderly strategist Ravan Dol called out to him.

“I am inspired by your brilliant display of ability in battle.”

“No no, it amounted to a simple parlor trick,” Orba showed his white teeth. “It’s been long said that clever schemes are cheap schemes. They aren’t meant to be used multiple times. I’m still in the middle of learning the art of war as you can see. I would like to one day also receive your tutelage, Ravan-dono.”

“Haha. I am a man whose single redeeming feature lies in raising dragons. Things like the workings of battle much less, is nothing more than a side. Speaking of which, your highness, the dragons you employed appeared thoroughly trained. Possibly, more so than the dragons I’ve raised. I found ''that'' much more devastating than having suffered a defeat in battle. Do you perhaps, have a skilled dragon tamer following you?”

“A Zerdian, a somewhat unusual one, you could say. I wanted to bring her with me, but she seems engrossed in taking care of the new breed of Yunions we received from you.”

“A Zerdian…hmm,” Ravan said, tilting his head. “Then could I have seen wrongly? That was—”

“Your highness,” a lively voice came. Turning around, he found General Bouwen dressed in military uniform and sash. At his side, he was accompanied by a single girl.

“Is it true you will be departing tomorrow? Quickly coming and quickly going, aren’t you. I would have loved to talk all about the battle this occasion should you have had the time.”

His eyes were resolute and Orba could feel a determination in them that next time, he would be the one to seize victory. Not to mention, he bore a smile on his young face without a trace of grief over the loss of his men or their bitter defeat. The Tauran soldiers, it seemed, held an honest disposition. So much so that the likes of Orba felt he would get along with them much better than with Mephian nobles.

“That time will come again. I also would like to set foot in Taulia another time.” Orba received a glass of wine of Bouwen and then asked, “This lady would be?”

“She is the daughter of Lord Ax, Lady Esmena.”

“I-I am Esmena Bazgan. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The woman lowered her flaxen hair and made a bow. ''Ho—.'' Orba made an internal appraisal at her beauty. She was taller than Vileena and Ineli, though her face was still young, and also there was something about her gaze that made it look like she was dreaming. It gave a feeling of a tranquil warmth completely free of the world’s hardships or malice, and pure of suffering and destitution.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v03_279.jpg|thumb]]

Seeing her stand beside Bouwen, they looked just like a couple of similar age and height. And speaking of which, Orba spoke out,

“If I‘m correct, I believe that you are engaged to Sir Bouwen.”

“Yes,” Bouwen replied bashfully.

Esmena sharply cut in, “No, that is simply a rumour.”

She ignored Bouwen who had seemingly received a shock and then stepped forward. As if it had been an illusion, her adult-like expression tensed and she directly faced him with crimson cheeks,

“What Bouwen just mentioned before is not wrong, is it? I will get a chance to meet you again, won’t I? No, I am sure we will meet again. I, Esmena Bazgan, shall be going to visit you in the near future after all.”

''Th-This is...''

She was different from all the women Orba had met until now. She was not like Hou Ran or Ineli, and of course, neither was she like Vileena Owell. He had heard she was nineteen; three years older than Orba.

''Alice would, now that I think about it, be about the same age.''

That thought suddenly crossed him. There was nothing about Esmena that resembled her, but that one common aspect inadvertently gave Orba a sense of intimacy. It might even have made him sentimental. Orba, who looked at Esmena in a new light, and Esmena whose face turned red as a beet but did not run.

—Ax, watching this from the hall entrance, beckoned Ravan closer.

“What do you make of that?”

He asked while proposing toasts.

“What of it?”

“Esmena, just a while ago, came to speak directly with me. She said to me, ‘With the prince having come to attend in person from their end, we should also send an envoy of peace over to Apta.’ She insisted the person to bear the role be herself. I had wondered why the well-behaved Esmena would propose something like that, but it can’t be...”

“The young bring about behaviour and consequences that we, who have lost that youth to time, may find hard to comprehend.”

“It’s supposed to be the first those those two are meeting, you know.”

“Who knows. It has been quite a time since I have lost my youth.”

Ax gave a grunt.

“I’ve decided to help Mephius in order to unify Tauran. Though they may be our lifelong enemies, we may as well make the most of it having decided on this. However, that prince Gil has himself a betrothed. Presenting Esmena as first wife is one thing, but as a concubine I’m not too sure.”

“For one who calls the prince impulsive, you are plenty rash yourself, my lord.”

“Say what you want. I’m not a man who gets trapped forever by old traditions.”

“Hahaha.”

Ax ignored the old strategists sarcastic prattle.

“It would be better if we could at least receive an imperial lady fit for our Bouwen or my nephew Raswan. That way, we won’t be seen as the underdog of this alliance.”

“If you are suggesting an unmarried imperial woman, then there is the imperial princess, Ineli Mephius. Though it is a result of marriage, she is still the emperor’s daughter.”

“All right. Then let’s have them start working on it in Mephius through their connections.”

“However,” the old strategist Ravan warned, “all of that is so that we can obtain a force greater than our current Taulia. We should expect an even greater battle in our quest to unite Tauran. Do not forget that.”

“And I expect an even greater performance from you also. Defeat Garda and show me a victory that can completely wipe away the two-fold humiliation we received from Mephius,” the lord gave as a little revenge.

Ravan Dol made a grimace but immediately straightened his face and nodded. They shared an odd relationship as vassal and lord.

Soon enough night gave way to day and Orba departed Taulia just before noon. He had hardly gotten any time to rest since he had came to Apta. But Orba felt no fatigue at all. Instead his body and mind were light and he even felt he could still continue on working himself to the bone.

He also had a mountain of things to do once he returned to Apta. He needed to send a messenger to Noue and establish a time and place for a meeting, and of course finish preparations for battle. And it was around time that he wanted to learn of Solon’s reaction over the alliance he formed with Taulia.

As he said before, Orba had already sent a messenger to Solon to tell how, with Garbera’s reinforcements, they were able to desperately defend Apta. If that heightened gratitude towards Garbera and the want to send reinforcements, that was all he needed.

''That’s where I can expect movement from Fedom and his men.''

Fedom Aulin, naturally, was bound to express anger at Orba’s arbitrary actions, but at the same time he would surely come to Gil Mephius’ defence. He had been frequently keeping in touch with the anti-imperial faction, so they might gather in numbers and support him. Then there was the existence of Simon Rodloom, who most likely commanded the greatest trust amongst the nobles and imperials. And he, as Orba had seen, was a heavily dutiful man.

Within the territory of Apta, there still remained the problem of the bandits. Since his previous inspection, Orba had the former slaves sneak into the surrounding villages to find clues for the bandit’s base. If it came to it, Orba could always use a ship loaded with food and goods as bait to lure them out, so Orba wasn’t in too big a hurry to deal with them.

Lastly, was the problem of their military force.

In the battle this time, they had suffered less than half the casualties of Taulia who had lost over 100 men, but over 50 of the sword slaves wished to withdraw from the infantry. Of course, he had no intentions of straying from his promise of granting them their freedom.

''Should i try recruiting soldiers from Apta and Birac?''

When he would lead his men as reinforcements for Garbera, he would need to gather more than a good amount of soldiers. As for the recruitment of soldiers in Birac, he planned to ask for Zaj Hamann’s cooperation.

The various problems he harboured were a mountain full, but Orba found them to be worth handling and his eyes brimmed with energy. It did not compare to his days as a boy where he had to drink dirty water off the ground. It also didn’t compare to his life as a gladiator, forced into a fight to the death. The snot-nosed Orba who would pick up a wooden sword in Drought Valley and do nothing but get into fights was right now finally doing something of his own will and accomplishing it by his own strength!

“Oh? That’s quite a happy face you’re making, your highness.”

Shique said grinningly onboard the Dhum bridge.

“It happened I became acquainted with Ax’s daughter at Taulia,” Orba remarked sarcastically.

“I-I don’t believe this..”

“It’s great that you get to make Princess Ineli and these princesses cry, but I’ll be troubled if you forget your true commitment.”

For his joking tone, Shique’s eyes were painfully sharp. He was a slippery man with an easygoing attitude, but when things came to Vileena there were times he turned unrelenting.

“As if I could forget. You should also brace yourself. We’ll be headed to battle soon.”

“Wait, hold on,” Shique renewed his attitude and spoke in a whisper that could not be heard by others, “You might be fine with that, but the soldiers are tired. You should give them time to rest.”

''Ahh, two or three days should be fine. That’s enough to get plenty of rest.''

Shique expression finally turned to amazement. Orba gave a sideways glance at him and then faced forward. The lush, open sea reflected in the window in front of him. Just as that openness seemed to run on forever, he felt he could also fly on forever.

===Part 2===
Around that time, a pile of materials stacked near the dragons’ stables where repairs were underway. As far as the eye could see, there wasn’t any part of the fortress not damaged, but even amongst them the priority of the restoration of the stables was high. Of course, they were being mindful to the dragons’ condition. They locked the dragons in the cages they used for transport on the way and managed to calm them for the time being, but there was no telling when they might destroy the cages in a fit of aggravation and run away or break into a fight amongst themselves. That would result in unnecessary damage and casualties.

Even then, having Hou Ran alone was enough to make the situation considerably brighter. She would occasionally bring the large dragons along to the parade ground and have them move around, and the medium and small-sized dragons would participate in the dragoons’ training under her supervision as they currently were, so it didn’t seem very likely the dragons would build up any stress.

That day, as Krau gripped her head in pain from a hangover and drew water from a well near the dragon stables, she nearly dropped the ladle in mute amazement when she came across the sight.

Inside the cage, amidst the dragons’ clamouring stood Hou Ran. Curious as to what she was doing, Krau saw her holding a long brush also used for cleaning the decks scrubbing the dragons’ bodies. Outside the cage, a group of men stood nervously, and occasionally acted on Ran’s instructions and emptied a bucket of water inside.

“Stop, stop, what do you think you’re doing?!”

Krau ran towards her, forgetting all about her hangover. She was convinced that someone had offhandedly made a slave do this as entertainment.

“The dragons are happy when I do this for them.”

She was rather calm.

And in fact, each time Ran brushed against them, the dragons would groan facing their backs to her in a way that let her easily groom them, and wag their tails up and down.

“If I’ll be!” Krau exclaimed in wonder, but that wasn’t all she had to say. “Don’t tell me that you’re actually bad at getting these things. What about you go ask the master for an easier job?”

“An easy job. As in?”

“You’re young and pretty, ya see. All ya gotta do is stay beside him and smile. I also did that and got away from all the painful work when I was young. It doesn’t matter what your status is, cause men are simply creatures you see. Just whisper love into his ears and pull back a little shyly. And if you add on something like ‘I know our statuses are different, but even then I can’t hold back this feeling’, then that’ll be perfect.”

The surrounding soldiers at that moment were startled not by Krau’s flirtful voice but by Ran who broke into a giggle, possibly more startled than when they saw her up close to the dragons.

“I’ll teach you how to sing and dance. And then I’ll teach you the types of topics that catch a man’s interest.”

“It seems harder than taking care of these dragons.”

“It’s simple to learn. At least you won’t have to worry about being teared to shreds by a dragon’s claws or fangs. Hurry and get out. It’s dangerous! I can’t bear to watch.”

“Maybe one day, I’ll have you teach me.”

Ran stroked her brush against the side of a Baian, when another dragon pushed its back onto her insisting on its turn, and she turned around gently caressing its neck.

Having made his way back to Apta, Orba was first about to make his way to his private room, now resituated in the barracks, and finish up his work, but before he had, he suddenly remembered something.

After checking that no one was around, he reached towards his chest. Hanging there was a still somewhat disfigured medal. It weighed on his mind the entire time, but following the hectic amount of work he had the past few days, he had ended up entirely forgetting about it.

And so, Orba decided to pay a visit to the blacksmith alone. Midway, along a garden near the gates leading to the keep, he spotted the back of a single old man. Orba stopped. It was one of the blacksmiths he had seen when he performed an inspection of the fortress.

His name was Sodan, a man with disheveled hair. From his appearance he seemed quite old, but according to him he had yet to reach his sixties. Orba called his name and walked towards him. Sodan turned around. His eyes were more heavy than sharp enough to warrant him a man who could not properly hold a conversation, yet for the situation at hand he paid the proper respects to the prince.

“Is there something you need from me?”

Orba handed him the medal and made his request. Sodan readily agreed to undertake it, so Orba was about to take his leave when his eyes suddenly stopped on the numerous swords buried into the ground. It also caught his interest the last time he noticed them.

Sodan was, as it seemed, picking up the scattered swords that had fallen out of place and returning them to their original positions. Curious, Orba decided to approach him to ask.

“These are gravestones,” Sodan said.

“Gravestones?”

“These are all swords I’ve smithed. The names of dead soldiers are engraved on their blades. Though it isn’t like I’ve remembered all of them. I only engraved the names of the dead whose faces I’ve seen and remembered.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ahh, I seem to have been too short-spoken. These are the graves of soldiers who perished in Apta, is what I mean. I’ve spent the majority of my life here you see, and quite a few of those I know have died. Someone as great as the prince may not understand, but those who died in battle are all cremated together and don’t have their own graves. So I at least crave the names of those I remember and engrave their souls into the swords. But too many lives were claimed in the battle when the fortress was taken by Garbera, and the numbers here are only a fraction of them.”

''I see,'' he said under his breath. Orba gazed at the numerous swords. Names were as he said, carved on the blades. Millan, Ceed, Raphael, Angas...Orba chased after the names of these people whose faces and history Orba did not know and held no significance to him when he suddenly realized. There was something familiar about them. It wasn’t the names. There was a certain style to the engraved letters, something to it that Orba recognized all too well.

Orba quickly called out to Sodan, who had finished returning the swords to their original positions and was about to excuse himself.

“You said that a-all of the swords here were made by you.”

“Yes. What of it?”

“Do you remember ''this''?”

As if he couldn’t stand to waste a single second, Orba quickly removed the sword fixed on his belt. A shortsword sixty centimetres long. On it were engraved letters. It was his own name, ‘Orba’.

“Ho,” Sodan frowned. “That is unmistakably something I made. However, that is surely something unfitting to be carried by the great crown prince. Did you take it out from here? No, there shouldn’t have been a sword I made that size as a gravestone.”

“...I was entrusted it by a certain man. Do you remember? There should have been a man who asked you to make this for him. Could you teach me where that man went, or how he is doing in Apta?”

Without realizing it, Orba approached closer to Sodan.

With the force he approached him and that sword in his hand, it would probably seem like Orba was trying to stab the old man.

Sodan however, did not cower at all.

“I can’t say,” Sodan said thinking. “I have forged a countless number of pieces of equipment after all. They are all to me like how a child is with its toys. I can tell if it is mine and when I made it from looking at the sword’s characteristics, but I do not remember as far as each and every person I gave the swords to.”

As he said this, he reached his hand out to the sword. Orba's chest tightened, but he handed over the sword with a pained expression. Sodan narrowed his eyes and carefully examined the sword from every angle.

“The sword isn’t that old,” he mumbled. “Ten years, no not even that much, it was made five or six years ago. Let’s see, the balance between the blade and handle also feels different from a regular shortsword…...Do you know the name of that man?”

“His name is Roan.”

“Roan...Roan. Hmm. I at the least carved his name, so I do feel like I vaguely remember something, but that was along with tens of others. My memories are all getting mixed, and I can’t be sure.”

“Please. Try to remember. I’ll do anything.”

“Even if you say that...Still, I feel like this sword is somehow different from those I normally make...but as for how...”

He tilted his head for some time, then suddenly his heavy eyes opened. ''Aah.'' Orba felt his breath stop.

“I remember. It was a strange request. If I’m certain, it wasn’t for himself but his family that he asked me to make this.”

“T-That’s him. It’s unmistakably him.”

“Didn’t he dump the majority of his pay meant for himself in front of me? At the time I was fairly busy, but you could say he was a strong-spirited one and I felt myself moved and wanting to have a go. A request for a sword that a child can handle. I had never made anything like it, so it also slightly stoked my urge to make it.”

“And then? And then what happened to that man, Roan?” Orba asked him restlessly.

He had long forgotten he was currently wearing the mask of ‘Gil’.

“What happened?” Sodan slumped his narrow shoulders. “He was a regular soldier stationed in Apta. Of course he—”

It was right when Sodan began to say this.

He did not know why, but Orba, who should have only been paying attention to Sodan thought he felt an ominous presence out of the corner of his eye and turned his sights toward it. There was no one there. Just as before, there were only the numerous swords buried into the ground.

“''Ahh.''”

Sodan gave a sigh after noticing the direction of Orba’s gaze. Orba silently approached the sword with his sight nailed on its engraving and he pulled it out. Even up close it read the same. The name engraved on it was most certainly,

ROAN

“The last time I saw him was in the middle of Garbera’s siege.” Sodan’s voice sounded strangely muffled. “It was after the commanders all fled, you see but he probably did not know about that. This is what the Mephian soldiers taken captive after the fortress fell said. He encouraged everyone and fought believing reinforcements would come until the end. Afterwards, I saw his body in the pile of dead Mephian soldiers and made him a sword as a gravestone. This is my memory of him.”

“No...way,” Orba muttered, his voice cracking. “He’s a different person. There are others with the name Roan. He’s not the Roan I know...”

“He seems like a important person to you. Please wait a moment.”

Sodan returned to his workshop and brought out a bundled piece of parchment and handed it to Orba. Orba received it half-dazed and opened the paper.

The sword’s design was drawn there. Orba gulped. He could immediately tell this was something drawn by his brother Roan. It was a blueprint. It specifically indicated where the letters of ORBA should be engraved. Below it was a sketch of a person’s hand.

“Make it so it easily be held with a hand this size, he told me,” Sodan told him.

Orba trembled.

Even after Sodan stood the sword against the wall and gave his farewells, Orba did not move from that spot for a long time.

Orba placed his hand over the sketched hand. Of course, his hand already already grown much bigger and they no longer overlapped. But he was sure he could feel a warmth there.

''“See you, Orba.”''

The warmth of his brother who, for some reason, asked for that handshake six years ago.

Wasn’t that so he could prepare this? To remember and measure the size of his little brother’s hand with his own.

Orba trembled, for a long time.

At that time Vileena came to welcome the prince, but it was when he had already disembarked the ship, so she made her way to his private room only to find he had not returned yet.

She didn’t have any important business with him, but once Vileena set her mind on something she would carry it out. Be that as it may, chasing around after the prince with no important business could be considered unacceptable in itself, so she searched for some plausible reason.

''They should be having a conference for when they send reinforcements to Garbera. Maybe I should ask if I could attend.''

For the time being, she had given herself a reason that would justify her visit. Still, if she badgered him too much about it, that would only have the opposite effect. ''First, I shall give my congratulations and curry his favour.'' she reflected.

''Dealing with a child has its troubles.''

She nearly giggled. She felt she had gotten somewhat closer to this man named Gil.

Men engaged in the fortress’ repairs ran back and forth. Most of them were shirtless and Vileena could feel her cheeks reddening, but she endured it and asked for the prince’s whereabouts.

“He went up the keep’s central stairs not too long ago.”

“I see, thank you!”

As soon as she thanked him, she flung her head around and ran off. Quickly, one of the men called to her,

“The inside of the keep is dangerous! There’s a chance of collapse, so don’t enter any way with a rope up!”

Vileena waved her hand to acknowledge her understanding, but never turned back.

For no reason at all, the men exchanged glances and smiled.

When he came to, Orba was on the fortress’ uppermost level.

The majority of the uppermost level had been destroyed by the bombing, so to be more accurate this was the chamber of the floor below. Here and there the floor caved in, cracks could be found, and the room was littered with debris and dark soot. Across the upper-half of the decimated wall was the evening sky. The dark clouds crept heavily across the thin, vermillion-lit sky.

''He’s dead.''

And here, under the sight of the damaged fortress and blood-stained corridors and hillside, Orba found himself quite literally overtaken by the true sense of that word. The evening vermillion, red as blood, soaked into Orba’s eyes and had him picture himself as Roan, seeing the sprawled corpses of the soldiers lying there at the time.

''Dead?''

Just by closing his eyes, the scene at that moment vividly came to him. His brother, wearing a mismatched set of armor and helmet, brandishing his seemingly heavy sword and encouraging his friends who lost their fighting spirit, then running out believing help would come.

Orba collapsed on his hands and knees, feeling the ground beneath him might cave in at any moment.

''They’re taking too long to come.''

Droplets fell down staining the floor.

''They ''are'' taking too long to come, aren’t they, Roan.''

He knew somewhere that there was no way his brother had lived. He knew this since six years ago. And yet, if he didn’t ascertain it himself he could not accept that conclusion. It was that tiny inkling of a wish he harboured, so small that it could not even be considered hope.

And even more so after becoming the prince’s body double and finding that faint light lit towards his future.

His hope expanded again when he had jumped out where the open sun shone. He felt if he gained power as prince, he could one day reunite with Roan, Alice, and his mother.

Now, he realised it was all an illusion.

''Recruit soldiers?''

He was revolted by the he who thought that way. Those high commanders saw the simple soldier as nothing but numbers. Roan was unmistakably one of them. And without his name even being remembered, he had fallen as a corpse. Then once the battle ended, he was lumped together as nothing but a number in the casualties.

''I’m the same as Oubary. I’m the same as those rotten Mephian nobles.''

Unnoticed, someone stood frozen behind Orba breaking down into a loud wail. She stared on in surprise and, as if she had seen something she should not have, suddenly turned her back and quickly descended the flight of stairs.

===Part 3===
Things flow on without pause. Even if the same event were to happen to two people, one might blow past like the wind while another might find himself swallowed like a wave and sent to some unexpected place.

As for whether these should be called their individual fates or the simple flow of time, that would be for the people of the future to decide.

Noue Salzantes had received the following notice in the lands of Garbera.

Gil Mephius not only repelled Ax Bazgan’s forces which had marched their way into Apta but formed an alliance with them two days later.

“Fufu.”

“Lord Noue, you look happy.”

Roger, commander of the calvary, said to him. They were busy preparing for the war. Currently, the Garberan roads were filled with travelling groups of cavalrymen and infantry, and items necessary for the upcoming war.

“Not particularly. Just that with this, it has become easier to move.”

Noue smiled and left the library, exiting the living quarters. Soon the seasonal winds would blow across the Garberan lands. Now that he remembered, Ryucown did enjoy viewing the bending grass fields as he took a leisure stroll on his horse.

''Gil Mephius. I had thought he resembled Ryucown, but ''that'' is something different.''

What Ryucown possessed that Gil did not was ‘charm’. He was overflowing with intelligence and wit, but there was something of a gap to it. That gap of his was what fascinated others. Something that made others think, ‘He would be hopeless if I wasn’t there for him’. This was what drove them to want to gain his trust, and to exhibit their abilities greater than they normally would.

''However, Gil most likely does not have that leisure.''

Being watched by those eyes was unnerving. He could not tell what the man was scheming under those eyes. There was no charismatic aspect that fervidly won over his men, but it did make Noue think that he did not want him as an enemy.

''I can’t deny I’ve felt that myself on more than one occasion. But in these warring times I can’t tell how far we take this path of cooperation with Mephius. I shall make the most of it and fully gauge his capabilities while he remains an ally.''

That, to Noue, was the greatest enjoyment of all.

At the same time in the territory of Mephius, a battalion of men rode towards Apta.

At the helm, leading these 500 soldiers was Oubary Bilan. Having successfully quelled the slaves’ rebellion, he had been ordered by the emperor to head for Apta without any time to rest.

It was when he drew near Apta, a day’s travel away, that he discovered an alliance had been formed with Taulia.

“He joined hands with the foul Bazgans? Ha!” Oubary sneered, taking residence in one of the more luxurious inns in town for their rest stop. On the floor were several female slaves waiting on him that he had bought from the nearby Kiluro.

“He’s finally overstepped his line. Let him pray he hasn’t earned the emperor’s wrath.”

The decade-long war that continued with Garbera had been brought to a close through a political marriage and next, just when he thought he could deal with their lifelong enemy, the Bazgans, he found that an alliance had also been formed with them. For one such as Oubary who raised his name through battles and found that it was only through battles that he could satiate himself,

“Things are getting less and less amusing.”

-those were his wholehearted feelings.

And in the imperial capital, Solon.

Similarly to Orba who had made his way to Apta, Fedom Aulin wss swamped with a busyness enough to shave away at his lifespan. ‘Support the prince and the should the situation require it rise against the emperor’—operating under this agenda Fedom had at long last acquired an adequate number of supporters; just as he was at the point where could think this, he heard from others talk of the alliance formed with Taulia.

“I can’t tolerate this any more.”

He furiously rode his horse for his mansion located in Solon.

It was the talk of the nobles in the palace, and the majority took this as Gil’s ''defeat''. It was widely known that his thwarting Ax’s first attacked owed mainly to Garbera’s reinforcements and that in the second battle, Apta fortress had been so much as half destroyed.

Most likely, there was some ongoing situation in the Tauran provinces that he needed to turn his attention to, so he attacked Apta and threatened Gil into an alliance in order to subdue Mephius for the meanwhile. That the imperial crown prince Gil Mephius had unconcernedly come to Apta with only a handful of troops must have been like a godsend to Ax.

“It seems the prince’s grace ends here.”

Many of the nobles decidedly agreed on this. But to generals like Rogue Saian, his defeat wasn’t unreasonable.

“The prince deserves to be praised for defending with a force that small. Damn it to hell, If I had known Ax would really attack us at full force I would have pushed these old bones of mine and ran to his aid, even at the expense of rousing the emperor’s anger.”

It was the prince’s first time facing a defensive battle. In addition, there were no experienced commanders there to support him. Amongst the generals, voices of sympathy were predominant.

When the emperor received the news, he made a scornful and disbelieving sort of mutter. ''And he said he would take Ax’s head...''

“Now then let me ask you, men. What kind of letter shall I deliver to my foolish son Gil? A fatherly one of gratitude? Or a rebuke to the fool who fell behind the Bazgans, our long-time enemy?”

On the other hand Fedom Aulin, through the page Dinn, was given a more detailed report on the situation than what the other nobles had received. Included was how Orba was the one to corner Ax, and how it was by his own judgment that he decided on the alliance. He could no longer tolerate turning a blind eye to Orb’s behaviour.

''Isn’t there some sort of handy magic that Hermann can use? Something like those often found in legends and lore, that can easily control someone?''

One the one hand, Fedom was nearly about to lose himself in his anger, but this event also sprouted a response favourable for Fedom. It was because the emperor’s outrageous treatment towards his own son had prompted frowns from many of the aristocrats.

''I’ll start everything once Orba returns to Solon. Then I’ll introduce all the supporters to him. That is when my battle truly begins.''

And for that cause, he first needed to bend Orba to his will. Fedom arrived at his mansion, dropped down from his horse, loudly pushed open his door and called out Hermann’s name.

But it was his page who had come to inform him a guest was waiting. He frowned and asked who it was.

“Good day, Lord Aulin.”

Giving a glance at the young girl who smiled at him in the main room, he quickly adopted a courteous attitude.

“If this isn’t Princess Ineli. I’m deeply obliged by you specially coming.”

It had been a while since he had seen Ineli in person, ever since Zaat’s rebellion. Her already fair white skin seemed to have paled a bit more and perhaps due to her exhaustion, her eyes seemed bigger than usual. Still, Ineli released a bewitching smile that did not match her age.

“I had something to ask Lord Aulin so I took the opportunity to wait here.”

“To ask me? Well, I’m not sure if I know anything that might interest the princess.”

“It’s about my brother.”

Fedom’s forced smile momentarily turned stiff. At his reaction, Ineli turned her eyes up and asked questioningly,

“Somehow, the relationship between you and my brother has suddenly turned good. There are even a bunch of rumors spreading in the palace. How you are raising the prince, whom no one paid a glance at, and might be building a force against the emperor.”

“Truly an interesting joke.”

“Isn’t it also around that time that brother changed, I wonder.”

Ineli continued smiling. Feeling sweat overtaking him, Fedom called a page over and ordered him to prepare some tea.

“Changed….he has changed, you say?”

“Yes. Many have said that it is as if the person himself has changed, no? He saved Princess Vileena at Seirin Valley, defeated Ryucown on his first campaign, and just recently, predicted Zaat’s rebellion and prevented it before it could take place.”

“Men are creatures that can grow into a different person in the blink of three days. This holds especially for the imperials who spend their days aware of the mission and responsibility entrusted to them through their noble blood...”

“I would also like to think that,” Ineli said softly, interrupting Fedom’s words.

“But don’t you think the change is a bit too severe? That time, when I was about to be taken away by Zaat in particular. Brother chased after me on an airship and even after being shot by Zaat, he triumphed. They were things I heard of from the time at Seirin Valley and the time he fought Ryucown as well, but it was at this moment that I came to see the ‘changed’ prince.”

“As I was saying, that is...”

As Fedom was about to send a laugh,

“Yes. Allow me to jump to the point.”

Ineli elegantly lifted up the cup of tea the page brought over, pursed her lips, and took a sip.

Ineli spoke the words like a whisper. “The current Gil Mephius—isn’t he perhaps an impostor?”

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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter7

2017-02-06T13:48:38Z

Double Check: Typo mistake, changing 0n to on

==Chapter 7: Sword’s Engraving==
===Part 1===
“You expect me to go along with such a farce?”

Ax Bazgan expressed his disapproval.

It was only the following day after he marched his army to attack them and became a defeated general, and yet he still responded arrogantly to the prince’s summons at the breakfast table. Of course, he must have suffered a great shock, but it was likely the pride of the Bazgan House that compelled him to proudly attend the meal, by not only drinking the wine but praising Princess Vileena who was seated together with them and additionally admitting to Gil’s cunning.

But as this was Gil Mephius’ invitation, Ax had refrained himself from a third helping of wine and scowled at Gil.

“I, who attacked Apta came across you at the top of the fortress, and as we fought we acknowledged each other and bravely came to an agreement not to shed any more unnecessary blood--? Sure, that might save me face, but who would believe a made-up lie like that?”

“That’s right, no one will believe it.”

“What?”

“But what’s most important is you carry out that stance. Even if it’s an obvious lie, if you firmly stick to it, you can make them think that it might actually be the truth.”

“Are you serious?”

Ax looked to his side at him incredulously. Gil--Orba gave a light smile and after giving a side glance to Vileena,

“One of my old acquaintances once said, that ‘Even if your wife finds you sleeping naked together with another woman, it does not mean you are having an affair.’”

“Ha?”

This time, both Ax and Vileena raised their voices.

“Use whatever excuse you will. You can say the woman broke out in a fever and you were warming her up because she was cold, or say she is your separated sister and how you used to often sleep together like that when you were young.”

“''Who'' would believe that?“

Even Vileena joined in objection.

“Like I was saying, no one would believe it. But if he gave up there and admitted to his infidelity, that would be the end of it. If he decides to take all the blame, then the wife will most likely stop listening to what he has to say from there on. That’s why, even if it’s a lie, even if it’s rubbish, you go through with your excuse to the end. You do it seriously, time and time again. If he gets his partner to even consider that he might be telling the truth, then it’s his win. It’s a wide difference from letting it be known it’s a lie.”

“And what kind of win would that be?”

Ignoring Vileena’s sullen remark, Orba proposed the offer to Ax again.

“What do you say? It will protect both our honour.”

“Our long years of hostility won’t quiet from that.”

Ax could guess what Orba meant by ‘both our honour’. But he fully knew letting it visually show that special consideration was being given to him was also poor etiquette.

“Very well. No matter how arduous the path, it won’t start without taking that first step.”

“It’s decided,” Orba clapped his hands. “Then settling this quickly will be best. We will return all your captured men. Lord Ax, you should also ready your preparations.”

“Preparations...Well, what preparations would they be?”

“To do it now—would be impossible. Then, tomorrow you should board your air carrier with your commanding officers and head for Taulia. We will exchange our pledges to the alliance there.”

“W-wait, Lord Gil. Aren’t you rushing this a bit? I’m sure this alliance runs opposite Emperor Guhl’s intention?”

Vileena jolted to a start and carefully watched Gil. But Gil cooly replied,

“It’s not a problem to make out of at this point. Now, you should hurry, Lord Ax. I also have to ready my preparations immediately.”

The repair of the fortress was underway, but as expected the damages were severe. There were of course, the doors, walls and batteries, and then the heart of the fortress that functioned as Orba’s living quarters was now entirely unusable. They now resided in the eastern wing of the barracks. They had managed to somehow restore it back to its shape, though it was likely only halfway done. On the other hand, it was because an alliance could be gained from this that Gil had wagered his own fortress.

To say it in other words, in the current situation where Apta could not perform its role as a fortress and Taulia effectively being Mephius’ western line of defense, if another western force were to attack Ax, Gil would not be able to send reinforcements.

Ax also understood this situation and so, gave no further protest.

And as it happened, Gil and Ax advanced through the main streets of Taulia side-by-side on horseback the next day.

They had boarded the same ship and crossed the Yunos River together, and waved hands besides another as they entered the Taulia gates and received the people’s cheers.

It was a historical moment for the Bazgans and Mephian imperials who crossed swords since two hundred years past.

Ax Bazgan was a fine actor. He responded brightly to the cheers raining down on him with a lie of some oath he had engraved on the prince’s body in battle as if he wished this from the start.

Ax always regarded Mephius as a long-time enemy. The number of subjects that held suspicions over his sudden change of heart did not stop at ten or twenty, of course. However, they all understood that with the current threat of the new mysterious growing power threatening the western nations, any further dispute with Mephius was not a good idea. And with Mephius as their ally, many hoped they would earn the Mephians’ cooperation and instead be able to defeat this ‘Garda’. Orba looked out at the Taulian landscape strewn with its giant watchtowers, and then donned the mask of the smiling prince once more and continued waving.

That night, a feast celebrating the establishment of the alliance was held in the Taulian palace.

Given the abruptness, the Taulians were unable to prepare anything too elaborate, but they still arranged an abundance of the finest food and drinks they could.

Orba was exchanging greetings with Taulia’s chief vassals as he watched the scantily clothed dancers, a staple local attraction of Tauran, dance to the uplifting tune of the flutes, when the elderly strategist Ravan Dol called out to him.

“I am inspired by your brilliant display of ability in battle.”

“No no, it amounted to a simple parlor trick,” Orba showed his white teeth. “It’s been long said that clever schemes are cheap schemes. They aren’t meant to be used multiple times. I’m still in the middle of learning the art of war as you can see. I would like to one day also receive your tutelage, Ravan-dono.”

“Haha. I am a man whose single redeeming feature lies in raising dragons. Things like the workings of battle much less, is nothing more than a side. Speaking of which, your highness, the dragons you employed appeared thoroughly trained. Possibly, more so than the dragons I’ve raised. I found ''that'' much more devastating than having suffered a defeat in battle. Do you perhaps, have a skilled dragon tamer following you?”

“A Zerdian, a somewhat unusual one, you could say. I wanted to bring her with me, but she seems engrossed in taking care of the new breed of Yunions we received from you.”

“A Zerdian…hmm,” Ravan said, tilting his head. “Then could I have seen wrongly? That was—”

“Your highness,” a lively voice came. Turning around, he found General Bouwen dressed in military uniform and sash. At his side, he was accompanied by a single girl.

“Is it true you will be departing tomorrow? Quickly coming and quickly going, aren’t you. I would have loved to talk all about the battle this occasion should you have had the time.”

His eyes were resolute and Orba could feel a determination in them that next time, he would be the one to seize victory. Not to mention, he bore a smile on his young face without a trace of grief over the loss of his men or their bitter defeat. The Tauran soldiers, it seemed, held an honest disposition. So much so that the likes of Orba felt he would get along with them much better than with Mephian nobles.

“That time will come again. I also would like to set foot in Taulia another time.” Orba received a glass of wine of Bouwen and then asked, “This lady would be?”

“She is the daughter of Lord Ax, Lady Esmena.”

“I-I am Esmena Bazgan. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The woman lowered her flaxen hair and made a bow. ''Ho—.'' Orba made an internal appraisal at her beauty. She was taller than Vileena and Ineli, though her face was still young, and also there was something about her gaze that made it look like she was dreaming. It gave a feeling of a tranquil warmth completely free of the world’s hardships or malice, and pure of suffering and destitution.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v03_279.jpg|thumb]]

Seeing her stand beside Bouwen, they looked just like a couple of similar age and height. And speaking of which, Orba spoke out,

“If I‘m correct, I believe that you are engaged to Sir Bouwen.”

“Yes,” Bouwen replied bashfully.

Esmena sharply cut in, “No, that is simply a rumour.”

She ignored Bouwen who had seemingly received a shock and then stepped forward. As if it had been an illusion, her adult-like expression tensed and she directly faced him with crimson cheeks,

“What Bouwen just mentioned before is not wrong, is it? I will get a chance to meet you again, won’t I? No, I am sure we will meet again. I, Esmena Bazgan, shall be going to visit you in the near future after all.”

''Th-This is...''

She was different from all the women Orba had met until now. She was not like Hou Ran or Ineli, and of course, neither was she like Vileena Owell. He had heard she was nineteen; three years older than Orba.

''Alice would, now that I think about it, be about the same age.''

That thought suddenly crossed him. There was nothing about Esmena that resembled her, but that one common aspect inadvertently gave Orba a sense of intimacy. It might even have made him sentimental. Orba, who looked at Esmena in a new light, and Esmena whose face turned red as a beet but did not run.

—Ax, watching this from the hall entrance, beckoned Ravan closer.

“What do you make of that?”

He asked while proposing toasts.

“What of it?”

“Esmena, just a while ago, came to speak directly with me. She said to me, ‘With the prince having come to attend in person from their end, we should also send an envoy of peace over to Apta.’ She insisted the person to bear the role be herself. I had wondered why the well-behaved Esmena would propose something like that, but it can’t be...”

“The young bring about behaviour and consequences that we, who have lost that youth to time, may find hard to comprehend.”

“It’s supposed to be the first those those two are meeting, you know.”

“Who knows. It has been quite a time since I have lost my youth.”

Ax gave a grunt.

“I’ve decided to help Mephius in order to unify Tauran. Though they may be our lifelong enemies, we may as well make the most of it having decided on this. However, that prince Gil has himself a betrothed. Presenting Esmena as first wife is one thing, but as a concubine I’m not too sure.”

“For one who calls the prince impulsive, you are plenty rash yourself, my lord.”

“Say what you want. I’m not a man who gets trapped forever by old traditions.”

“Hahaha.”

Ax ignored the old strategists sarcastic prattle.

“It would be better if we could at least receive an imperial lady fit for our Bouwen or my nephew Raswan. That way, we won’t be seen as the underdog of this alliance.”

“If you are suggesting an unmarried imperial woman, then there is the imperial princess, Ineli Mephius. Though it is a result of marriage, she is still the emperor’s daughter.”

“All right. Then let’s have them start working on it in Mephius through their connections.”

“However,” the old strategist Ravan warned, “all of that is so that we can obtain a force greater than our current Taulia. We should expect an even greater battle in our quest to unite Tauran. Do not forget that.”

“And I expect an even greater performance from you also. Defeat Garda and show me a victory that can completely wipe away the two-fold humiliation we received from Mephius,” the lord gave as a little revenge.

Ravan Dol made a grimace but immediately straightened his face and nodded. They shared an odd relationship as vassal and lord.

Soon enough night gave way to day and Orba departed Taulia just before noon. He had hardly gotten any time to rest since he had came to Apta. But Orba felt no fatigue at all. Instead his body and mind were light and he even felt he could still continue on working himself to the bone.

He also had a mountain of things to do once he returned to Apta. He needed to send a messenger to Noue and establish a time and place for a meeting, and of course finish preparations for battle. And it was around time that he wanted to learn of Solon’s reaction over the alliance he formed with Taulia.

As he said before, Orba had already sent a messenger to Solon to tell how, with Garbera’s reinforcements, they were able to desperately defend Apta. If that heightened gratitude towards Garbera and the want to send reinforcements, that was all he needed.

''That’s where I can expect movement from Fedom and his men.''

Fedom Aulin, naturally, was bound to express anger at Orba’s arbitrary actions, but at the same time he would surely come to Gil Mephius’ defence. He had been frequently keeping in touch with the anti-imperial faction, so they might gather in numbers and support him. Then there was the existence of Simon Rodloom, who most likely commanded the greatest trust amongst the nobles and imperials. And he, as Orba had seen, was a heavily dutiful man.

Within the territory of Apta, there still remained the problem of the bandits. Since his previous inspection, Orba had the former slaves sneak into the surrounding villages to find clues for the bandit’s base. If it came to it, Orba could always use a ship loaded with food and goods as bait to lure them out, so Orba wasn’t in too big a hurry to deal with them.

Lastly, was the problem of their military force.

In the battle this time, they had suffered less than half the casualties of Taulia who had lost over 100 men, but over 50 of the sword slaves wished to withdraw from the infantry. Of course, he had no intentions of straying from his promise of granting them their freedom.

''Should i try recruiting soldiers from Apta and Birac?''

When he would lead his men as reinforcements for Garbera, he would need to gather more than a good amount of soldiers. As for the recruitment of soldiers in Birac, he planned to ask for Zaj Hamann’s cooperation.

The various problems he harboured were a mountain full, but Orba found them to be worth handling and his eyes brimmed with energy. It did not compare to his days as a boy where he had to drink dirty water off the ground. It also didn’t compare to his life as a gladiator, forced into a fight to the death. The snot-nosed Orba who would pick up a wooden sword in Drought Valley and do nothing but get into fights was right now finally doing something of his own will and accomplishing it by his own strength!

“Oh? That’s quite a happy face you’re making, your highness.”

Shique said grinningly onboard the Dhum bridge.

“It happened I became acquainted with Ax’s daughter at Taulia,” Orba remarked sarcastically.

“I-I don’t believe this..”

“It’s great that you get to make Princess Ineli and these princesses cry, but I’ll be troubled if you forget your true commitment.”

For his joking tone, Shique’s eyes were painfully sharp. He was a slippery man with an easygoing attitude, but when things came to Vileena there were times he turned unrelenting.

“As if I could forget. You should also brace yourself. We’ll be headed to battle soon.”

“Wait, hold on,” Shique renewed his attitude and spoke in a whisper that could not be heard by others, “You might be fine with that, but the soldiers are tired. You should give them time to rest.”

''Ahh, two or three days should be fine. That’s enough to get plenty of rest.''

Shique expression finally turned to amazement. Orba gave a sideways glance at him and then faced forward. The lush, open sea reflected in the window in front of him. Just as that openness seemed to run on forever, he felt he could also fly on forever.

===Part 2===
Around that time, a pile of materials stacked near the dragons’ stables where repairs were underway. As far as the eye could see, there wasn’t any part of the fortress not damaged, but even amongst them the priority of the restoration of the stables was high. Of course, they were being mindful to the dragons’ condition. They locked the dragons in the cages they used for transport on the way and managed to calm them for the time being, but there was no telling when they might destroy the cages in a fit of aggravation and run away or break into a fight amongst themselves. That would result in unnecessary damage and casualties.

Even then, having Hou Ran alone was enough to make the situation considerably brighter. She would occasionally bring the large dragons along to the parade ground and have them move around, and the medium and small-sized dragons would participate in the dragoons’ training under her supervision as they currently were, so it didn’t seem very likely the dragons would build up any stress.

That day, as Krau gripped her head in pain from a hangover and drew water from a well near the dragon stables, she nearly dropped the ladle in mute amazement when she came across the sight.

Inside the cage, amidst the dragons’ clamouring stood Hou Ran. Curious as to what she was doing, Krau saw her holding a long brush also used for cleaning the decks scrubbing the dragons’ bodies. Outside the cage, a group of men stood nervously, and occasionally acted on Ran’s instructions and emptied a bucket of water inside.

“Stop, stop, what do you think you’re doing?!”

Krau ran towards her, forgetting all about her hangover. She was convinced that someone had offhandedly made a slave do this as entertainment.

“The dragons are happy when I do this for them.”

She was rather calm.

And in fact, each time Ran brushed against them, the dragons would groan facing their backs to her in a way that let her easily groom them, and wag their tails up and down.

“If I’ll be!” Krau exclaimed in wonder, but that wasn’t all she had to say. “Don’t tell me that you’re actually bad at getting these things. What about you go ask the master for an easier job?”

“An easy job. As in?”

“You’re young and pretty, ya see. All ya gotta do is stay beside him and smile. I also did that and got away from all the painful work when I was young. It doesn’t matter what your status is, cause men are simply creatures you see. Just whisper love into his ears and pull back a little shyly. And if you add on something like ‘I know our statuses are different, but even then I can’t hold back this feeling’, then that’ll be perfect.”

The surrounding soldiers at that moment were startled not by Krau’s flirtful voice but by Ran who broke into a giggle, possibly more startled than when they saw her up close to the dragons.

“I’ll teach you how to sing and dance. And then I’ll teach you the types of topics that catch a man’s interest.”

“It seems harder than taking care of these dragons.”

“It’s simple to learn. At least you won’t have to worry about being teared to shreds by a dragon’s claws or fangs. Hurry and get out. It’s dangerous! I can’t bear to watch.”

“Maybe one day, I’ll have you teach me.”

Ran stroked her brush against the side of a Baian, when another dragon pushed its back onto her insisting on its turn, and she turned around gently caressing its neck.

Having made his way back to Apta, Orba was first about to make his way to his private room, now resituated in the barracks, and finish up his work, but before he had, he suddenly remembered something.

After checking that no one was around, he reached towards his chest. Hanging there was a still somewhat disfigured medal. It weighed on his mind the entire time, but following the hectic amount of work he had the past few days, he had ended up entirely forgetting about it.

And so, Orba decided to pay a visit to the blacksmith alone. Midway, along a garden near the gates leading to the keep, he spotted the back of a single old man. Orba stopped. It was one of the blacksmiths he had seen when he performed an inspection of the fortress.

His name was Sodan, a man with disheveled hair. From his appearance he seemed quite old, but according to him he had yet to reach his sixties. Orba called his name and walked towards him. Sodan turned around. His eyes were more heavy than sharp enough to warrant him a man who could not properly hold a conversation, yet for the situation at hand he paid the proper respects to the prince.

“Is there something you need from me?”

Orba handed him the medal and made his request. Sodan readily agreed to undertake it, so Orba was about to take his leave when his eyes suddenly stopped on the numerous swords buried into the ground. It also caught his interest the last time he noticed them.

Sodan was, as it seemed, picking up the scattered swords that had fallen out of place and returning them to their original positions. Curious, Orba decided to approach him to ask.

“These are gravestones,” Sodan said.

“Gravestones?”

“These are all swords I’ve smithed. The names of dead soldiers are engraved on their blades. Though it isn’t like I’ve remembered all of them. I only engraved the names of the dead whose faces I’ve seen and remembered.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ahh, I seem to have been too short-spoken. These are the graves of soldiers who perished in Apta, is what I mean. I’ve spent the majority of my life here you see, and quite a few of those I know have died. Someone as great as the prince may not understand, but those who died in battle are all cremated together and don’t have their own graves. So I at least crave the names of those I remember and engrave their souls into the swords. But too many lives were claimed in the battle when the fortress was taken by Garbera, and the numbers here are only a fraction of them.”

''I see,'' he said under his breath. Orba gazed at the numerous swords. Names were as he said, carved on the blades. Millan, Ceed, Raphael, Angas...Orba chased after the names of these people whose faces and history Orba did not know and held no significance to him when he suddenly realized. There was something familiar about them. It wasn’t the names. There was a certain style to the engraved letters, something to it that Orba recognized all too well.

Orba quickly called out to Sodan, who had finished returning the swords to their original positions and was about to excuse himself.

“You said that a-all of the swords here were made by you.”

“Yes. What of it?”

“Do you remember ''this''?”

As if he couldn’t stand to waste a single second, Orba quickly removed the sword fixed on his belt. A shortsword sixty centimetres long. On it were engraved letters. It was his own name, ‘Orba’.

“Ho,” Sodan frowned. “That is unmistakably something I made. However, that is surely something unfitting to be carried by the great crown prince. Did you take it out from here? No, there shouldn’t have been a sword I made that size as a gravestone.”

“...I was entrusted it by a certain man. Do you remember? There should have been a man who asked you to make this for him. Could you teach me where that man went, or how he is doing in Apta?”

Without realizing it, Orba approached closer to Sodan.

With the force he approached him and that sword in his hand, it would probably seem like Orba was trying to stab the old man.

Sodan however, did not cower at all.

“I can’t say,” Sodan said thinking. “I have forged a countless number of pieces of equipment after all. They are all to me like how a child is with its toys. I can tell if it is mine and when I made it from looking at the sword’s characteristics, but I do not remember as far as each and every person I gave the swords to.”

As he said this, he reached his hand out to the sword. Otba chest tightened, but he handed over the sword with a pained expression. Sodan narrowed his eyes and carefully examined the sword from every angle.

“The sword isn’t that old,” he mumbled. “Ten years, no not even that much, it was made five or six years ago. Let’s see, the balance between the blade and handle also feels different from a regular shortsword…...Do you know the name of that man?”

“His name is Roan.”

“Roan...Roan. Hmm. I at the least carved his name, so I do feel like I vaguely remember something, but that was along with tens of others. My memories are all getting mixed, and I can’t be sure.”

“Please. Try to remember. I’ll do anything.”

“Even if you say that...Still, I feel like this sword is somehow different from those I normally make...but as for how...”

He tilted his head for some time, then suddenly his heavy eyes opened. ''Aah.'' Orba felt his breath stop.

“I remember. It was a strange request. If I’m certain, it wasn’t for himself but his family that he asked me to make this.”

“T-That’s him. It’s unmistakably him.”

“Didn’t he dump the majority of his pay meant for himself in front of me? At the time I was fairly busy, but you could say he was a strong-spirited one and I felt myself moved and wanting to have a go. A request for a sword that a child can handle. I had never made anything like it, so it also slightly stoked my urge to make it.”

“And then? And then what happened to that man, Roan?” Orba asked him restlessly.

He had long forgotten he was currently wearing the mask of ‘Gil’.

“What happened?” Sodan slumped his narrow shoulders. “He was a regular soldier stationed in Apta. Of course he—”

It was right when Sodan began to say this.

He did not know why, but Orba, who should have only been paying attention to Sodan thought he felt an ominous presence out of the corner of his eye and turned his sights toward it. There was no one there. Just as before, there were only the numerous swords buried into the ground.

“''Ahh.''”

Sodan gave a sigh after noticing the direction of Orba’s gaze. Orba silently approached the sword with his sight nailed on its engraving and he pulled it out. Even up close it read the same. The name engraved on it was most certainly,

ROAN

“The last time I saw him was in the middle of Garbera’s siege.” Sodan’s voice sounded strangely muffled. “It was after the commanders all fled, you see but he probably did not know about that. This is what the Mephian soldiers taken captive after the fortress fell said. He encouraged everyone and fought believing reinforcements would come until the end. Afterwards, I saw his body in the pile of dead Mephian soldiers and made him a sword as a gravestone. This is my memory of him.”

“No...way,” Orba muttered, his voice cracking. “He’s a different person. There are others with the name Roan. He’s not the Roan I know...”

“He seems like a important person to you. Please wait a moment.”

Sodan returned to his workshop and brought out a bundled piece of parchment and handed it to Orba. Orba received it half-dazed and opened the paper.

The sword’s design was drawn there. Orba gulped. He could immediately tell this was something drawn by his brother Roan. It was a blueprint. It specifically indicated where the letters of ORBA should be engraved. Below it was a sketch of a person’s hand.

“Make it so it easily be held with a hand this size, he told me,” Sodan told him.

Orba trembled.

Even after Sodan stood the sword against the wall and gave his farewells, Orba did not move from that spot for a long time.

Orba placed his hand over the sketched hand. Of course, his hand already already grown much bigger and they no longer overlapped. But he was sure he could feel a warmth there.

''“See you, Orba.”''

The warmth of his brother who, for some reason, asked for that handshake six years ago.

Wasn’t that so he could prepare this? To remember and measure the size of his little brother’s hand with his own.

Orba trembled, for a long time.

At that time Vileena came to welcome the prince, but it was when he had already disembarked the ship, so she made her way to his private room only to find he had not returned yet.

She didn’t have any important business with him, but once Vileena set her mind on something she would carry it out. Be that as it may, chasing around after the prince with no important business could be considered unacceptable in itself, so she searched for some plausible reason.

''They should be having a conference for when they send reinforcements to Garbera. Maybe I should ask if I could attend.''

For the time being, she had given herself a reason that would justify her visit. Still, if she badgered him too much about it, that would only have the opposite effect. ''First, I shall give my congratulations and curry his favour.'' she reflected.

''Dealing with a child has its troubles.''

She nearly giggled. She felt she had gotten somewhat closer to this man named Gil.

Men engaged in the fortress’ repairs ran back and forth. Most of them were shirtless and Vileena could feel her cheeks reddening, but she endured it and asked for the prince’s whereabouts.

“He went up the keep’s central stairs not too long ago.”

“I see, thank you!”

As soon as she thanked him, she flung her head around and ran off. Quickly, one of the men called to her,

“The inside of the keep is dangerous! There’s a chance of collapse, so don’t enter any way with a rope up!”

Vileena waved her hand to acknowledge her understanding, but never turned back.

For no reason at all, the men exchanged glances and smiled.

When he came to, Orba was on the fortress’ uppermost level.

The majority of the uppermost level had been destroyed by the bombing, so to be more accurate this was the chamber of the floor below. Here and there the floor caved in, cracks could be found, and the room was littered with debris and dark soot. Across the upper-half of the decimated wall was the evening sky. The dark clouds crept heavily across the thin, vermillion-lit sky.

''He’s dead.''

And here, under the sight of the damaged fortress and blood-stained corridors and hillside, Orba found himself quite literally overtaken by the true sense of that word. The evening vermillion, red as blood, soaked into Orba’s eyes and had him picture himself as Roan, seeing the sprawled corpses of the soldiers lying there at the time.

''Dead?''

Just by closing his eyes, the scene at that moment vividly came to him. His brother, wearing a mismatched set of armor and helmet, brandishing his seemingly heavy sword and encouraging his friends who lost their fighting spirit, then running out believing help would come.

Orba collapsed on his hands and knees, feeling the ground beneath him might cave in at any moment.

''They’re taking too long to come.''

Droplets fell down staining the floor.

''They ''are'' taking too long to come, aren’t they, Roan.''

He knew somewhere that there was no way his brother had lived. He knew this since six years ago. And yet, if he didn’t ascertain it himself he could not accept that conclusion. It was that tiny inkling of a wish he harboured, so small that it could not even be considered hope.

And even more so after becoming the prince’s body double and finding that faint light lit towards his future.

His hope expanded again when he had jumped out where the open sun shone. He felt if he gained power as prince, he could one day reunite with Roan, Alice, and his mother.

Now, he realised it was all an illusion.

''Recruit soldiers?''

He was revolted by the he who thought that way. Those high commanders saw the simple soldier as nothing but numbers. Roan was unmistakably one of them. And without his name even being remembered, he had fallen as a corpse. Then once the battle ended, he was lumped together as nothing but a number in the casualties.

''I’m the same as Oubary. I’m the same as those rotten Mephian nobles.''

Unnoticed, someone stood frozen behind Orba breaking down into a loud wail. She stared on in surprise and, as if she had seen something she should not have, suddenly turned her back and quickly descended the flight of stairs.

===Part 3===
Things flow on without pause. Even if the same event were to happen to two people, one might blow past like the wind while another might find himself swallowed like a wave and sent to some unexpected place.

As for whether these should be called their individual fates or the simple flow of time, that would be for the people of the future to decide.

Noue Salzantes had received the following notice in the lands of Garbera.

Gil Mephius not only repelled Ax Bazgan’s forces which had marched their way into Apta but formed an alliance with them two days later.

“Fufu.”

“Lord Noue, you look happy.”

Roger, commander of the calvary, said to him. They were busy preparing for the war. Currently, the Garberan roads were filled with travelling groups of cavalrymen and infantry, and items necessary for the upcoming war.

“Not particularly. Just that with this, it has become easier to move.”

Noue smiled and left the library, exiting the living quarters. Soon the seasonal winds would blow across the Garberan lands. Now that he remembered, Ryucown did enjoy viewing the bending grass fields as he took a leisure stroll on his horse.

''Gil Mephius. I had thought he resembled Ryucown, but ''that'' is something different.''

What Ryucown possessed that Gil did not was ‘charm’. He was overflowing with intelligence and wit, but there was something of a gap to it. That gap of his was what fascinated others. Something that made others think, ‘He would be hopeless if I wasn’t there for him’. This was what drove them to want to gain his trust, and to exhibit their abilities greater than they normally would.

''However, Gil most likely does not have that leisure.''

Being watched by those eyes was unnerving. He could not tell what the man was scheming under those eyes. There was no charismatic aspect that fervidly won over his men, but it did make Noue think that he did not want him as an enemy.

''I can’t deny I’ve felt that myself on more than one occasion. But in these warring times I can’t tell how far we take this path of cooperation with Mephius. I shall make the most of it and fully gauge his capabilities while he remains an ally.''

That, to Noue, was the greatest enjoyment of all.

At the same time in the territory of Mephius, a battalion of men rode towards Apta.

At the helm, leading these 500 soldiers was Oubary Bilan. Having successfully quelled the slaves’ rebellion, he had been ordered by the emperor to head for Apta without any time to rest.

It was when he drew near Apta, a day’s travel away, that he discovered an alliance had been formed with Taulia.

“He joined hands with the foul Bazgans? Ha!” Oubary sneered, taking residence in one of the more luxurious inns in town for their rest stop. On the floor were several female slaves waiting on him that he had bought from the nearby Kiluro.

“He’s finally overstepped his line. Let him pray he hasn’t earned the emperor’s wrath.”

The decade-long war that continued with Garbera had been brought to a close through a political marriage and next, just when he thought he could deal with their lifelong enemy, the Bazgans, he found that an alliance had also been formed with them. For one such as Oubary who raised his name through battles and found that it was only through battles that he could satiate himself,

“Things are getting less and less amusing.”

-those were his wholehearted feelings.

And in the imperial capital, Solon.

Similarly to Orba who had made his way to Apta, Fedom Aulin wss swamped with a busyness enough to shave away at his lifespan. ‘Support the prince and the should the situation require it rise against the emperor’—operating under this agenda Fedom had at long last acquired an adequate number of supporters; just as he was at the point where could think this, he heard from others talk of the alliance formed with Taulia.

“I can’t tolerate this any more.”

He furiously rode his horse for his mansion located in Solon.

It was the talk of the nobles in the palace, and the majority took this as Gil’s ''defeat''. It was widely known that his thwarting Ax’s first attacked owed mainly to Garbera’s reinforcements and that in the second battle, Apta fortress had been so much as half destroyed.

Most likely, there was some ongoing situation in the Tauran provinces that he needed to turn his attention to, so he attacked Apta and threatened Gil into an alliance in order to subdue Mephius for the meanwhile. That the imperial crown prince Gil Mephius had unconcernedly come to Apta with only a handful of troops must have been like a godsend to Ax.

“It seems the prince’s grace ends here.”

Many of the nobles decidedly agreed on this. But to generals like Rogue Saian, his defeat wasn’t unreasonable.

“The prince deserves to be praised for defending with a force that small. Damn it to hell, If I had known Ax would really attack us at full force I would have pushed these old bones of mine and ran to his aid, even at the expense of rousing the emperor’s anger.”

It was the prince’s first time facing a defensive battle. In addition, there were no experienced commanders there to support him. Amongst the generals, voices of sympathy were predominant.

When the emperor received the news, he made a scornful and disbelieving sort of mutter. ''And he said he would take Ax’s head...''

“Now then let me ask you, men. What kind of letter shall I deliver to my foolish son Gil? A fatherly one of gratitude? Or a rebuke to the fool who fell behind the Bazgans, our long-time enemy?”

On the other hand Fedom Aulin, through the page Dinn, was given a more detailed report on the situation than what the other nobles had received. Included was how Orba was the one to corner Ax, and how it was by his own judgment that he decided on the alliance. He could no longer tolerate turning a blind eye to Orb’s behaviour.

''Isn’t there some sort of handy magic that Hermann can use? Something like those often found in legends and lore, that can easily control someone?''

One the one hand, Fedom was nearly about to lose himself in his anger, but this event also sprouted a response favourable for Fedom. It was because the emperor’s outrageous treatment towards his own son had prompted frowns from many of the aristocrats.

''I’ll start everything once Orba returns to Solon. Then I’ll introduce all the supporters to him. That is when my battle truly begins.''

And for that cause, he first needed to bend Orba to his will. Fedom arrived at his mansion, dropped down from his horse, loudly pushed open his door and called out Hermann’s name.

But it was his page who had come to inform him a guest was waiting. He frowned and asked who it was.

“Good day, Lord Aulin.”

Giving a glance at the young girl who smiled at him in the main room, he quickly adopted a courteous attitude.

“If this isn’t Princess Ineli. I’m deeply obliged by you specially coming.”

It had been a while since he had seen Ineli in person, ever since Zaat’s rebellion. Her already fair white skin seemed to have paled a bit more and perhaps due to her exhaustion, her eyes seemed bigger than usual. Still, Ineli released a bewitching smile that did not match her age.

“I had something to ask Lord Aulin so I took the opportunity to wait here.”

“To ask me? Well, I’m not sure if I know anything that might interest the princess.”

“It’s about my brother.”

Fedom’s forced smile momentarily turned stiff. At his reaction, Ineli turned her eyes up and asked questioningly,

“Somehow, the relationship between you and my brother has suddenly turned good. There are even a bunch of rumors spreading in the palace. How you are raising the prince, whom no one paid a glance at, and might be building a force against the emperor.”

“Truly an interesting joke.”

“Isn’t it also around that time that brother changed, I wonder.”

Ineli continued smiling. Feeling sweat overtaking him, Fedom called a page over and ordered him to prepare some tea.

“Changed….he has changed, you say?”

“Yes. Many have said that it is as if the person himself has changed, no? He saved Princess Vileena at Seirin Valley, defeated Ryucown on his first campaign, and just recently, predicted Zaat’s rebellion and prevented it before it could take place.”

“Men are creatures that can grow into a different person in the blink of three days. This holds especially for the imperials who spend their days aware of the mission and responsibility entrusted to them through their noble blood...”

“I would also like to think that,” Ineli said softly, interrupting Fedom’s words.

“But don’t you think the change is a bit too severe? That time, when I was about to be taken away by Zaat in particular. Brother chased after me on an airship and even after being shot by Zaat, he triumphed. They were things I heard of from the time at Seirin Valley and the time he fought Ryucown as well, but it was at this moment that I came to see the ‘changed’ prince.”

“As I was saying, that is...”

As Fedom was about to send a laugh,

“Yes. Allow me to jump to the point.”

Ineli elegantly lifted up the cup of tea the page brought over, pursed her lips, and took a sip.

Ineli spoke the words like a whisper. “The current Gil Mephius—isn’t he perhaps an impostor?”

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