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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter7

2018-01-22T00:24:35Z

MondSemmel: small grammar errors

== Chapter 7: Mirage Kingdom ==
=== Part 1 ===
“Who are you?” Ryucown asked again.

“A gladiator.”

With that simple reply, the swordsman charged at the rebel general at full speed, wielding a sword with both hands.

The blow came within an inch of Ryucown’s face, and he responded with a head strike of his own. The masked gladiator quickly distanced himself.

The wind from the high-speed exchange raised a whirlwind between the two duellists.

“A Mephian? How did you sneak in here?”

“Who knows?”

During that short exchange, the hall across from the two burst into chaos. Warriors garbed in the same gear as the gladiator clashed with Ryucown’s troops. Every member of this group was an elite fighter, handpicked for their ability to do battle in a chaotic situation.

Sparks flew and curses were exchanged. Shique was dual-wielding twin blades, decapitating one foe after another, while the giant sword-slave Gilliam swung his axe with all his might, cutting through enemy flesh even though they were in full armour.

The masked gladiator struck again. Ryucown side-stepped the blow, then brought his sword down in a vertical slash.

The swordsman steadied his centre of gravity by spreading his legs and caught the blow. He then immediately used the rebound, the instant Ryucown was pushed a step back, to launch a vicious attack.

“Oh, not bad.”

There were two, three, then numerous blows with the two locked in a stalemate.

“Tell me your name. With such skill, you must be famous.”

“Who knows.”

Repeating the words he spoke earlier, the masked swordsman – Orba – lashed out with a swinging strike.

The ‘gift’ Orba had mentioned at the Doom’s bridge earlier was Princess Vileena. He had expected there to be traitors within the Garberan camp and that, as soon as they launched their attack, Ryucown’s forces would coordinate with them for a pincer strike.

And the spies within the Garberan camp had done precisely as expected – getting close to the soldiers guarding the princess. Like this, he was able to read the enemy’s movements. And just before they took the princess off the ship, Orba swooped down on them to save her.

Then, during the confusion caused by Ryucown’s attack, Orba and his forces changed into Garberan armour, took the unconscious princess off the ship, and led a battalion of trained soldiers toward Zaim Fortress. Naturally, when Ryucown’s force saw them coming, they automatically thought their allies’ plan had been a success and even escorted them into the fortress.

Orba’s heart brimmed with excitement. He felt like he’d become a main character in one of the heroic novels he’d read when he was young. Everything was moving according to his plan, and now he was facing the enemy general one-on-one.

But,

''Dammit!''

A fourth, a fifth strike; the two warriors fought on and sparks flew with every blow.

Ryucown’s skills far exceeded Orba’s expectations. Easily predicting the young man’s moves, his opponent’s sword appeared to come from every direction. And while Ryucown’s strikes came from left, right, front and back with daring aggression, he never left any opening to exploit.

Beads of sweat began to roll off Orba’s back. He couldn’t afford to waste any time there. The longer this lasted, the more enemies would be able to reach the upper floor. If they followed his strategy, the flagship Doom should be heading toward the fortress while finishing off the main rebel force, but it was difficult for a newbie like Orba to predict how long that would take.

The only thing he could do, was to utilize every minute, every second he had to finish off Ryucown. Thus all he could do was to wield his sword, strike, dodge and feint.

Vileena held her breath as she watched the scene before her. Of course she didn’t realize that the Prince Gil she knew and the masked duellist were the same person. And although the battle seemed to be on equal terms for a while, her eyes began to see the tiniest differences between the two fighters.

During their numerous exchanges, Ryucown kept observing Orba’s techniques. The skills were there, but there was a strange personal quirk within his technique. Especially when he made a long-distance strike, he left his left side unguarded, because his feet didn’t follow suit.

Ryucown gave a thin smile. Then he stepped back.

Orba fell for the feint and followed. In that instant, Ryucown pushed himself off the ground. The point of his blade grazed Orba’s face. And when his feet touched the ground again, Ryucown positioned himself next to his opponent’s side. Pushing himself off the ground again, he raised his sword overhead, and soon enough the point of his blade touched the mask.

“Ugh.”

Orba quickly put all his strength into his back, and turned his body to dodge. Ryucown continued to press in. Unable to regain his posture, Orba realized he was being driven back as he tried to block the violent succession of attacks.

“Your plan to infiltrate is amazing.”

Although his face was covered in sweat, Ryucown was still breathing regularly.

“But it’s impossible to achieve victory if you don’t finish me off quickly. Even though you’re an excellent fighter, you already lost in the instant you couldn’t kill me.”

Orba did not have the luxury to reply. He finally realized the truth. His opponent’s skill was greater than his – he hadn’t counted on that. The knight’s swordsmanship, strength, technique, and even experience far exceeded his own. Compared to the unscathed Ryucown, Orba’s side and hips were slightly injured, and one of his armour’s shoulder guards had broken off. He was out of breath, and he could barely hold on to his sword.

In that moment, Ryucown’s troops started gathering in the main hall. The gladiators were also pushed back by their force. No longer able to defend the door, they were driven to the centre of the hall and immediately surrounded by the soldiers rushing in on them.

“Damn it!” Gilliam grunted and raised his axe.

Shique mirrored his stance. There was still a killing intent in their eyes. Knocking down a thrown spear by the soldiers surrounding them, Gilliam said,

“I don’t want to say this, but I wish Orba were here. The bastard’s an annoying one, but you can rely on that icy cold strength in a battle – what’s so funny, Shique?"

“No, no, you’re right. Although that masked guy is pretty strong, he is far from Orba, right? Oh really, if I knew it would come to this, I would’ve tried much harder to get him here.”

Covered in the blood of enemies and themselves, the duo could still joke away in such desperate straits, but the other gladiators – one had been pierced by an enemy spear, and another had his leg cut off – fell down one by one.

Ryucown was convinced the battle was over. He planned on sneaking in on Orba’s chest and, the moment the gladiator dodged out of the way, make another strike. The two swords met once more, and finally Orba’s sword was sent flying from his hands.

“What?”

It was Ryucown who cried out in surprise.

Confident of his victory, the rebel general had relaxed his stance, and in that instance Orba pulled out a dagger from his waist and attacked. He’d chosen to gamble away his weapon for one desperate attack.

''Got it!''

Loaded with confidence, Orba piled into Ryucown’s body. The rebel troops raised shouts of surprise, and suddenly the main hall was filled with sound of metal clashing against metal.

At the southern side of the hill, the armies clashed with each other under the bombardment of both sides’ artillery. The battlefield had already turned into a every-man-for-himself fight. Mephius’ and Ryucown’s troops mixed with each other in a chaotic melee, and an orange fire illuminated the moonless sky.

“Fire! Fire!!”

The old general Rogue Saian could not contain his excitement and bloodlust, thus personally led his troops on the front line. Volley after volley of shots were being fired, aimed at the line of troops.

Although the Mephian troops held superior resources and numbers, it was their enemy who currently possessed the upper hand.

At the same time, Gowen led a ten-man team to flank the enemy from the right. They had a Baian dragging two cannons along with them. They were hoping to use them to bombard the enemy, but their position was quickly spotted by a patrolling airship.

“Get down!”

As Gowen threw himself to the ground, giving out the order, a bullet flew right before his eyes. A single-seated airship nearly strafed past him and then changed directions, making a sharp ascent upwards. In the course of this action, the plane suddenly lost its balance. One of the gladiators had clung to the tail of the ship. The other gladiators quickly came swarming over, dragging the pilot from his airship.

Although they continued their advance, Gowen’s heart was cast under a shadow of impatience.

For Ryucown’s forces, this assault was as good an opportunity as ever. Probably stirred by instigators, part of the Garberan army had turned traitor and struck a blow to the Mephian army, sending them into confusion. They didn’t need to completely annihilate their forces, inflicting 20 to 30 percent casualties was sufficient. With that much, the Mephian army would no longer see the value of another nation’s territory and withdraw.

It was a perfect opportunity. Which was why for someone like Ryucown, who didn’t need to think about retreating, there would be no holding back. He would use all of his forces – and it actually went just as Orba had predicted. Weaving their way through that gap, Orba and an elite set of forces slipped into the fortress in order to put an end to Ryucown. And after driving away the enemy’s main force, Doom would head for the fort at the same time and occupy it.

That was the idea, but…

According to Orba’s plan, the Garberan camp should’ve immediately joined up with Mephius. Even if their side had fallen into confusion, they would have enough forces to contend with and crush the enemy forces, but the Garberans had made no move. In a free-for-all, confused battle, even their messages became jumbled. He’d be lying if he said his own predictions hadn't been sugarcoated a bit.

In any case, the enemy’s morale was extraordinarily high. If one of them fell, another would step over the corpse, or even use it as a shield. Step by step, they slowly pushed forward in their direction. Besides, the Mephian troops didn’t even know that their indispensable prince – although only a body double – and princess were inside the fortress.

''The Mephians don’t have the same fighting spirit. If this goes on, their army will soon fall to pieces. I have to hurry!''

And so, Gowen resumed his march. At the centre of the hill, from a place with a good view, he fired his cannon right in the middle of the enemy gunners. One shot, two shots… A pillar of flames rose up with every strike, but three shots was the limit. A new unit of airships was already heading towards their position.

“Make way! Make way!!”

This attack definitely inflicted some serious damage, but the enemy line didn’t collapse, not even by a bit. The only thing Gowen could do was to leave their artillery and flee the place with the dragons.

''Orba!''

If it came to this, Orba just had to hurry and take Ryucown out. Then, they could only hope that their enemies would lose their will to fight. He retreated, the sound of gunfire wailed around him as bullets grazed his shoulders.

Ryucown opened his eyes wide… then he squinted them tight again.

Orba was leaning forward with his full weight bearing down against him. He hadn’t drawn any blood. However, Ryucown had barely been able to block Orba last desperate attack. He still carried a 60 cm short-sword behind his back, which he’d pulled out at the right moment to defend.

Orba still tried to use his strength to deliver another blow, but the thrust missed as Ryucown had already moved around him in a semi-circle, and all he could do was fall forward. On all fours on the ground, a blade was placed to the nape of his neck.

''I lost.''

Orba’s body went cold as he felt steel prickling his skin. There was no way to change the outcome. Orba had managed to outwit his foe, but Ryucown’s swordsmanship, as well as the Garberan movements, had been a fatal blow.

Having lived through countless battles, this was his first time tasting defeat. For him, it meant that the heart that had been beating only for vengeance, would stop beating halfway.

“I like your gall. If you hadn’t been born in Mephius, I would have gladly fought at your side,” Ryucown said, as he prepared to sever Orba’s head.

“Stop this!”

Vileena’s scream rang clearly within the hall. Ryucown tried to ignore her at first but,

"Stop it now!!”

Feeling the second scream carried the force of life or death, Ryucown glanced her way. Sure enough, the Garberan princess was pointing a pistol his way. The soldier right behind her had a panicked look on his face, so she probably stole the gun from him.

Ryucown smiled.

“So, what are you going to do? Shoot me?"

“No,” Princess Vileena said, shaking her head.

Her face bloomed into a lovely smile, making one wonder what she was thinking, and she lifted the pistol.

“I will shoot myself.”

She pointed it at her own temple. Ryucown’s eyebrows jumped up while unrest rose among the soldiers.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Do you have the guts to repeat your earlier words in front of your loyal troops? Your true intentions? While you are a knight serving royalty, your own ideals stray from your true purpose. Do you wish to have them bear the same burden?”

Vibrant light had come back to the pair of eyes that had held such despair before. Even as she held a gun to her head.

Ryucown held his tongue. He was puzzled by Vileena betting her life like this. Just as the fourteen-year-old speculated, Ryucown could not allow Vileena to die in front of his troops. These soldiers shared his ideals of rebuilding the Kingdom of Garbera to a country of true knights. However, they also revered princess Vileena’s royal bloodline. If they lost their idol, his cause would collapse. Someone like him, who was willing to do anything to create an ideal nation, was in one way an innovator, but in another way the type to be criticized as evil.

While Ryucown and Vileena were engaged in a silent battle, the defeated Orba was crouched at the sideline. His back heaved as he breathed roughly, but by no means had he accepted his death.

From the inside of his mask, he stared at the short blade that had parried his earlier attack.

''That’s…''

There were letters clearly engraved on the blade. There was no mistaking it.

''O, R, B, A…''

It was none other than his own name. Orba's heartbeat, that had been on the verge of stopping, firmly started ticking away at a steady rhythm again.

===Part 2===

“Princess.”

“Your highness, please put down the gun!”

While the soldiers called out to her, Princess Vileena merely looked straight ahead, meeting Ryucown’s eyes. Perhaps due to her determination, there was no trace of hesitation on her snow-white face.

“Princess, how far will you go with this military spirit?” Ryucown said with a sigh. “If… Yes, if I show my resolution in front of everyone here, my determination, just what will you do? We can just stick to the old ways and never accomplish our ideals, and in the end, even if we do get out of this battle, things will stay the same. Isn’t it better if you choose the most beneficial outcome for us both?”

“Then hurry up already. I’ve already found my resolution.”

“Princess!”

“Don’t come any closer!”

Noticing that the soldiers were trying to close in on her, Vileena suddenly backed away. She didn’t move the pistol from her temple even a little, but they still inched in closer.

“Please look, your highness.”

Ryucown pointed toward the pillars on the opposite site, behind which the flames of war kept going on.

"Look at the armies of those mindless Mephian and Garberan camps who, despite their overwhelming numbers, are struggling against our courageous men. Do you not understand what this represents, your highness? Putting aside the cowardly Mephians, the Garberan army has fallen into chaos. Indeed, they are wavering because they can’t decide whether to follow me or not. They do not blindly follow the royal family, and are wondering if those who follow my path aren’t truly the ones protecting this country. This is the answer the people of Garberan have found.”

Following Ryucown’s words, his men raised their voices.

“Princess, please recognize our cause.”

“This battle is for the true pride of Garbera. Please understand!”

Looking over at them, Vileena’s eyes met no hostility. There wasn't any hostility in her eyes as Vileena looked out over them. Her eyes even seemed to be sad. From the start, she could never bear them any enmity or ill will. For, in their hearts, they all loved Garbera, and they all loved the flower of Garbera, princess Vileena.

“I don’t want to!!” the princess cried out that instant, but for what?

She knotted her brows, had tears in her eyes, and with the pistol still pointed against her head, yelled like a child throwing a tantrum.

“I don’t want to! I don’t want to! I don’t want to!!”

“Vileena-sama!”

“This is the Garbera that grandfather loves and father nurtured!” Vileena said, one tear spilling from the corner of her eye. “Why? Why do such…?”

“Stop uttering nonsense.”

Ryucown was backed by a belief that could not be shaken by anything, not even words from an oracle of God, but he got interrupted by someone he hadn’t expected.

“Don’t call it nonsense!”

With a voice as if coming from the abyss, his words made Ryucown and Vileena look his way. Ryucown, although he had completely forgotten about Orba until just now, sardonically said “Don’t move,” and again pointed his sword at the gladiator. However…

“That sword, give it back.”

“Give it back? What are you talking about? This is…”

“Six years ago,” Orba said.

For some reason, the rebel general gasped in surprise and completely swallowed his words. There was now another intensity in his gaze as he looked at the gladiator getting up from the ground, as he listened to the words.

“Six years ago… you were still aspiring to be a knight but were already more of a knight than others. Now it’s different. To fulfil your own ideals, you’ve raised a sword against your liege. You even tried to threaten her with death. Why are you gambling your life? You’re so damn intoxicated that you’re deaf to the words of your own liege who’s also gambling hers. Ryucown, you’re not even a knight anymore!”

As Ryucown was about to bring his blade up for a strike, and with everyone's attention focused on the princess, Shique took the chance to break out of his encirclement.

“Take it!”

That instant, Shique tossed over his sword and Orba caught it square on, as if the two had planned it beforehand. Then, Shique broke into a sprint and moved behind the princess, snatching the gun from her hand and pushing it against the nape of her neck.

“Princess!?”

“Your highness!”

“Don’t move!”

As if he hadn’t heard Shique’s words, Ryucown moved in to slash at Orba. By reflex, the gladiator stopped the blow and the two started crossing blades again.

“What are you doing!?” Ryucown said in between with a demonic scowl on his face. “We can’t let a Mephian kill the princess. Seize him!”

Shique clicked his tongue. The mix of terror and confusion on the soldiers’ faces began to fade as they looked at each other. It was now or never. If he waited for the enemy to make a decision, he would be back to being outnumbered.

He had to move… but where to go?

“Sir Gladiator.”

“Huh?” Shique blurted out in a shocked voice.

The princess he was supposed to be holding hostage was the one to take the initiative.

“This way,” she whispered under her breath, using her chin to point at the airship stowed nearby.

In an instant, Shique’s thoughts were the same as hers.

“Got it. It’ll be a little rough, though.”

“I’m used to it.”

Immediately after her reply, Shique coldly aimed his pistol ahead of him and fired. Before its the menacing sound faded away, he grabbed the princess’s thin shoulders and began to run. Vileena boarded the airship. While Shique got into the seat behind her, she immediately fired up the engine. Emitting ether, the craft lifted the two of them up in the air.

“I’ll bring reinforcements! Wait for me!” Shique called out.

However, at this very moment, the princess hesitated. Within the great hall were the heroic Mephian soldiers and the loyal followers of Vileena’s royal family, wishing to restore Garbera to its ideals. They had the courage to put their lives at stake together, and now Vileena had to neglect them.

“Princess!”

As was to be expected, Ryucown’s face paled and he started to run straight for the airship. However, the image of a steel blade flashed before his eyes. Spitting at the ground, he met Orba who was charging right into him.

“Go!!” Orba roared.

He blocked a strike that would’ve sliced his head off, followed by two, three sharp blows. Then he yelled out again.

“Vileena, move!!”

The princess stared at him as if struck. Then, shaking off the soldiers who tried to catch up with her, she flew the airship into the night sky. And, just like that, it melded into the dead of night and disappeared.

“If it’s come to this…” Ryucown said, baring his teeth as they crossed swords, “Should I just give the order to kill the princess along with the Mephian army?”

“What!?”

Orba’s breathing grew heavier. The black blood had been the main current in keeping up his strength, but it was about to run out. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know if he could finish what he had started, and didn't know if he could do anything but watch as things were snatched away from his hands just like always.

But, Orba had a sword – an embodiment for his boiling blood.

“Someone like you—”

“You bloody—!!”

Both their voices overlapped along with the ring of the blades. Although their views were different, with their hearts carrying the same emotions, they weren’t so unalike after all.

''I won’t let you stop me!''

Blocking Ryucown’s sword while adjusting his own footing, Orba moved to the left, to the right, lunging at his foe, but his blows were equally blocked.

''Maybe I just need a little bit more strength. It’s all I have left…''

If something was blocking his goal, be it lofty ideals, deities, dragon gods – Orba would likely challenge it with only a sword in hand.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 299.jpg|thumb]]

But at this moment, Orba was falling back into his old habits. As soon as his opponent seemed to fall into the defensive, Orba used the chance to dive right into him. But, having been waiting for such an attack, Ryucown immediately turned to avoid a stabbing hit, and swung his sword at Orba.

It was just like Orba had seen it six years ago.

Immediately after sparks scattered into the air,

“Gahh…!”

There was the sound of a wail, along with a spray of blood.

Ryucown's blade was bounced off Orba’s quickly drawn sword. Ultimately, he was the one who took the invitation. Expecting to go for the kill, the rebel general had mustered all of his strength into this strike, completely losing his posture. Orba had blocked the counterattack by raising the flat of his blade before him.

Although, he still had to pay a price. A hole was drilled in the upper right part of his mask, creating a clean crack down to the middle.

“Splendid.”

Ryucown struggled to speak as he collapsed, face-up on the floor, coughing up blood.

“Until a few moments ago, I could see a nation of knights… but was this my limit? Tell me your name. I, Ryucown, won’t rest in peace if I’m defeated by a nameless man.”

“Orba.”

Other than Ryucown, none of the soldiers present could hear him say his name.

It was unclear whether it gave the man solace, for Ryucown could not utter another word as only a cough of blood escaped his lips before he closed his eyes. Orba only stared at him in silence.

The man who had slipped into the enemy camp with only a select few people and defeated the rebel Bateaux, now lost his life in the exact same way. The irony of these, later to be described as ‘Ryucown’s last moments’, would be the talk of ages to come.

“Milord!!”

“He killed Lord Ryucown! Don’t leave a single one of them alive!!”

The soldier’s fighting spirit was mixed with rage. The gladiators who’d also rushed into the hall formed a circle around Orba.

Just then, about a dozen ships that had gone for an attack on the Mephian air corps came back for supplies. These soldiers realized what was going on, and they all pulled out swords and guns and surged onto the uppermost part of the fortress.

Breathing heavily, Orba thought,

''Is this the end?''

It was but a fleeting thought in the corner of his mind. During his two years as a gladiator fighting to the bitter end, there were multiple times when he’d thought the same thing. And each time…

''I won’t let it end here!''

Each time he had encouraged himself. And right now, with many swords pointed his way, and many guns aimed in his direction, Orba tightened the grip on his sword.

Slowly but steadily, Ryucown’s men closed in. Orba was tempted to step out of the encirclement, but the sword slaves silently stood with their weapons drawn, guarding him. Either side had the relentless urge to kill, and they were ready to turn into colourless bullets charging toward each other, clashing into one another, and exploding when...

In that instant, they could hear a battle cry washing over like a tsunami wave. Visible from the uppermost balcony, an army surged towards them on the outstretched plains like wildfire.

Ryucown’s men clenched their teeth, feeling despair, and what would have been a grim decision. They were still prepared for death, willing to fight until the last man standing. And at the very least they wanted to take revenge on the person standing before them who had killed their general, Ryucown.

But now, the Mephian army was approaching them.

“Ah…!”

Suddenly, one of the soldiers cried out with the excitement of a child. Illuminated by a line of fire, fluttering through the night sky, was the symbol of their birthplace, where they wished to one day return with heads held high, and of the nation that they had heartbrokenly cut off from – the Garberan flag.

They looked up in astonishment, several seconds after hearing the sound of a unique airship.

“It’s over…! It’s all over!!”

Just like when it had taken off before, she nimbly jumped from the airship and onto the balcony – Princess Vileena.

=== Part 3 ===

''What…?''

Riding along on the airship, the gladiator Shique was sweating bullets, clenching his fists.

''What kind of chick is this!?''

The airship Vileena flew, after departing from Zaim Fortress, only kept increasing in speed as it headed into the direction of the Garberan camp. Naturally, Shique was taken by surprise, because he’d expected to go to the Mephian forces. He was a bit worried that she was considering whether or not to return to Garbera altogether.

Just as Ryucown had mentioned earlier, the Garberan camp was likely in the midst of total chaos. They had their hands full dealing with the traitors in their midst and also saw the fires breaking out among the Mephian army. It wasn’t such a strange thing that some of the soldiers had strong feelings of heading out and joining Ryucown’s cause instead.

Even worse, although needless to say, this was a battlefield.

After sunset, a lot of guns were pointed at any of the airships that might come flying towards them in the dark. Gunshots lashed out at them without asking for identification. Things were at a point where a man like Shique was screaming while Vileena tilted the ship to the left and right. As the ship dropped in altitude there were finally some soldiers who recognized her and screamed “Princess!” and Vileena yelled at them from above.

“Go and attack Ryucown’s forces with the Mephians already!!” she ordered in a loud voice.

The moment the gunfire died out, it felt like time itself had stopped. In the distance behind Vileena, the fires of war continued to burn and their colours were reflected in the Garberan soldiers’ eyes. In that instant, Shique saw realization run through them like a lightning bolt. Altogether, it seemed like they truly were knights lifting up their sword at the call of their liege.

“Isn’t Garbera a country of knights? Can you call yourself a knight if you cast aside your country’s promise and turn your blade against Mephius? How can you face our nation’s great ancestors!? Come! Follow me!!”

Surely, like a guidepost falling from the heavens, this was what these knights had needed.

With regret at having taken such a long time to get into position, the Garberan army made their assault. The military force was split into two. One side would go to the Mephians for cover, while the other would push forward to Zaim Fortress. They could easily circle around Ryucown’s army, whose main focus was attacking the Mephians, so it didn’t take long before Garbera’s main force stood before the fort’s gates.

“It’s all over!”

Vileena stepped forward on the upper part of the fortress among glittering swords and armour.

“General Ryucown has pointed his sword at me. I have, of course, no doubt that he loved his country and its people, but rather than Garbera or its knighthood, he came to love only a country of knights shaped to his own ideals. There’s no sense in continuing this battle.”

Surrounded by Garberan troops who were born in the same lands, having lost their leader, and being persuaded by their beloved princess, Ryucown’s forces had been completely robbed of their strength and purpose.

In fact, the fortress had already fallen. The soldiers cast aside their weapons and sank to the floor, tears flowing from their eyes as they mourned the fallen Ryucown.

It was a complete change from the savage battlefield, the fortress was full of tragic sobbing and weeping like in a funeral. Vileena looked around at the area when, walking around aimlessly, she tripped over her own feet.

“Princess!”

Gilliam, who was close by, quickly supported her.

Looking at her face, she was as white as wax, but it was only because her face was covered with a sheen of sweat, and her lips were a deep red.

“G-Gilliam, you bastard! Shouldn’t you let go of the princess already?”

“What’s gotten you so excited, Shique? If I let go of her now, she’ll fall to the floor, won’t she?”

“Then, hand her over to me…”

“I-I’m fine. Thank you,” an embarrassed Vileena said, letting go of Gilliam. “Shique and Gilliam - isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes!”

“You’ve continued in excellence since Seirin Valley. You have saved not only my own fate,<ref>In this sentence, the word for life and fate (命) is the same.</ref> but also that of both Mephius and Garbera. Representing the people of both nations, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

“No, I—” Gilliam said.

“He’s right, princess. There’s no need to give this man such heartwarming words. He’s just an unenlightened lout whose only satisfaction is wielding his axe about in battles and raids…”

“Y-You scheming dog! Listen princess, if it isn’t for love or kissing up to nobles, or— arrghh, you probably don’t get any of this!”

Vileena smiled at the two who were beginning to cross words. Naturally, Vileena herself also suffered from many pains. However, as part of the Garberan royal family, she had to endure, especially if she wanted to accomplish anything after becoming the Empress of Mephius in the near future.

Then she spotted one other figure among the crowd who deserved special credit. The masked swordsman was already about to leave the grand hall. She rushed over to his retreating back.

“You are the one who defeated Ryucown, aren’t you? That’s amazing. Since you called yourself a gladiator, does that mean you’re also part of the prince’s personal guard?”

“Yes…”

“Thanks to you I was shaken from my doubts. I thank you for that.”

Vileena meant every single word. That time after she had boarded the airship and been unable to fly away at first, she was still torn between two countries and unable to choose.

''Because of those words.''

She was weak. She had felt like she was leaving Ryucown’s soldiers and this man’s companions to die.

''But because of that…''

She had to become stronger. The foundation of royalty was to become such a person that everyone in the nation could discover the same virtues. That was the duty of those privileged ones. Wasn’t that something her grandfather, Jeorg, would have said?

The swordsman arrogantly turned his head halfway to look at Vileena. His eyes were visible through the holes and crack in the mask, and for a moment Vileena thought they resembled someone else’s.

Coming out of the fortress alone, Orba walked through the battle-scarred plains. Even though it was the dead of night, there were fires and braziers here and there, and he had no difficulties navigating through the fields without a lantern.

There was the constant clattering of armour as he passed by many Mephian soldiers. Their faces were full of excitement and enthusiasm, and they were probably planning on plundering the fortress. For the moment, the Garberan forces had set up camp outside the gates, but didn’t approach any further. As expected, there was still some mistrust. Not only because a part of the Garberan forces had turned traitor and attacked the Mephians, but also because the ringleader of this rebellion, Ryucown, had been ''defeated'' by Mephius.

Orba, however, didn’t think it was worth worrying about.

The heightened emotions of battle had already left him, and now only exhaustion, pain, and despondence remained.

''Who have I fought for? And as who have I fought?''

It looked like Ryucown had been prepared for his death. Not just when he’d been defeated, but from the moment they met each other, death had been visible in his eyes. Although it was hard to tell how far he would’ve gone to earnestly reform Garbera, there was no way that his name wouldn’t be remembered by its people. For now, it looked like the flames of rebellion were extinguished, but Ryucown’s name would likely keep smouldering in the hearts of men.

''A mirage.''

Beyond the quivering shimmers of hot air, there was a vivid illusion. It was a memory from Orba’s childhood days, and yet, hadn’t Ryucown kept following his dreams like that until the final end? Instead, having been tossed about by fate, Orba had gradually cast aside such sentimentality as a young boy.

But Ryucown had been different.

Even if he could just take a little bit of that mirage into his own hands, he’d sincerely believed that he had to succeed, fight, or die.

And if he asked himself if that was the kind of man he wanted to become, the only answer was to take the challenge head-on and with confidence.

“Hey you! Are you from the prince’s personal guard?”

Orba widened his eyes in surprise. Oubary was walking up toward him. Like the commander of a victorious army, he walked with broad soldiers, accompanied to his left and right by two soldiers carrying a sword and gun.

“Yes,” Orba replied curtly, stopping in his tracks.

Oubary bitterly twisted his lips.

“That we borrowed strength form the likes of sword-slaves to gain victory will put shame on Mephius’s military. Eventually, the prince will have to defend himself before his father.”

He was about to leave after grumbling his complaint, but Orba called out after him.

“General,” he said.

“What?”

Oubary turned around, putting on an air of importance, but Orba looked down and said nothing. He wasn’t able to say anything. He hadn’t even imagined he’d challenge him in the first place.

“I asked you something.”

''If I do it now…''

He was almost alone. Looking at the men at his left and right, they didn’t make much of an impression.

''If I do it now… then maybe…''

“Cocky bastard!” Oubary said, irritated, as he took a step forward.

“No. It’s just that there are still some enemies left. Please be careful.”

“Hmph.”

Oubary gave a sneer. Then, he spat on the ground and turned his back.

“Don’t get carried away, slave. A dog that doesn’t listen to his master has nowhere to go.”

Once again raising his shoulders, he headed off in the direction of the fort. For a long time, Orba stared at his back until it disappeared inside the fort. Then he made sure he headed off in his original direction.

''Not right now.''

He clutched his sword tightly and then let go again. At the moment, he was just the ordinary gladiator Orba and could only strike under the cover of darkness. Even if he successfully ended Oubary’s life right now, he would have no place to return to.

When he flung off his mask and became ‘Prince Gil’, he would most likely have better alternatives than Orba the sword-slave.

The next one to call out to him was Fedom. Taking heed of the neighbouring soldiers, he approached with a smile as if to congratulate him on his victory.

“I hope you’re satisfied?” he whispered venomously.

“What do you mean?”

“Playing as an actual soldier, on an actual airship, in an actual war - are you satisfied? Then it’s enough. I won’t allow you to do any more.”

Enough, no more - how many times had Fedom told him those words? Thinking about it, Orba suddenly smiled.

“What’s so funny? Listen, you’re not yet finished with your duties. The prince will continue to be in danger until the wedding with the princess is complete. I can’t have you go to the capital on your own. I’m going to have you monitored with armed soldiers every single day.”

Although he was smiling on the outside, he whispered his threats filled with poison. Orba thought the guy was quite talented to be able to do that.

“There are many more people who know the prince than there are in Birac. You have to be at your most careful. If you’re exposed - they’ll immediately cut off your head.”

''Oh?''

There was something amiss with those words.

''I see… it’s just as I thought…''

He’d had his doubts up until now. However, now he was convinced.

There was nobody else who knew that Orba was acting as the prince’s body double. At least not among the people governing the state. He didn’t know the reason for it, but it was most likely so that Fedom could eventually pull Mephius by the strings. Aside from that, there were several other things Orba could think of.

However, he didn’t show his sudden realization on his face. He just nodded in response.

Orba went back to the flagship after that, headed back to his room to switch armour with the ‘prince’s body double’ Kain, and went up to the deck as the prince. There were many people gathered together calling out the prince’s name, raising jubilant voices and waving their hands in joy.

There, he mingled with Gowen and Shique. They were all pleased to see the others safe, and he walked in the direction of the other gladiators.

“Ryucown even tried to take the princess’s hand,” Shique said along the way. “But wasn’t it Ryucown who’d planned the assassination at Seirin Valley in the first place?”

“He had announced that he was the one who attacked Mephius,” Gowen said. “But it’s not unreasonable to think that delegates from other countries tried to murder the princess. Still, it’s quite a mystery.”

“No.”

When Orba spoke, both looked at the ‘prince’. Maybe he was getting used to it, or maybe some kind of talent was beginning to sprout within, but every time the soldiers cheered when they glanced his way, he felt a sense of pride inside of him he’d never felt before.

“I’ve also thought about it a lot. But who would have profited the most if Prince Gil and Princess Vileena both died back then?”

“Well, who?”

“That’s…”

The white moon glittered in the darkness of the night.

Orba touched the sword at his lower waist, which was different than the one he usually carried. It was the shortsword he’d taken back from Ryucown. The blade was glittering as if it was still new, and it had been engraved with Orba’s name.
<noinclude>

=== References and Translation Notes ===
<references/>

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|-
| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter6|Chapter 6]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Epilogue|Epilogue]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Epilogue

2018-01-22T00:23:56Z

MondSemmel: minor grammar errors

==Epilogue==

There was a lot of wandering.

The strong emotions that got carried along weren’t meant for the current Orba.

This was not the road he himself had expected to walk, but if he expected to obtain something after all this wandering, for someone who’d been forcefully manipulated this way, wasn’t it the means to take revenge with his own hands?

''I…''

Can’t you take up the sword for your own purposes if you didn’t hate someone? With those feelings in his heart, dressed in brass armour, he got down on his knees on top of the bright red carpet.

The imperial capital Solon - at the audience hall.

“You’ve decorated your first campaign with a brilliant victory, we are more pleased than anybody else, Gil.”

Courtiers sitting in a row to his left and right, the man sitting on the throne before him was the emperor of the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius, Guhl Mephius. His white hair and beard were both long and full of waves. Although he had deep wrinkles on his face, and deep eye sockets as if they were hollowed out, he was still fully shining with vitality.

“Gladly.”

“It seems you’ve used various ideas. But I’m truly pleased that Ryucown’s head has been severed by Mephian hands. This is more of a victory than we expected.”

“This was all because of Lord Fedom’s wisdom. General Oubary has also been of great assistance during my first campaign. It was also thanks to the soldiers and retainers by your guidance, father. I merely borrowed their strength.”

“Oh?”

The expression on Guhl’s face was unusually calm as he nodded. It looked like His Majesty was definitely pleased, and the senior statesmen made eye contact with each other showing satisfied looks. Earlier, although it seemed like he showed a much more severe attitude towards his true son, all he wished for was his own child’s growth. There wasn’t a parent that didn’t love his child.

“As a result from our conference with Garbera, it’s decided we should once again put our attention on your marriage with Princess Vileena. Until then, she is a special guest of ours. But we can understand passionate feelings, so keep your lovemaking to a low so it won’t cause any trouble.”

His smile showed he was making a joke.

Embarrassed, Gil bowed his head and said, “I will.” It invited a laugh from the lined-up audience members.

Princess Vileena had been given a private room in the inner palace. Together with her attendant Theresia, she could expect a well-established way of life for now. Moreover, when they decided upon a new date for the marriage, Garbera would no doubt return the captured territory of Apta in the form of a ‘gift’. The Kingdom of Garbera wouldn’t be able to face Mephius properly anymore if they didn’t.

For many different reasons, Prince Gil’s accomplishments were grand.

The atmosphere in the hall had been calm from the beginning to the end, but at the final moment Guhl spoke these words,

“Even Ende won’t be able to make a move so easily. However, if this happened in Garbera, it could’ve happened anywhere. From now on, to keep the authority and strength within the Mephian Imperial Family, we will have to protect the peace within our country. Gil, you also bear this responsibility.”

He hadn’t forgotten to give the anti-imperial groups their fair warning.

“Onii-sama!”

Right after he came out of the audience hall, Ineli came up to him and offered her congratulations. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she gave him a curt bow, but Gil gave only an apathetic reply before turning his back to her again. The beautiful girl knitted her brows.

“That’s a cold attitude you’re showing me. And that while all this time I’ve been counting the days, looking forward to your return. I’ve been worried about you these last few days, brother, and could hardly stomach dinner. And now you won’t even tell your cute little sister one story about your travels?”

“Ahh…” Gil forced a smile and made eye contact. “I have enough to tell, but can we do this some other time? I’m just a little tired.”

“Fine…”

With those words, Ineli left it at that, but not because she was worried about the prince, but because Gil had already avoided her gaze and turned his heels to walk away. She was unable to call out to him again, her pretty looks warping into scorn. But then she suddenly froze for a different reason.

That was because of that one look the prince had given her.

It looked the same as the one from the masked warrior in the arena.

After that, Prince Gil went back to his private quarters in the inner palace. He had nothing planned up until tonight’s victory party. Like Ineli, there were some nobles and militiamen who sought an audience to congratulate him personally, but he declined them all.

“Aahhh…”

The moment he arrived in his room he laid down on the bed, arms and legs spread wide.

“That’s quite unbecoming, your highness,” his page Dinn berated.

He had been given the task to continue taking care of the prince. Fedom had arranged for the chamberlains who had taken care of the prince thus far to be replaced with the glitter of gold. Naturally, he didn’t want the prince’s true identity to come to light.

His entire body seemed to sink into the splendorous bed but, on the other hand, he couldn’t calm down. Besides, this room was much larger than the one he’d been lodged in along with dozens of sword-slaves. Being alone in a place like this, not knowing who was lurking where, he didn’t think he could rest his mind.

Orba jumped back up, although not because of Dinn’s words, and headed for the room’s large windows. Facing the verdurous garden outside, it looked out over Solon’s orderly townscape.

''It starts here.''

What kind of person could he become, and what could he accomplish? Up until now, he still hadn’t found an answer to the question his brother Roan posed on that starry night.

Would he wield his sword to chase after his childhood dream of a successful life, would he raise that sword to take revenge on those that had bereft him of everything, or would he find a way to pursue the people he’d lost.

''All of it.''

Indeed. Exactly because he didn’t know what to do, he only had to do all of it. These were the only means Orba had available for himself. He couldn’t wish for a better position than an imperial prince.

He now stood among those that he once, in his childhood days, believed weren’t looking at the same things the common people were. If he embraced all the things he couldn’t reach before with both his arms, he might be able to discover something new.

And besides, he wanted to find out how far his own existence, and the power his existence held, would take him.

Of course, there were many obstacles. Fedom, and the question of where the real prince was, dealing with the Garberan princess, the anti-imperial faction, and—

“How can you have the nerves!? Keeping such a nonchalant act together!”

It was the first thing Gowen said after being invited to the prince’s room. Shique nodded and said,

“And during your audience. On one hand, you’re a former sword-slave disguised as the emperor’s son. But on the other hand…”

Orba stepped in and took over the conversation.

“It’s like an arch villain trying to manipulate the prince, right?”

Dinn gave a startled look.

Even though the one behind the assassination attempt on Prince Gil and Vileena was likely neither Garbera nor Mephius, Orba suspected that it might actually be Guhl Mephius himself.

Ende was the most suspicious actor in wanting to kill the two. However, their delegation had been especially invited and they never uttered a word that could’ve labelled them as suspects. There was no way to interrogate them in such a way that they could fabricate the ‘truth’.

On top of that, if the members of both royal families had been killed, it would have resulted in a joint attack with Garbera on Ende from both sides. Two countries that had been mutual enemies yesterday would become firm allies the next. It would’ve given even better results than marrying the prince and princess.

For Guhl, compared to the profit of dividing Ende’s lands with Garbera, the life of prince Gil - of the crown prince - wasn’t as valuable.

He was the emperor.

And after all of this, Orba had to face such a person as his ‘father’. Someone who, for him, was still the mysterious living symbol of this ‘kingdom’.

“This time, the assassination failed because Ryucown’s attack interfered with things. In fact, to the emperor, Ryucown’s subjugation seems even more convenient for a future with Garbera,” Shique said in a gloomy tone.

“But to some extent, I may have ended up someplace even worse than the gladiator ring,” spoken like an elder, Gowen said those significant words. “At least it hasn’t been something like a surprise attack. Even so, a parent and child sharing blood that kill each other is just sad.”

Orba didn’t reply and continued to look out of the window.

In this line of business, everything was a battle. If he couldn’t live without ending up victorious, then things weren’t all that much different than before.

Orba only ever chose the path of victory, or he wouldn’t have lived this long.

There were many heroes in this world. Among those running through a world of war, Gil Mephius hadn’t been the type to trouble or possibly entertain historians.

But, although he’d been belittled by his vassals as the ‘foolish prince’, now, triggered by the marriage to Vileena of the Kingdom of Garbera, he had turned to wisdom in the blink of an eye and made a sudden transition into being called the ‘Dragon of Mephius’. It was the kind of tale that historians could weave into the imaginations of the people.

But none of them knew.

Gil Mephius’s true identity.

The man known as the masked gladiator, soon after casting off the mask of an iron tiger, had acquired a new mask of flesh.

Nobody knew.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter7|Chapter 7]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Afterword|Afterword]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter6

2018-01-21T23:30:17Z

MondSemmel: minor grammar errors

== Chapter 6: Battle of Zaim Fortress ==
=== Part 1 ===

After that, Mephius and Garbera, who had always been mutual enemies, were completely out of step and could only glare at Zaim fortress before them.

When about five days passed after setting up their camps, the distrust in Prince Gil finally increased in the Mephian camp as well. There were rumours among them that he couldn’t meddle with Ryucown’s cause because he wanted to attract the feelings of his to-be-wife, Princess Vileena.

But as there was absolutely no development in the matter, even Vileena herself felt like she was on a bed of nails.

Speaking of what Orba was doing at that time, he would hang around the camp whenever he had the chance. Although he never gave the important orders to attack, he wandered around making strange requests here and there, and everyone in camp had troubles on how to deal with them. They ranged from the posting of the guards, up to the contents of dinner.

“You shouldn’t stray too far from here, your highness. You never know where the Garberan soldiers may be lurking!”

The Mephian soldiers called out to him in loud voices as Orba was heading down the slopes of the hilled area. They were part of the same team, so surely it was no miracle that there were Garberan soldiers lurking among them.

Then, galloping down the slope, Gowen whispered in Orba’s ear.

“Orba, be a little more careful.”

Gowen and the rest, as his personal guard, were being looked at by the other soldiers with blank stares. Those formers slaves had been appointed as imperial guards by the prince on a whim. Leaving the nobles aside, the gladiators were naturally the target of hatred and jealousy from the conceited soldiers who bragged about risking their lives serving Mephius.

“The other side of these woods?” Orba asked the nearby villagers he had brought along, unconcerned.

They were Garberans, of course. That the one who spoke to them was the Mephian prince, complicated matters for them, but being surrounded by soldiers armed with guns and swords at the moment, understandably didn’t make them want to try to oppose or deceive him.

“There flows a river. The riverbed’s wide but, still, if Lord Ryucown’s soldiers move their numbers over there, they’d be completely visible from this camp.”

Orba stood on his toes. Indeed, in the beginning he had only seen the usual scenery of a riverside. But now he noticed that, if they would focus their soldiers over there, they would probably be spotted right away.

“What’s your command?” Gowen asked, keeping a respectful tone in front of the soldiers. “Basically, it’ll be nearly impossible for us to lay an ambush for Ryucown’s forces here.”

“''If'' it’s Ryucown.”

Giving his enigmatic reply, Orba then went off to yet another location. Here and there some soldiers and commissioned officers bowed their heads, but even though they saluted perfectly upright, there was hardly any respect in their eyes when they saw ‘Prince Gil’. He even heard voices whispering that they’d rather place Prince Gil on a lenient confinement and make General Oubary their commander instead, if it meant they would otherwise let victory slip through their hands.

Letting the soldiers wait behind, Orba headed for the pens where the dragons were being kept. The smaller dragons used for the war were all packed in there together. Among them, he could see the shapes of the Tarkas group’s large- and mid-sized dragons. There were animal trainers in the employ of the military, but Orba called for Hou Ran, who’d become a member of the Imperial Guard, instead.

“Orba, are you done with the mask?”

“Ahh,” a strained smile appeared on his face due to Ran’s direct words. “How are the dragons?”

“The children from the army are always in a bad mood. Almost all of them are being drugged. I can’t come to terms with them here, Orba. Do something about those guys if you’ve gotten so important.”

It looked like Ran was in a bad mood as well. With ‘those guys’, she probably meant the animal trainers.

“I get it. But even as a prince it’s impossible to do it right away. For now I’ll make sure the dragons from the Group won’t be getting any more drugs. I’m being led around here and there, but if the dragons get irritated, I’ll have that trouble to take care of too.”

“Obviously.”

Concerning the sudden change in environment, it might have been her who had integrated the most successfully. Stretching out her hand between the bars, she brushed the dragons’ snouts like she always did, to the surprise of the other animal trainers.

Then, as Orba and the others looked around the camp here and there, they happened upon some trouble stirring at the edge of camp when the sun was about to set. The person in question was Garbera Kingdom’s Princess Vileena. The hatch to the warship’s hangar was open. There were several high-speed airships used for scouting lined up in a row, but Vileena was being stopped from boarding one by the soldiers.

“Let me go!” Vileena said, as courageous as ever. “Unhand me! It’s useless to try and stop me!”

“But, Your Highness. You’re a guest here in Mephius. Aside from protecting you, we cannot accompany you anywhere without receiving strict orders.”

“That’s why I said I’ll go alone!” Vileena said, worked up, when her eyes met the approaching Orba. “If you want your orders, why don’t you ask the prince over there?”

“It’s fine, step back,” Orba said.

After the soldiers retreated with dissatisfied looks, he and the princess were the only ones in the hangar. Still with her hand on the airship’s seat, Vileena gave him a fleeting glance. The Mephian airships were mainly modelled after wyverns, but other than that there were hardly any differences with the Garberan models.

“What are you trying to do?” he asked.

“What?” the young princess raised an eyebrow. “May I ask you a question in return? What do ''you'' want to do, Your Highness? It’s because ''you’re'' doing nothing at all, that I can only resort to taking action instead.”

“Oh? Are you telling me you’re going to rally and shed blood with your countrymen?”

“T-That’s not it. Something like that…”

About to fly into a rage, Vileena took in a deep breath, not wanting to be riled up by his comments.

“Without Mephius’s aid, the Garberan forces are only going to be cut through. Blood has been spilt already. I cannot bear to watch it.”

“Even if I launch the attack, it’ll be useless. Besides, I can’t do anything either way.”

Suddenly, he started having a more careless<ref>Orba just spoke in the way he normally talks, using おれ (ore) for "I". When he’s with nobles though, he uses 我 (ware) or another more dignified way of saying ‘I’.</ref> way of speaking. He could keep an act in front of other nobles and generals, but when he was in front of her, he was not at all able to keep up appearances. This princess was much too straightforward, and to him, concealing his social status unconsciously gave him a strange feeling of guilt.

“What do you mean?”

“It means that Ryucown is more than aware that Mephius will go after him.”

“So you’ve set up some sort of trap? But even so, why do you handle it all so indifferently? What if they fear, and merely tremble and watch, not doing a thing?”

“Things have already been put into motion. We’ve surrounded them with ‘Princess Vileena’ as our flag bearer. I’m certain at this time things have already begun, I might even say things will soon come to a close. Even if something does still happen, it won’t change the current situation.”

“That’s…”

Realizing what it was the prince pointed out, Vileena lowered her head. With the sun setting at the same time, there was a slight pink glow on her cheeks. As if she’d once again swallowed down all those feelings, like anger and disgrace, she raised her head.

“I certainly acknowledge my shortcomings. The truth is that I was about to meet with Ryucown by myself, although even I don’t think I can make an end to this by myself. However, for this reason, you have to get out of my way. If I can only let my voice come across when I speak with Ryucown in person, for we both consider ourselves Garberans, it should be possible to open his eyes to another conclusion. One other than an honourable death in battle.”

“But above that, if we happen to lose you, we’ll likely completely fall apart. The hands that just managed to join with Garbera’s will be cut loose.”

“You are quite right, I will admit it,” Vileena said sullenly.

Her face, pretty like flowers on a windowsill, soon distorted with the hatred and biting her lips.

''Geez…'' Orba murmured in his head. ''This princess, she certainly holds pride and dignity in what she says, so why does it sometimes feel like I’m exchanging words with someone from the village?''

Having gained the upper hand, Orba was about to chase away the princess, when,

“Why you’re being so calm is nothing short of a mystery to me,” she said. “Tomorrow, Ryucown’s and Garbera’s forces may strike each other again. If that happens, those soldiers will die in vain. Are you able to carry the feelings<ref>This has a double meaning, as "feelings" 思い (omoi) can also mean "weight" 重い (omoi).</ref> of all those men? Aren’t you the one who hated wasting their lives for the sakes of the nation and its nobility?”

She’d no doubt said those words just for the irony, but they stabbed Orba’s heart like daggers. Gasping in surprise, this time it was he who lowered his head in shame.

''She may be right…''

Orba hadn’t considered the soldiers’ feelings concerning the current battle. It was more important to determine the outcome of a battle, than all of the sacrifices made. It was just like the point of view in playing a game of chess. However,

''That’s the thinking of nobles that I hate most.''

And at the same time.

''But I believe that, right now, this is necessary.''

When he’d been just a regular boy from a rural village, when he’d been made to kill others as a slave, both the harboured hatred and the intent to kill had been real, but at the same time it was also true that he couldn’t gain victory if he wanted to protect the lives of each and every enlisted soldier.

Under the fiery sky, like oil in flames, Orba was too shocked to move, his heart burning with that contradiction.

“What seems to be troubling you?”

Because he was keeping quiet, and it was clear to any outsider that he seemed to be in a state of shock, Vileena gave a slight frown and changed her tone.

“Nothing…” he said.

“But haven’t you started to look worse?”

Orba opened up the distance, as the princess was edging closer.

“That’s not it,” he said. “Princess, as it is, if the Mephian troops participated with Garbera, the battle would grow more intense, which will only cause a pile of corpses. All the members of Ryucown’s army fight while prepared to die. That’s why we have to wait for time. In this way, I am thinking of the soldiers. Wait… If I will get a victory the way I think…”

The end of his sentence seemed to melt away with the evening breeze, and disappeared. Without realizing it, Orba was clenching his fists so tight that the muscles in his arms swelled.

The next day, the evening of the sixth day since setting up camp, Princess Vileena finished her meal in her room aboard the ship.
Although it was unreasonable to think so, considering it was a battlefield, she felt completely restless from dawn to dusk as she spent her days looking outside.

It was to be expected, but she basically had no one to talk to because she hadn’t been able to bring Theresia along with her. There were Mephian pages stationed at the camp, but they kept well away from Vileena unless it was really necessary.

Usually, Theresia was always by her side to quickly take care of things. She would start Vileena’s morning by taking up the time to comb the princess’s hair. Theresia would always be annoyed because Vileena couldn’t be as diligent as her and was never able to sit still, but it was a routine for them ever since Vileena was a child. She believed she could do it by herself for once, but the job took a lot of time that morning and it was sheer boredom. So now she knew that, every morning, Theresia, who had little free time herself, always took the trouble to gather a wide amount of subjects for them to talk about.

Even though she was on her homeland Garbera’s soil, now that Theresia wasn’t here, it was actually for the first time that – whether or not she would admit it herself – she had a sense of loneliness, as if she’d been thrown out and left alone in foreign lands.

''Six days…''

It had only been that long. But it felt more like six years, as if every second cut away at her. Yesterday, the Garberan forces had attacked the fortress again and, as ever, Mephius only gave them unsympathetic support through bombardments.

Of course, not only Garbera was dissatisfied, but voices were also raised one after another on the Mephian side. Vileena knew that it wasn’t only the officers, but also some of the common soldiers who were criticizing the prince.

Only wasting their forces at this rate, Garbera would have to give up on Mephius’ support and request even more reinforcements from the capital instead. And even if the Mephian troops would end up getting bigger in number, Ende would probably not think to invade Garberan territory. Having taken that in account, this also seemed to be the reason that the Garberan side chose not to publicly criticize Mephius.

Because, if that happened, the war situation would only become fiercer. As the prince had said, Ryucown would not yield before an approach with brute force. However, there were also soldiers who joined up with him. And according to the words of an officer who had an audience at this camp the day before yesterday,

“The family members of those who follow Ryucown – the ones who were too old or too sick to head for the fortress along with him – have all committed suicide.”

Or so she’d heard.

They probably couldn’t bear being on a bed of nails after being exposed as a traitorous family, and if they’d allowed themselves to be caught, they’d be shackled and used as hostages. She wondered which one was actually the real case. But because of this, the soldiers following Ryucown were likely also prepared for anything. Where they were concerned, it just made their bond all the more stronger. They would probably continue to fight with every ounce of strength until the last of them was downed by a bullet.

Vileena stood upright for the umpteenth time that day. She walked along the room’s wall and gazed over at the ropes connecting the airships. She walked several steps forward and then, again for the umpteenth time that day, turned back.

She bit down on her lower lip. It was a bad habit of hers that Theresia always deemed to point out.

“Those of royalty should not reveal their true feelings before others. When everyone annoys you, laugh, and when everyone laughs, show them a serious look. Your highness, your face is the face of your country.”

She knew what she meant by it. She couldn’t be a tomboy princess forever. Because, this time around, her rash actions were liable to influence the country. Without so much as a pause, Vileena again half rose out of her seat. Although her notion of having a direct talk with Ryucown had been dismissed, she couldn’t count on that still being the case. She decided to meet up with Gil Mephius once more.

''Although there are also rumours he doesn’t want to move out of camp…''

It was said that Mephius, who’d assumed they would have an easier battle, wanted to give up on this fruitless battle as quickly as possible. And the source of these rumours wasn’t from the Garberan, but from the Mephian encampment. Several soldiers had heard, leaked through from the imperial guards, that the moody prince had already grown tired of playing soldier and wanted to hurry back to the palace.

Vileena, her anger flaring up like fire as usual, had been about to storm over to Gil and grill him about the matter in detail. However, Theresia had commented earlier that she couldn’t decide an impression of him yet, and Vileena held the same thoughts. She believed that the reason he hadn’t given orders to sortie wasn’t because he was merely a coward or something, but because he didn’t notice or concern himself to listen to the criticism surrounding him.

''He’s thinking about something.''

In yesterday’s conversation, Gil had made a remark that hinted at this. First of all, the problem was him. Just like with Ryucown, if she wanted to weigh his true intentions, she would have to get closer to confirm what was going on inside his heart. If she could learn about that ‘something’, and if they could put their heads together in the process, that would be great.

''That’s right. I completely forgot!''

Vileena suddenly thought back on her own determination in this marriage. Probe out Mephius’ internal affairs and manipulate the ‘foolish’ prince. She unintentionally let a smile slip through.

''That’s right, that’s right! The prince and I can think on this together, and if he doesn’t like it, I will just have to kick him until he does.''

Coincidentally, while she felt like she was ridiculing herself, there was a light knock on the door just when she was about to stand up.

“Prince Gil?”

Feeling caught, as if her true intentions had been exposed, Vileena uttered his name on the spur of the moment. The door opened and she was blushing red. It looked like it was a page about to retrieve her meal. Vileena formed an unusually rare smile, while her cheeks were burning red with embarrassment, and handed him the tray herself.

Then, as he graciously bowed his head, she noticed he was different from the usual page.

“Princess…”

Hearing the tension in his voice, a certain bad feeling crossed her heart.

“Please hear me out calmly, if you wish,” he whispered. “I have come from the Garberan camp. But it’s not because I simply want an audience…”

It was that night.

A man with a sloppy appearance had entered Prince Gil’s room. He was of his personal guard but, regrettably, had slipped into the Garberan camp right before meeting the important Mephian figure – the gladiator known as Iver.

He quickly summoned Gowen and Shique, and they were startled to see that Orba was wearing armour.

“What’s going on, Orba?”

“Have you heard something from Iver? Don’t tell me that the enemy’s not Ryucown, but the Garberan army!”

During these past few days, it was the two of them who’d been most surprised by Orba’s many outrageous actions. Despite the words he said next, it looked like he was wearing a nonchalant look.

“That’s right,” he said, and showed them something in his hand. “They intend to come at us in one go. Hurry up with the preparations. I will take our gift and run for it.”

An iron mask, imitating the face of a tiger, glittered dully under the lights of the room.

=== Part 2 ===

The sun was about to set.

A small group of people approached the bottom of the hill where Mephius had set up their camp. There was a strict watch on the place, of course, but they easily got through the gate that had been put up there. They came as representatives from the Garberan camp and claimed they had scheduled plans for a war council with the Mephian side.

However… the agreed time was actually supposed to be an hour later.

Having come through the gate, they carefully observed their surroundings. And then, at the right timing, one of their members set fire to the powder house near the end of the hill.

Within a single breath, the camp’s night of sleep was torn to shreds. There was a roaring explosion and the sight of flames spreading everywhere.

Taking advantage of the huge commotion that would surely take place, like after poking at a beehive, the sound of a stampede came heading their way from the opposite side of the explosion. One of the sentries, who first noticed that it was the Garberan dragonrider unit approaching, died as a dragon’s claws tore through him like paper.

Almost at the same time, the front gates of Zaim fortress made a grating noise and opened. A group of elite dragonriders, cavalrymen, and airships burst out with the force of a cannon.

They had only one goal – the Mephian army’s flagship, Dhum.

Due to the sudden attack, Oubary wasn’t able to give a proper response.

“Release ether propulsion up to lever three right away and ascend! Order the dragonriders to protect the flagship!”

He had a feeling that sending a messenger by airship would already be too late.

It looked like the prince had already secluded himself in his room at this time of emergency and wouldn’t come out. Without realizing it himself, Oubary was gnashing his molars.

“Those damn Garberans.”

He slammed his fist down on the controls. Those backstabbing Garberans and the charge of Ryucown’s army could of course not be unrelated. The thought that they might have planned all of this from the start flashed across the minds of the Mephian leaders. They could have tried to lure the Mephian army away from the very beginning, and staged this entire scenario of Ryucown’s army rebelling.

“Reassign the battle formations right away. Start attacking Ryucown’s army up front and the Garberan forces at our flank!”

“We can’t, General Oubary.”

Winged Dragon Commander Rogue immediately voiced his disagreement. It looked like his armour had been put on in a hurry, probably because he had just woken up, having been asleep for the night.

“If we remain in place, we’ll only get caught in a pincer attack. It’s better to immediately prepare to fall back and leave this camp.”

Oubary had been about to shout back at him but just managed to hold it in. Ten years older than him, this general had run all over the battlefield. And they didn’t expect Oubary, who was known for his so-to-speak approach of brute force, to be able to deal with a situation like this. Just like that time with Apta Fortress in the south.

“Shit!”

Oubary bit on his thin lips, in contrast to his usual appearance. This unlikely development came just when he thought this would be the perfect opportunity to make a name of himself. Everything was the fault of the prince and his optimistic ‘let’s wait and see’-approach. It looked like they would have to abandon the fortress after all. And if that was the case, it would be nigh impossible to silence the Garberan anti-royalty faction.

“Has the prince still not come out yet?” Simon came yelling onto the bridge from another corridor.

“One page and his personal guardsmen are protecting the door. They won’t let anyone pass on the prince’s life.”

“He came here, and that’s his command!?” Simon unintentionally yelled in front of the soldier. He looked like a man who was so different from his usual self – and he instantly regretted it.

“What about Princess Vileena?”

“Yes. Several of the prince’s personal guard are guarding her as well.”

He had been quick to prepare all of that. While his suspicions about the prince increased all the more, this was still a state of emergency. No matter what, there were other things that needed doing.

“Haven’t you been able to contact the Garberan headquarters?”

Further at the bridge, he could hear Fedom shouting about up to the point that his voice got hoarse.

“We sent out an airship some time ago, but it still hasn’t returned.”

Woosh…

At that time, a strong wind jolted the dragonstone ship. With all of this, they couldn’t even prepare battle formations. A small-sized airship needed to accumulate only a small amount of ether, but its area of activity only covered a few kilometres at best. They needed to increase the distance from this place as quickly as possible.

''But will that be quick enough?''

With their main force already out of the fort, they couldn’t respond to their attack anymore.

The ship, which was still just starting to move, was being targeted with bombs that fell like rain. Twice, thrice – and Simon’s legs continued to shake.

Meanwhile, at Zaim Fortress.

There was a hall in the upper part of the fort. Surrounded outside by balconies on all four sides, one could see the fires of war raging over the soldiers. Behind the balcony looking out over the area, a single airship was stored away out of sight. It was meant to evacuate the commander if, by any chance, the fortress happened to fall.

However, he – a man who stood stock still and carried the colour of the distant flames in his eyes – had no intention to use it in the least. It was there only because his followers had begged him to prepare one at all costs.

He was clad in armour and armed with a sword slung on his back. He was tall, and although he was young, he had the kind of grandeur that didn’t allow others close. He didn’t move an inch and stood there with a hand to his trimmed beard, looking much like one of the heroes in the paintings that decorated castle corridors.

He was originally a knight from the Kingdom of Garbera, the general of the Second Air Fleet, Ryucown. Once longing for national fame, the man who’d received hatred and disdain from Mephius and was the object of fear stood staring at the fires that showed the feats of his strategy.

It was a surprise attack he had made in sync with the Garberan camp. Having slipped agitators into their midst had borne its fruits. According to their last reports, the number of generals and their soldiers that had decided to rebel, no more than a hundred, would start a surprise attack on this moonless night. It would also cause turmoil at the Garberan headquarters. Likely convinced that Mephius was surrounded by enemies, they might not be able to quickly come to Mephius’ aid.

First you read the lines, then comes the strategy. Before you strike a blow, be sure that you will hit the mark. It could likely be the last move you made.

Just then,

“Milord,”

A soldier turned up in the hall, put his heels together, and bowed. Ryucown still held the position of a military guard, but ever since he led an army of a thousand followers, they had all started calling him a ‘lord’. In the end, they were all comrades who had ducked under many blades and run through rains of gunfire together.

There were many people among them who had lost comrades or family members because of Mephius. And, although it was most likely because of Ryucown’s talents, it tightened their bonds like iron.

“Allow me to congratulate you. The soldiers have returned from Dhum just now.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes. Princess Vileena has also been brought along safely.”

There were tears in the soldier’s eyes as he announced this in a loud voice. This was his earnest hope. At the moment, Ryucown’s followers were nothing more than rebels – no matter how much more they suffered for their country or how pure their intentions were. However, in order to anchor their name for the future, no, in order to change the course of Garbera’s future, he needed to have Princess Vileena.

If he was just able to win her over, he could take over the political movement through the Garberan royal lineage. She was highly popular and revered like an idol, allowing him to gain the nation’s support. Moreover, Ryucown was convinced that the princess had the most strong-hearted spirit among those in the royal family.

“She hasn’t been harmed, has she?”

“No.”

“All right. Bring her in.”

Soon enough, led by a soldier, Vileena stepped into the hall.

Her face was as white as paper, but her eyes at least were filled with life as she stared his way.

His heart was struck by a nostalgic feeling. They had met each other a year ago when they were pledged to engage, but Ryucown was reminded of a time before even that – when Vileena had still been nine years old.

Coming to her aid when she’d been taken hostage during the rebellion that was caused by Bateaux, Ryucown had slipped into the castle with a scouting party in order to defeat Bateaux. The one who had guided them had been none other than the princess herself. Although she was still a child, she had proven to be quick-witted, and Ryucown had admired her courageous actions.

Then, the hero who had taken Bateaux’s head had been invited to kneel before the princess and received a kiss on the cheek.

It had been about four, five years since then. Naturally, her body had matured all this time. She still hadn’t lost her girlishness yet, but within three years, she would be a beauty that would likely cause trouble not only in Garbera or its surrounding countries, but even in the world across the seas.

Ryucown gave her a respectful bow.

“It has been a while, your highness.”

“General Ryucown. You—”

Vileena fired the first shot, as if trying to let the vigour in her words mask the hesitation.

It was as if her heart was in disarray. It looked to him like a small wooden boat with the sails hoisted too high as it rose over tall whitecaps, so that even the helmsman couldn’t predict where it was going.

About ten minutes before they’d opened hostilities, a man in the guise of a page had suddenly arrived at her private quarters in Dhum and called himself a person ‘from the Garberan camp’. He’d said that a part of Garbera, in concert with Ryucown, had planned to make a surprise attack on Dhum.

''Princess, I will guide you to Lord Ryucown from here.''

Vileena had turned pale and foolishly stood up in order to warn the prince.

''Forgive me.''

Whether or not he had expected this reaction, the soldier had been quick to respond. Several soldiers who had waited in the back stopped her from making a sound or move, restraining her mouth, arms and legs. While she tried to resist, she slowly felt her consciousness slipping away and figured they’d probably diluted the cloth covering her mouth with a sleeping drug.

When she came to, she was at Zaim Fortress – the flames were rising up over the soldiers below.

“You—”

“I know full well what you want me to do,” Ryucown gently interrupted Vileena’s words.

The usual vigour wasn’t there in Vileena’s eyes as she stared at him. Her emotions were raging like fire, but for some reason it didn’t come to the outside. Even for her, as had been the case for Ryucown, certain strong emotions were reawakened from over a distance of time.

One year ago, the two had met when they were pledged to engage. In contrast to the many battles he had faced head-on, he didn’t seem able to look her in the eyes even once when he was her fiancé.

Now, his handsome features had gotten a little thin, and he wore exhaustion and sorrow on his face, which might have chafed away at his urban refinement, or maybe he’d just gotten an even wilder taste instead. The ash silver armour he wore had been given to him by the king himself when he’d been bestowed as a full-fledged knight.

“However, I have to stick to my own beliefs. With all due respect, the people no longer follow the current royal family. I agree that lineage is important, but if we rely only on that, the country will be on the way of decline.”

“But a civil war will ruin the country instead. Why would you let such a useless battle drag on?”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 263.jpg|thumb]]

“I’m not letting it drag on. Actually, the opening of this battle will end in a major victory for us. And our victory will have a huge, lasting impact. Garbera will fear more rebels rising up against them in their country, and it will become impossible to move a huge force. In order to protect their honour, Mephius too will have no choice but to take to the field. Once they realise that they can’t easily win, they will make it their reason to immediately pull back their forces. And when that happens, only one last thorough strike will be needed to finish things off.”

Outside of the fortress, the battle continued to wage on.

As the fires of war continued to light up all over the place, defying the darkness of the night, Vileena clenched her tender fists. She did not want to see ''this''. It was exactly because of this that she’d steeled herself and decided to marry into Mephius.

“I intend to become a martyr to place the foundations for peace,” Ryucown said, showing her his black mantle with red lining. “Please, I want you to entrust that life to me.”

Further outside, twice, thrice – they could hear the sound of cannon fire.

=== Part 3 ===

Driving on the momentum, Ryucown’s forces were pressing hard on the Mephian army.

As they were struck by a surprise attack, and hadn’t expected that it would be coordinated with a group of turncloaks from Garbera, the Mephian forces were scattered about all over the place.

There were some soldiers who tried to escape the flames by jumping on the battleship as it was still trying to gain speed and altitude, and there were those who tried to leave the ship and escape on their own. It was the role of the leader to enhance each individual’s strengths and bravery in a war. But the Mephian soldiers that showed such disgraceful behaviour had actually all gone through the ten-year war with Garbera. There should even be many among them who had been heralded with distinguished service.

If they’d been blessed with a good leader, there would probably be ten among every hundred men who would choose this place to die in order to let their leader escape. But unfortunately, the prince who was supposed to bear that duty hadn’t given any orders, and it was clear to all that the ship’s captain, Oubary, had lost his composure, and that panic had infected even the common ranks.

“This won’t do.”

The great general Rogue who came out on deck had grasped the situation and was thinking of whether or not they ought to leave. When he looked at the battle situation calmly, they were still greater in number. However, that such a difference could be swallowed up by the moment in the blink of an eye was part of battle.

Oubary was by no means a bad commander. If he had the momentum at his side, he had a unifying power to him that could turn even the most hesitant soldier into a hero. However, in the exact same sense, if he was under adverse circumstances the people around him became ready to flee the scene.

They needed someone here with a backbone. A person who played an active, vigorous role.

“There’s no way I’m going to have my bones buried in Garberan lands,” Rogue muttered to himself – a grunt that came from the bottom of his heart.

There shouldn’t be any general who wished for a certain place or a certain way to die. But it fell to him to protect the prince in battle, or at least let it be a noble death.

He was reminded of the family that he’d left back in his country. And as he thought this, Mephian soldiers came running over as they turned their backs to the enemy, bullets piercing through their heads before they dropped to the ground. Their armour was painted with blood like on a children’s drawing, and Rogue placed a helmet over his head.

''Exposing this miserable figure here, shames me as a general. But to prepare myself for death in this place, is a general’s honour.''

He drew his sword with a spark, and started for the tail end of the dragonstone ship, shouting in a loud voice.

“Welcome, thou Garberan traitors! If you want to take another step, you have to step across this man’s – Rogue Saian’s – corpse! But this old croak will not die alone! He will take a hundred, nay, a thousand people along with him! Whoever wishes to take me on, should think of his family one last time!!”

While the enemy’s gunfire showered below without cease, Rogue jumped down from the ship that was just about to gain altitude. Several soldiers who had their fighting spirit invoked, gathered around the old general. The enemy came surging down on them from the front like an avalanche. One bullet grazed Rogue’s left cheek. Another completely dug into the jaw of a soldier to his right, who fell down on his back. Then, just when Rogue was about to charge into them with death’s smile on his face,

“Fire!!”

A pleasant to hear, loud scream reached his ears.

It didn’t come from the enemy. Rogue realized that the voice came from a hill’s wooded area, which was right next to the approaching Ryucown forces. From that very same place came the continuous sound of rapid gunfire.

In the wake of the leading horse-rider being struck down along with his horse, one after another of men, horses, and dragons collapsed in spurts of blood.

When the gunfire ended, next came the single command,

“Charge!!”

And swordsmen came jumping out of the bushes. They all took shining swords from either their back or waist, and prepared to cut into the enemy ranks. Those people definitely had dauntless courage. Rogue stared as blood sprayed all over the place, and heads and limbs flew through the air – fading into the darkness of the night.

“Ohh…”

He stared at the scene, letting a single breath of admiration go as the ground rumbled and dragons came into sight from the back where the enemy forces gathered. They were several medium-sized dragons, guided by dragoons riding on smaller-sized ones.

“Go, go!!”

“Make way! Or else you’ll get trampled!”

Those dragons must have been lying low ever since sunset, biding their time in the grove on the other side of the river. Ryucown’s forces and even Rogue himself hadn’t seen that coming.

It appeared to be a trick the one girl named Hou Ran had taught them that made this possible. It was hard to believe a person on the battlefield could make such a difference as she did.

Having fallen into such a sudden pincer attack, Ryucown’s troops fell into chaos.

Rogue couldn’t bear to wait any longer and also rushed in for the attack. With a single blow, he cut off the arm of one soldier who tried to hoist himself onto the ship, probably because he was in a hurry to get away from the enemy, or maybe because he wanted to put the head of the prince who was aboard the ship on top of a spike.

While the blood dribbled from the point of his blade, the old general hurried over to the warrior who had given those orders earlier.

It was a man with white hair and brown skin. He didn’t look very far apart from Rogue’s own age.

“An ally? But with all due respect, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your face before.”

“Ah, well,” the white-haired commander – Gowen – gave an awkward smile. “We are Prince Gil Mephius-sama’s Imperial Guard. But until recently we’ve held the status of gladiators.”

“What?”

Rogue was taken aback in all senses of the word. He had heard about the prince having employed mere gladiators as his personal guard. At the time, he had thought nothing more of it than as another one of the ‘fool’ prince’s capricious whims.

However, the men before him had mettle that was worthy of flying colours and marching banners. With a surging spirit, they levelled Ryucown’s forces with a splendid use of swords, axes, spears and guns.

This was exactly the reason Orba had brought them in as a trump card. He didn’t place any trust in their individual characteristics at all. On the contrary, he had known how unprepared the gladiators were. They fully relied on their instincts. But as the prince, Orba had made them a promise. Those who brought back the enemy’s heads at this fight would get a reward the more heads they brought back in, not even excepting their freedom.

Among the rewards they ever got from killing others, this day was the first time that they could win back their own life. For freedom, the kind of freedom where they could earn themselves gold, they wouldn’t miss out on any danger. For them, having to face a thousand enemy blades and a storm of bombs raining down on them was nothing.

“Be that as it may, that’s quite a feat. To lay down an ambush and stall the enemy’s march in this kind of emergency.”

“No, no. This was all the prince’s idea. It wasn’t someone like ''me''<ref>Gowen uses それがし 'soregashi' which is an old, very humble way of saying 'this person'.</ref> at all.”

Gowen unintentionally used an old way of speaking in front of the Mephian military commander, thinking he ought to somehow keep a dignified tone as an imperial guard.

“Realizing there were signs of treachery in the Garberan camp, the prince considered that would also be when Ryucown’s forces would attack and had us place an ambush on their advance route beforehand. He examined this terrain during the day and— artillery, aim for the enemy airship!”

He broke his explanation to give new orders.

“What?” Rogue muttered once more.

As issued, on the other side, the ground shook from the bombardment and a medium-sized Goll dragon roared and fell to its side.

“But, we didn’t receive any orders.”

“Well… The likes of us aren’t able to read Gil-sama’s thoughts at all times,” Gowen said solemnly. “But if the prince read beforehand that there would be a betrayal among the Garberans, in a situation where he didn’t know who was friend or foe, couldn’t he just have been afraid of leaking important information?”

“If you want to deceive your enemy… right?”

He sighed, looking up at the skies, but Rogue soon put back the face of a military commander and gave a long look at the soldiers ahead of him. Even more enemy reinforcements were approaching them.

“General, we still need to retreat for now,” Gowen said. “We need to join the flagship, and put an end to this chase.”

“Agreed.”

The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder as if they were old comrades in arms and, with matching breaths, they both issued orders to their own troops.

As their soldiers pulled back, Gowen glanced over to see the enemy reinforcements closing in with even more vigour.

''Their morale won’t fall so easily after all.''

Although he didn’t say it out loud, Gowen didn’t have any reason to get excited just because of their short victory a moment ago. To stop the enemy chase, and to assist in the flagship’s evacuation – that wasn’t his purpose right now. He had to keep the main body of Ryucown's forces stationary at all costs.

''But it’s good that it has gone as predicted so far, Orba. Otherwise, you’d be the one in the most danger.''

At that time, a cold feeling passed through him as a cannonball hit a nearby tree and scattered wood and fire in all directions. He stooped forward to protect himself and continued running for the flagship, Dhum. The old blood in this body that had stood on the battlefield before was being revived.

“The gladiators?”

Simon received the news and was at a loss for words. Of course, it was hard to suddenly believe. But, it was true that the enemy’s pursuit had weakened.

At that time, the page Dinn and several imperial guards entered the bridge.

“I have orders from the prince.”

“What?”

Oubary bared his teeth, being as much surprised as Simon.

“After all of this, what kind of ‘orders’ does our quivering crown prince have?”

“Please watch your language!” Dinn said, causing the agitation to show on his face. “It was the prince’s decision to invest his own personal guard.”

Oubary glared at the small boy. He was flanked by ruffian-like men to his left and right. But even now, he thought this had to be some kind of joke.

It was then that Dinn conveyed the message from the prince to those on the bridge. The soldiers below had to put in such a formation to meet with Ryucown’s forces, for it wouldn’t be long for the main Garberan force to join into the fray…

“He said, ‘A squad of both the cavalry and the infantry will join up with the imperial guard until there is relief from Garbera, so that they can attack the betrayers from both sides. The main force will centre around the flagship Dhum so that it can fire at the attack forces from the fort.’ ”

The inside of the flagship turned into a strained silence when they realized they weren’t going away from the fray of battle.

''Well'', Simon thought, stroking his chin. ''Is the ‘current’ prince the same prince that I’ve come to know?''

“Idiocy,” Oubary said in a low growl. “Won’t we only suffer losses if we reposition our troops in the midst of battle?”

“No, the number of enemies isn’t that much.”

“General Rogue!”

The old general Rogue Saian had appeared on the bridge, gasping for breath. His helmet and armour were bathed in enemy blood, rising up like steam. However, the smile on his face had a blood-curdling intensity to it.

“Thanks to the actions of the imperial guard, we have recovered our troops’ morale. At a time like this, Sir Oubary, one must issue forth an appeal.”

But his gaze implied,

''Didn’t you say we needed to attack the enemy just a moment ago?''

As it was hinted to Oubary like that, there wasn’t much he could say in return.

“Exactly.” This time it was Dinn who pitched in. “The prince too, encourages everybody from atop the bridge… Can’t you hear him?”

Certainly, over the bridge, hoisting the national flag high on a pole, a man was raising a loud voice aimed at the many soldiers surrounding it.

His face entirely covered with a helmet, clad in a silver armour, the ‘prince’ reprimanded the soldiers who continued to escape the turmoil, encouraging them to once more file back into their ranks.

“Please, prince.”

Even though the ‘prince’ raised his voice, he was shaking underneath all that armour. His physique and height were the same as Orba’s – or rather Gil’s, considering the people here – but it was the gladiator Kain instead.

“I have but a poor vocabulary. I can’t just repeat what has been said to me – so go... fight! You are soldiers who carry the pride of Mephius. Got it? Just end this quickly!”

Ryucown and Vileena were still standing face to face with the colours of fire behind them.

“What do you mean, entrusting my life?”

“I want you to become my wife.”

Ryucown’s proposal was straight to the point and Vileena felt as if her breath stopped for a moment. She once more tightened her small hands and immediately regained the strength of her resolve.

“And, what do you plan after that?”

“I’ll declare a new king has ascended the Garberan throne.”

He pulled out the sword slung over his back and made his announcement as if he’d thought of it just then.

“What do you think you can achieve with just one fortress?”

“If we rout the Mephian army today, many officers and men will come to me. Revolts will rise all over Garbera, hastening the preparations for my plans.”

“And all of this is will eventually help out Ende. If you put this through, sooner or later all of Garbera will be subjugated by Ende.”

“I’m not that big of a fool. Ende has put its attention on Mephius. All they want is to grab a foothold to the west. All the better if Garbera is in disorder, so they don’t have to worry about it. That’s why they haven’t come out into the open and sent any men – I wouldn’t either. Even if we don’t pull through here, we will have catered to their plan to raise hostilities with Mephius again. Although it will be difficult to truly rely on such a halfhearted alliance, it is much better than the humiliation of joining hands with Mephius.”

“Both make little difference,” Vileena loudly confessed with all the vigour she’d been holding in. “It makes little difference to our citizens. Just how many thousands of people will become the victim of your single-minded plans, thoughts, and pride?”

Vileena didn’t even realize those were the exact same words Prince Gil had used against her before. Ryucown, on the other hand, showed no quarter.

“Isn’t your royal family raised from a pile of corpses? Let’s end this childish argument. Having the true pride of Garbera, I took action only because I want to make a nation of true knights. Look at the world, princess. This is a conflict that will end a government of treachery, oppression and double-crossing. It’s only pure-minded knights who can truly save this world.”

“......”

“Knighthood is a wonderful thing. The elected are imposed with a self-discipline to their duty, always wanting to have a pure spirit. Those are the right kind of people to carry out our politics. It’s good that peasants rely on someone named as king or emperor in troubled times, but the country is only engaged in a bloody war due to simple greed. As it is, Garbera, the country of knights, has lost its ideal of pride. So, first I will have to change Garbera – no, I must return it to its roots. Garbera, as a true country of knights.”

“I commend your patriotism. But if that’s so, what do you need with a body sworn to the Mephian royal family?”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that this body has already exchanged its wedding vows.”<ref>What she means is that she already has sexual intercourse. The term for 'exchange wedding vows' (夫婦の契り) can also mean 'have sex as a husband and wife'.</ref>

It was a lie, and obviously Vileena couldn’t help but feel repulsed inside. However, she didn’t hesitate in the least. She wanted to completely crush this Ryucown, who seemed to be utterly possessed by something.

“You lie, your highness. You know the subtleties of a man and woman. Such an act isn’t possible.”

“You only say that because you do not want to accept it. Now, if I’ve lost this purity you speak of, and if I’ve already been held by this ‘filthy existence’ of a Mephian, you should stab me with that sword right now. Isn’t that your ideal?”

Vileena spoke in tears, pinching the point of the sword with her fingers and pressing it against her neck.

Ryucown opened his eyes wide. Further in the distance, the sound of artillery roared again like thunder. The Garberan warrior holding the sword and the princess praised as the flower of Garbera stared at each other.

“Were you that pleased with Mephius?”

“If we simply brand them as barbarians, we can only be accused of being ignorant. Besides, the country doesn’t have any blood ties. It is just like you said. The royal family is not a cornerstone, the sense of pride for their vassals and their people is the same – you can find the same light in that nation. Just who on earth will follow a man that can decide all by himself what this pride is?”

“You’ve thrown away your pride ''and'' your country, princess,” Ryucown decided. “Or maybe we can conclude that the young Princess Vileena has grown up. You hold the spirit of a soldier. However… because of that, you will be a hindrance to our cause. If you live and cannot recognize our views—”

He suddenly pulled back his sword. However, he looked quite grand as he placed it on his shoulder.

“—I at least want you to protect the Garberan royal family’s pride by dying.”

“What?”

“Alas, to retaliate for Garbera’s betrayal of their alliance, our princess Vileena has been killed by the hand of the Mephian prince.”

“If that happens,” Vileena said, sounding hoarse. “Won’t Garbera unite under a single cause?”

“The situation can only improve from here on.”

Vileena shifted her eyes away from the point of the sword. There she saw Ryucown’s eyes, as calm as ever. What was so different about him from the youth that had snuck into a castle with only a few men five years ago? Was it like back then? This was the action of a man who sincerely believed in the burning ideals he had as a youth and hadn’t let those ideals grow old.

“Farewell, princess. The first decoration I’ve ever received in my life, was your childlike kiss.”

His sword drew a glimmering arc. The princess only blinked once during that time. A tear dropped the instant she lowered her eyelids, reflecting the approaching sword.

Vileena was crying. She was frustrated at her own powerlessness while she’d truly believed that she could come to terms with him if they came face to face. This act of violence caused by Ryucown’s ‘purity’ disheartened her. For the first time since she was born, Vileena felt despair, and she was fated to have her life end immediately after.

Then, the glimmer of the sword was dropped down toward Vileena’s slender neck.

Cling!

An exquisite ring interrupted the sword’s arc just before it reached her. It was a dirk that was suddenly thrown, and Ryucown had changed the trajectory of his sword to intercept it.

“Who are you?”

He turned his gaze towards the entrance where one swordsman stepped out from between the pillars. Although he was clad in Garberan armour, Ryucown didn’t recognize that face. Or rather, he couldn’t discern the man’s face.

The swordsman who stepped forward, carrying a sword in his right hand, had his face covered by an iron mask.

<noinclude>

===References and Translation Notes===
<references/>

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter5|Chapter 5]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter7|Chapter 7]]
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter5

2018-01-21T22:32:15Z

MondSemmel: minor grammar errors

==Chapter 5: Princess Vileena==
=== Part 1 ===

Zaim was known for being an impregnable fortress. To the north, steep cliffs touched the border of Ende, and to the south an unobstructed view of plains was spread out. If Mephius actually wanted to cross the border and invade, Zaim Fortress was considered to be its biggest hurdle.

Ryucown had made it surrender in the blink of an eye and turned it into his own stronghold. It could be he had the help of traitors, but it could also be that the people at Zaim Fortress never intended to turn their blades toward Ryucown, because he was a Garberan to begin with.

And besides…

''Maybe he secretly got assistance from the Principality of Ende.''

This assumption was shared by both Mephius and Garbera. If not, he wouldn’t last with supplies like food, water, and ammunition. And for Ende, right now, they’d conveniently split the Garberan territory in two. In that way, it was good that Ryucown’s tactics hadn’t forcibly placed neighbouring villages under his control, or he would’ve received the enmity of its people.

“Our current Garbera has lost sight of adhering to pride above all!” Ryucown shouted with a loud voice. “Even if we bear the shame of a traitor for the moment, we inherit Garbera’s true pride. Disloyalty shames a knight, but we cannot stay devoted to obeying any senseless ruler. We must consider once again for what cause we should spill our blue blood. Do not mind bearing shame. We will open this fort’s gates and welcome all true knights that dedicate their bodies only for true loyalty.”

Ryucown cut off the heads of all the messengers, disregarding even the counsel from his own home country Garbera. And not only that. He also conducted a surprise attack with his airship on an advance party marching to recapture the fort, before taking flight again.

Within the Garberan royal court, it was the firm opinion that they should quickly send in a whole army to make Zaim surrender in order to protect the royal family’s dignity. But what they feared most of all was that Ende would participate in the war.

At the moment they were still keeping quiet, but if the Principality of Ende publicly admitted to having a collaborative relationship with Ryucown, it was feared Zaim Fortress would become a stronghold for Ende when they challenged Garbera. And with Garbera throwing aside an alliance with them, Ende also had a just cause to do so.

Hence, Garbera had no qualms against Mephius’s request.

Namely, they allowed the Mephian army to cross the Garbera’s national border, making it possible for them to line up formations and attack Zaim Fortress from the west .

It was about a week after the surprise attack at Seirin Valley.

As time went flying by, the situation was also littered with various apprehensions. The Mephian group led by Prince Gil immediately started heading for Idoro. It lay closest to the borders of Ende and Garbera, and was a fortress city that had often been at the forefront during the war with Garbera.

A group of sword slaves from the Tarkas Group was also forced to travel along the journey. Their weapons and dragons confiscated, and moving at a distance while being surrounded by military guards, they were no doubt suffering from stress regarding the dispiriting anxiety for their future. However, thanks to Gowen’s skilfulness, they quietly obeyed for the time being.

Although it might have been the same day-to-day feeling for those living under Tarkas, the situation was more complicated than that because of the Garberan party. In any case, because the ceremony had been interrupted, the marriage between Prince Gil and Princess Vileena had not been concluded. However, wilfully going back home at this point would be a disgrace for the both of them.

“I will go to Idoro as well,” Vileena had told her own country’s delegation, and had gone travelling along to Idoro with Theresia.
For the Mephian side it also gave them the impression they were keeping her as a hostage, but, naturally, Vileena herself had already taken that all into account.

The army moved while the goods were carried by dragon carts. The cavalry and the dragonriders atop the small-sized dragons guarded all directions, while the imperial and royal family members moved in coaches at the centre, surrounded by the soldiers on foot.

“I suppose this will be Prince Gil’s first battle,” Orba said, with Fedom sitting opposite him inside the coach.

“But am I not the one behind the scenes? Aren’t you being much too overprotective, no matter how you look at it?”

“Shut it,” Fedom called back, irritated. “There’s no need for someone like you to learn the imperial family’s methods of raising a good emperor. You should just do as you’re told.”

“So I’m to command when I’m told, order friends to die when I’m told, and kill the enemy when I’m told?”

“That would be splendid.”

Orba, no less irritated, still felt the traces from his quarrel with Vileena.

“Now stop talking. We don’t know who could be listening.”

And that was the ulterior motive Fedom had. Originally, the written letters had urged him to return to his homeland Birac. Simon alone had been assigned to be the prince’s support. However, Simon knew the prince’s temperament very well. So, because Fedom was concerned Simon would suspect the prince of being a fake at the current campaign, other ‘support’ was necessary.

''At most…''

If the prince did do an outstanding job here, this time nobles would turn up believing the prince held unifying qualities. If Fedom was able to gather up those people and have them back the prince, it might be possible to create a completely new political power in the next era.
Besides, the Prince Gil in question was the same as a puppet that did anything Fedom told him to. On behalf of the corrupted imperial family, he himself could advocate supremacy in these current troubles times – just thinking of it, made Fedom’s heart pound with boyish excitement as blood rushed to his head.

Meanwhile,

“Prince.”

Simon Rodloom, who called from outside of the coach, naturally had his misgivings.

“What is it?” Fedom’s face appeared instead.

Simon, who had gone to the battlefield himself in his younger days, was, to be expected, skilful with handling his horse. Matching the coach’s speed, he tried to peek inside. The prince was resting his cheek against the window on the opposite side.

“These past few days, we’ve hardly seen your face. Although I do hope you’re not doing that to cope with the shock received from what happened at Seirin Valley. It might also place a gap on the tale of your first battle. So—”

“The prince is in good health,” Fedom said smiling. “Even now, we were exchanging several views and opinions concerning the capture of Zaim Fortress. Later on, we’d also like to listen to your views on the matter, Master Simon. Oh… Your Highness, is it a little too bright? Please forgive me.”

Fedom acted as if the prince had talked to him and quickly closed the carriage’s curtains.

''That is strange.''

Spurring on his horse, Simon rubbed his chin. Fedom’s sudden intimacy and the prince’s change of heart in these last few days… It wouldn’t be such a miracle if the prince he knew so well, experiencing such an uproar during the ceremony, had lost himself amongst the public. However, from what he’d heard, it seemed the prince had given orders to the knights, and held the enemy at bay before they could kidnap Vileena. Although, as a substitute guardian, he was supposed to be pleased with the prince’s growth, this was far from being human, and he couldn’t simply accept it.

''Be that as it may, I haven’t seen the boy for three days.''

And, at a distance of fifty metres behind, Vileena and Theresia were rocking about in a similarly heavily escorted coach.

Vileena had been silent the whole time. She was lost in thought as she looked out at the scenery flying by outside the window. Theresia had her eyes fixed on the side of her mistress’ face.

She was the image of a beautiful girl who, at first glance seemed to be in her puberty but, if not, wasn't grown up either. But it was apparent to anyone who so much as glanced her way that she was worriedly longing for something precious to her. The eyelashes covering her eyes were dark, and the bridge of her nose was a thin line. Her petal-like lips were slightly wet, and her skin nearly crystalline white.

If an honest boy around the same age saw the girl staring off into the distance from her carriage’s window, on his way home from work on the farm, he’d be inexplicably bound with only a single glance. But looking at himself, after having gone through some hundred nights passionately yearning for her despite the issue of social differences, he would eventually marry some village girl and get children. But even if he’d be reading a book by the fireplace surrounded by grandchildren, undoubtedly, he would never be able to forget that one pubertal afterimage of only a single glance until the day he died…

Theresia, quite touched by her own fabrications, gently wiped away a tear with her hand. This was youth. And, when a voice called out “Theresia”, she looked up as if nothing had happened.

“Yes, what is it, your highness?”

“Theresia, how old are you now?”

“Well… when you reach the latter half of your forties, you eventually stop counting. Then it’s normal to look forward to continue on at that age forever.”

“I see,” Vileena said, as she rested her chin in her hand. “That’s quite convenient.”

“Of course, in the meantime, there were various encounters and farewells. Also many men. Speaking about love, there have also been several marriage proposals.”

“I would love to hear about that someday,” Vileena said with a little smile.

“Don’t say someday, but right now. It’s obvious your highness can use this little as a reference.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to hear such things. Cease your suspicious behaviour.”

With an angry frown, Vileena turned away.

''Oh my…''

Although Theresia thought she was cute, that naturally didn’t come out of her mouth. But it was worth teasing her. So, because she would otherwise be bored daydreaming again, her slightly mischievous side came to the surface.

“This Prince Gil has one utterly curious side to him, doesn’t he?” Theresia said, feigning ignorance. She didn’t seem to notice Vileena glaring her way either.

“I really haven’t decided what to think of him,” she continued. “Strangely enough, he has the attitude of someone who knows the world, but unbecoming of royal family he – how to say this correctly – sometimes still seems to speak like a child. Oddly, it’s something I worry about. Whether or not he will become a good husband, I’m certain he’s not the type that would fit into the Garberan court, right?”

“I guess he’s just a fool. Judging from all the rumours I’ve heard, it’s not such a big surprise,” Vileena said curtly. “As an enemy, he’s manageable. But it’s true I have to know a lot more details. They say that intelligence is everything in a battle, or so grandfather told me.”

“A battle?”

“Yes, a battle so that no more blood will be shed.”

In the days after their arrival at Idoro, Orba did not change for the better. There was hardly anything he could do until the reinforcements arrived from the capital. With his own country still negotiating with the Garberan side, not even coming close to concluding matters, there was nothing he could decide here without permission.

The fortress of Idoro was known to be strong, although it was a little less daunting than Zaim. The ramparts surrounding the urban areas around the fort were laid out in several layers, making it look like a maze. Walking around there in a sightseeing mood, Orba currently had to bring a lot of people along with him.

With his head thinking about the campaign, he was reminded of the skirmishes between the groups he experienced during his childhood, and that he had no more than the knowledge gained from things like hero stories. In any case, even though Orba had to continue being a body double, not for Mephius’ or the crown prince’s sake, but for his own sake, the state of both his head and feet were truly unsteady.

There were also other worries.

One evening when he was walking through the city, he saw that a crowd had formed. On the other side, sword-slaves were being made to walk, hauled off by around ten guardsmen. Their destination was Idoro’s detention facilities.

Despite Ryucown’s treason having come to the surface, and having cleared away the doubts that they were directly involved in the event, this was no excuse for Tarkas having been used for the prince’s assassination, and it seemed to have taken form in having the ownership of his slaves taken away. To make matters worse, the lord of Idoro was known to be the possessor of an extremely cruel disposition toward slaves.

“Lately there’s been rumours that, in order to raise the troop’s morale, all slaves are going to have their heads cut off in front of the soldiers,” Dinn further explained, shuddering.

The gladiators weren’t close friends. On the contrary, even though they’d shared their meals, they also had the kind of relationship that there would be no doubt or hesitation if they were instructed to kill each other on the next day.

But foremost, Orba’s anger was at the nobles who controlled lives and destinies as they wished. Because of them, they truly were not treated the same as the people around them.

“Personal guards under direct command?”

Orba had heard about it at the morning of their third day stay. Dinn had carelessly slipped his tongue while he was helping out with breakfast.

The imperial family, who were authorized to command the army, were able to directly choose their personal guard. The possibility to be chosen as part of the imperial guard was popular among the sons of nobles, with the exception of the eldest sons who would have to lose their right of inheritance, but it was also possible to choose people not from such a status, and even give them the position of officer. Prince Gil was given that authority at the age of fifteen, but Dinn said he had not specially employed it.

That evening, Orba left for the detention camp, passing many staircases, for the multiplexed structural arrangement of this fortress was made so to keep the whole of public eye at a distance. A hundred gladiators were tucked away in a cramped room. They looked left and right in confusion at the prince’s sudden appearance, which he thought wasn’t so strange considering Kain was working on an escape plan for the night, and he laughed inwardly. Even now, he was cunningly working with dexterous fingers, attempting to escape.

“What!? Are you serious, Orba!?”

Gowen unintentionally raised his voice, before Shique blocked his mouth.

“Yeah, I’m serious.”

“What made you think of something so brash?” Shique, as expected of him, spoke in a hushed voice, but his face looked shocked. “If this is true, don’t you think the people around you will be more suspicious of your true identity?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve been collecting information about the prince. He’s just a huge idiot, and doesn’t even listen to other people’s advice. Actually, this is just the kind of thing such a dim-witted prince would do. I’m thrilled you want to save yourselves, but I’d like to make the gladiators my own personal guards.”

Because the investigation was still going on, Tarkas himself was left in the building, but all of the remaining gladiators were made into Gil Mephius’ personal guards. The company-employed blacksmith who carried out the armour’s repairs, and the girl entrusted in taking care of the dragons, Hou Ran, were also granted the status of Imperial Guard.

One official paper, marked with a sign in the prince’s handwriting, as he was taught by Dinn in these past few days, fully sufficed.
When Fedom found out afterwards, he was obviously in a fit of anger. However, Orba made a face as if to say ‘is something the matter?’.

“Well, now I’ve already done it. When the real prince replaces me in the future, he can undo it or expel them if he wants to. Until then – let’s see – we’re okay on horses and dragons, but could you prepare weapons and armour for them? The ones from the company are all just second-hands. I also want several guns exclusive to the Imperial Guard.”

“Bastard! Mind you – I will remember all of this! Don’t do any more unnecessary things. You can’t even breathe freely without having my direct permission. Don’t forget that your life fully rests on how I feel about you.”

“That feeling’s mutual.”

“What did you say!?”

Despite Dinn anxiously fidgeting around between the two of them, Orba gave Fedom a sharp look.

“You should’ve understood that, right? But fine… I also don’t want to drive myself into a corner any more than necessary. I’ll leave my selfishness up to this extent. Instead, I’ll ask you for the equipment.”

“You mongrel…”

Fedom, who seemed about to faint from anger anytime soon, also directed his glare at Dinn, and Orba was about to dismiss the grand noble from his room.

“Tomorrow, I’ll do anything you say even if it’s a depressing play. If I truly get carried away and do whatever I want before the first battle, you can give me any scolding you want. So, scoot, scoot! You’re a busy man, aren’t you?”

''Interesting…''

After driving Fedom out, with Dinn’s scolding going in one ear and out the other, Orba had this thought for the first time since coming into this situation.

In any case, he was the crown prince. While there were many inconveniences, as a commoner he could act as he pleased and do what he liked. Placing gladiators directly under his control as soldiers for instance, although looking back, he couldn’t honestly say that he’d saved them from the nobles. But there was also his intention in wanting to know how much was he able to do, and for how long his self-proclaimed owner, Fedom, would permit this pet dog’s ‘biting habits’.

''Even if I find out, I suppose I should be a little bit more careful.''

If Fedom directly saw Orba as a dangerous person, he would probably lose all of this small freedom he currently had. Perhaps even his life. And if that was over, there would’ve been no use to playing those antics.

Two days later, the expeditionary forces arrived from the capital. It had been decided Prince Gil would lead the troops.

Two dragonstone air carriers, 50 dragoons, 150 horsemen, and 500 foot soldiers – a considerable amount to be entrusted to a supreme commander on his first campaign.

The populace packed together at the main street as the troops came striding in, and Orba was looking down at them from the castle balcony. As the airships flew in the sky, the clattering of armour sounded, and a forest of spears and rifles formed in a line, it felt exactly like a scene from the historical novels or heroic tales he’d feasted on during his childhood.

Entranced by that gallant display, Orba’s eyes were gleaming like that of a boy. If seen by his companions from his time as a gladiator, he was certain that they wouldn’t be able to believe he was the same person, and not just because he no longer had a mask.

After that, doing as Fedom told him to, Orba went out to meet them at the castle square. But when his eyes made contact with the flagship’s captain, who had become a great general of long service, at the centre of his troops, the joy and excitement from his childhood vanished at once.

=== Part 2 ===

This was all too unexpected.

Beyond unexpected, he was late in noticing this was the scene that he’d been waiting for all this time.

Clad in simple black armour, standing with his heels together in front of the ‘prince’, the man bowing before him had a characteristic kind of smile that could be taken as arrogance.

That majestic air he had still remained the same as before. Back then, he’d ordered to ‘set fire to the lot’ from horseback.

''Oubary…''

With all his nerves on edge, a wave of heat ran through his body. His throat was dry, and he felt dizzy.

At the same time, all kinds of future possibilities came to mind. Immediately leap at this man and strangle his neck with his bare hands, stab him with his sword, shoot a bullet through his head, or interrogate him about Alice’s, his mother’s, or his brother’s whereabouts – every temptation was twirling through his mind with the same intensity, stirring up, and Orba was thrown away by all of its strength.

But now… as Prince Gil Mephius, instead of choosing such a direct approach without regard to his future, it should be possible to create other options. A crueller, more striking, and more tragic way of chasing down this man.

Orba, standing upright, hardly heard the other person’s greetings. Fedom accepted the greetings on his behalf. When he was informed that there was a party being arranged to feed their courage in the castle hall, Oubary's adjutant replied.

“Well, wouldn’t it be as easy to stretch the soldiers’ feathers even when we’re not there? I would like you to immediately hear us out in a war council. There is also a message from His Majesty, Emperor Guhl.”

“Ahh yes, I understand.”

Next to him, cheerfully smiling, Oubary gave the ‘prince’ his greetings.

“It has been a long time, Your Highness. And it is finally the prince’s first campaign. The unworthy me, Oubary, has the privilege to be of your assistance. If nothing more, I will make sure to decorate your first battle with victory.”

For a short while, Orba didn’t say a thing and stared at Oubary’s spread purple lips.

“Yeah…” he said, nodding. “I’ll leave it to you.”

Oubary Bilan, aged 44, was a strong general who had rushed out into the battlefield against Garbera many times over. He had once assumed responsibility of guarding Apta Fortress, but when the Garberan army cut through his forces and started besieging the fortress, he’d immediately pulled back his troops by his own country’s demands. They wanted to cut the Garberan armies in two – namely, get rid of Apta in the early stages, and cross over the border in one sweep where they raided a Garberan strike force prepared to attack Idoro.

This decoy strategy became a similar retaliation strike for Garbera, and Mephius lost part of its southern territory, but it had brought a lot of damage on Garbera in return.

After that, he’d continued at the frontlines, and this time he’d been ordered to accompany the prince on his first campaign.

“So now I have to become this kid’s babysitter?”

Oubary had sullenly spoken those words over his shoulder when he’d received his orders. Although he bragged about being better in fights than anyone else in Mephius, in reality he’d mostly survived by taking the leftover fights.<ref>Actually: 勝ち残り- it’s a term for someone who wins by laying low and then take the finishing blow when necessary, like a kill-stealer.</ref>

Above that, he was also heavily opposed to the peace with Garbera. He was not the kind of man with the guts to openly speak against the emperor, but, for someone who’d been standing on the battlefield since the beginning of this ten-year-war, his irritation for putting an end to it with such halfway measures was all the worse.

He was as much as a reverse rebel.

“It should’ve been left as it was. No, cooperating with these rebels instead and plunging Garbera into a long period of mayhem would’ve been even better. If that was the case, we could’ve increased our military strength and taken over the Garberan capital.”

Although he spoke about such fabrications with resourceful families, as he soon learned of the incident at Seirin Valley, it had gradually changed Oubary’s way of thinking. The scale of the fight was never all that big, but this would no doubt define the positions between the three countries for future relationships.

''Even I’m not a man who can choose his future by himself.''

He had his own ambitions. After the peace talks, a letter directed to him personally had arrived from none other than of the biggest peace opposition in Garbera. Could it have been proof that they were afraid of his name and strength? He could make even more a name of himself, if he would broaden his future course.

On top of that, Oubary also knew the crown prince Gil Mephius’ personality well. He would be headed for a glorious first campaign – after all, that prince wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything by himself. He planned to take away his full authority.

“Ahh, but…” he joked, drinking wine together with his subordinates before leaving the capital. “I will have to make it look like it’s all the prince’s doing. It’ll be troublesome in the future, if I get under his skin.”

That night, a war council was held, and it was proceeding at Oubary’s pace, just as he had intended.

At first, his adjutant announced the results of the conference with Garbera, which he’d brought from the capital. It was decided that they attack the fortress on both sides, where Mephius would advance from the west, and Garbera from the south.

“Does it say anything about sending scouts to Ende?” Simon remarked on Mephius’ marching route along the border of Ende.

If it turned out that Ryucown and Ende were having a cooperative relationship, there was the danger that the Mephian army would be the first to receive a surprise attack.

“Although we more than stand out, Ende will not likely rally that easily. But even if that happens they can be expecting a pincer attack in turn.”

“In this case, we can’t expect to rely on even the diplomatic skills of our country,” Fedom said, looking out over a map of the surrounding area spread on the desk. “One option might be to send an envoy during the march, in the crown prince’s name.”

“Yes, just to be sure. We can also help by pulling out Idoro’s defence force and have them ensure the line of supplies,” the Lord of Idoro, Julius, agreed to Simon’s appeal.

While the unit’s organization and the talks of deployment started, Oubary fleetingly looked over at the prince. Ever since the war council commenced, he hadn’t spoken a word, but simply had his arms folded, staring ahead of him.

It was obvious from that start that there wasn’t anything he could do, and Oubary secretly smiled inside.

“Do you agree with this, your highness?”

He tried to force him to join the talk. The prince instantly looked his way, but immediately averted his gaze and replied,

“Yeah.”

After that, he continued to say nothing more. All of the commanding officers present at the war council exchanged glances.

''Keep up that attitude, your imperial highness…''

Crossing both arms, which were not covered by his leather undershirt, Oubary was barely able to suppress the smile that almost came to the surface.

''You should just leave everything to Oubary after this. Well I will probably have to rack my brains a little on how to get a ‘fair achievement for the prince’. I guess it’ll be a difficult battle if I have to win without losing a single soldier.''

While Prince Gil was being exposed to the older man’s gaze, he – Orba – was digging his nails into his arms.

A little while ago, it had taken him full concentration, and great effort not to look at Oubary. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to stay calm if he looked at his face right now. He had almost lost his self-control just by hearing his voice. Above all, this small room was the worst. Even if he averted his eyes, the murmurs and every breath Oubary took reached Orba’s ears.

His heart had been jumping around so much that it hurt, and his blood seemed to be rushing to every corner of his body, more than it should be able to. They were preparing for a confrontation. His entire body was giving him the sign to go. His arms, legs, and every fibre of his muscles that he’d been training for a period of two years were telling him to kill this bastard right now.

The colour of flames, the acrid smoke, Alice being taken away, and the charred bodies of the villagers were recurring in his head. And his brother Roan, who smiled whenever he called out his name.

Oubary had ditched his brother, who shouldn’t have had to pick up a sword and go into battle for his family’s sake in the first place. And the careless survivor, Orba, was now near him. The survivor of that smoking village back then, who hadn’t for one in a thousand thoughts imagined to have him this close within reach!

Was there really a reason to show this guy any sympathy?

Was there any reason for showing him mercy and having him live longer for even one second?

''Kill him.''

There was a whispering voice in the back of his mind. It quickly turned into a shout, and before long it became a chorus of voices with a thunderous tempo and rhythm.

''Kill him.''

''You can kill him now – you can kill him!''

''Now! Kill him!!''

That instant, Orba stood up from his seat.

The discussion stopped, and everyone fixed their eyes on him.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

“…What?” Orba asked in response.

He had just been about to leave the room. If he stayed there any longer, he feared he would no longer be able to restrain himself. However, when he heard a voice telling him Princess Vileena was in the next room, again in response, he was forced to stand his ground.

“Oh, what business does a Garberan princess have in a war council?” Oubary said, deliberately sounding denigrating. Then he jokingly added, “Could it be she’s gotten worried that we might be bullying her husband? Well, my image isn’t very good. I haven’t even once left a good first impression on any woman I’ve met.”

A few people laughed in response.

“Let her go back,” Fedom said.

“No,” Simon pitched in. “She’s a key ally. We can’t ignore her. Let her in. Do you mind, prince?”

Orba didn’t have a reason or the willpower to refuse. So, he nodded and sat back down.

Before long, Vileena came in by herself. At a place for men, and a place to speak of war, there was a strange feeling of discomfort about a princess’s interference. Whether or not she was aware of it, Vileena’s innocent, beautiful features were radiating the colour of determination, like that one day.

“People of Mephius. First of all, please forgive a woman’s impertinent words at the place of a war council. Such a thing is exceptional in Garbera as well. With this, I – Vileena Owell – bare shame upon myself.”

Several minutes after, despite their glaring eyes, the military officers were all insincerely putting her at ease and commenting about how her enthusiastic attitude received praise.

The Princess of Garbera, wanting to avoid a solution by military means, insisted on letting her persuade Ryucown by herself. If it came to a head-on collision, no matter which camp had the advantage, Garberan lands would burn and its people would die. However, Ryucown was a patriotic knight who was concerned about Garbera’s future. That belief had gone too far this time and had caused such an act of folly. Thus, the young princess fervently advocated in her speech that they should turn him back to his righteous self.

“Of course, the crime of aiming for the life of the Gracious Heir to the Mephius Empire’s throne is severe. I am willing to seek the Mephius’ support on how to deal with the ringleaders, starting with Ryucown. I am definitely aware this is not matter for Garbera alone. Therefore…”

“Right now, that is for talks after the war,” the winged dragon officer, Rogue Saian, cut in.

Although the others sent reproachful looks his way as he stood up, it was obvious they were all cheering him on in their hearts.

“This is our retaliation for the attack on our imperial family. It’s been clear from the beginning that this was never a matter for Garbera alone!”

As the most established among Mephius’ twelve generals, even Oubary sometimes came to him for instructions or to ask for advice. It wasn’t clear if he was older or younger than Gowen – even at a war council, he was fully clad in the heavyset armour of his ancestors. It looked like he had the spirit of a true warrior at heart.

Facing him, Vileena hardly knew a thing about war, and no matter how much her young zeal burned, she would be highly judged for being a princess of her age. Her mouth was already filled with words to bring forth an immediate rebuttal.

But the other generals, stirred up by the veteran’s spirit, spoke up instead.

“Garbera may see the Mephian army marching into their lands to quell Ryucown’s rebellion as quite worrying, but we’re not brigands. We’re not like thieves that take advantage of a fire and lay waste to Garberan lands.”

“Apart from that, Garbera itself has given our advance their consent. It’s best if we don’t hinder the organisation between countries just from a single princess’ ideas.”

“T-That’s,” Vileena said, bending forward. “At least let me have the privilege of accompanying this campaign. I also don’t think I can do this alone. However, it’s impossible for me to stand by and keep quiet in a quarrel between my own kinsmen.”

The soldiers and senior statesmen again exchanged glances.

Oh dear – this princess was proving to be most troublesome.

“There’s no reason to stand by and keep quiet, Princess Vileena, as your father has requested our cooperation.”

“Besides,” Oubary said, smoothing things over. “For our country, the princess still holds the importance of being in preparation for marrying the prince. We can’t very well do something like taking you along to the battlefield.”

Vileena lowered her head. Orba remembered that expression where she tightly bit her lip. For a woman as smart as her, she ought to be heavily aware of how her appearance and intervention at a war council was considered a nuisance. And yet, she couldn’t keep quiet. She still wasn’t held back.

''Her royal duties…''

The words Vileena had spoken were brought back in his mind. Something unwavering and unshakable – not for him, but rather for Vileena – seemed to be hidden in those words. And at the same time, for each and every human, to know what kind of person you really are was too difficult a question for only one person to hold. Not knowing what to do with those feelings in his heart, he thought back on that time when he looked up at the night sky with his brother Roan.

''Very well, then. Your beliefs – let me test them out.''

“So, you can leave.”

“Please wait and have trust in your father, and your future husband.”

“Wait. Everyone, please—” Vileena brought herself forward even more.

It was as if she still hadn’t realised the indifferent, fed-up mood that hung in the air, when,

“Let’s have the princess accompany us,” he said.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 229.jpg|thumb]]

Everyone turned to stare at the prince looking as if they’d just suddenly been struck by an arrow. Some of them looked amazed, wondering whether they should be the ones to first open their mouths.

“Your Highness,” Oubary said after some time, showing quite a controlling presence, and a slightly chiding smile. “I’m sure that, if she’s at your side, you will have the ferocity of a lion on the battlefield. But, although you may win the princess’s heart, the battlefield has its ironbound rules. I beg of you, do not act rashly. How about choosing a more suitable place for your honeymoon later?”

His words invited some unintentional smiles from the senior statesmen.

“Let’s have Princess Vileena as our standard-bearer.”

They once again looked the prince’s way. He had his arms crossed and was staring ahead, just like before.

“Many Garberan soldiers are probably as anxious as the princess about the coming battle. I don’t believe it’s good if they’re having doubts. There are also uncertainties on our side on whether or not this cooperation will work out.”

“……”

“If we have Princess Vileena as our standard-bearer among them, it will carry the same meaning for both the armies of Mephius and Garbera. Ryucown himself might agree on an assembly with Princess Vileena, but if he doesn’t comply it means he’s nothing more than a mere rebel. Thus, it will also clear away all doubts the Garberan army may have about this battle if we eventually force Ryucown to surrender his forces in a righteous way.”

Including Vileena, nobody was able to utter a sound.

Oubary stared fixedly at the prince’s face from the side, and the prince fleetingly glanced his way. Instantly, the prince looked away again, but Oubary was startled to see the hostility in his eyes. He could’ve been mistaken. However, Oubary secretly broke out in a cold sweat.

As the silence continued, the far away noise of the party and sound of flutes at the castle’s reception hall rode in with the evening breeze.

=== Part 3 ===

Five days later, the campaign force finished its preparations and started out from the fortress. A line of defence stretched out from Idoro fortress, standing ready for any surprise attacks from Ende while they crossed the Garberan border.

Prince Gil was on the bridge of the flagship Dhum. Although Orba had watched ships go up into the sky several times, this was, of course, the first time he had ever boarded one.

Dhum was a large dragonstone ship that could house up to two hundred soldiers. The ship was currently gliding close over the ground, but its top speed was 90 kilometres an hour<ref>56 mph</ref>, and it could rise two kilometres above ground. Considering it was a ship this large, it was most likely a top performer amongst its class.

Dhum and the single-seated airships, which were all called dragonstone ships, were the result of ‘magic’. The science that mankind had back when it crossed the ocean of space had already declined.

This is the history of more than hundreds, thousands of years ago, that was passed on…

Seeking an environment to emigrate to, mankind had started on a journey from Earth into space, and in the end, they finally arrived at this planet.

It would’ve been only natural for everyone to try and re-establish the same scientific culture here, but the frequent raids of a subhuman race – the Ryuujin tribe – claiming to be descendants of the dragon gods, soon depleted the weapons and energy that were piled up in their spaceship. Also, because the properties of the resources they mined on this planet greatly differed from those on Earth, it was getting close to impossible to restore the civilization from the Earth Era.

At that time, while they held back a fifth consecutive invasion from the Ryuujin tribe, there was a sage named Zodias, later to be known as the King of Magic.

Zodias had originally been a researcher on the historic ruins scattered across the planet. He was trying to unravel the secrets of the civilization in which the dragon gods had once prospered. The uncovered artefacts, of uncertain usage, greatly differed from Earth’s science and he was convinced they held some sort of power.

He discovered that the mechanism, a substance poured down with the sun and vaporizing in the sea, had an entirely different nature. It couldn’t be detected even with the science and technology of Earth, but Zodias, furthering his investigation on the artefacts, named that substance ‘ether’.

In response to the artefacts, ether caused various physical reactions. Fire, explosions, water purification, repulsion to geomagnetism, and a rise or fall in temperature… Based on various experimental results, Zodias successfully created new objects that were similar in nature to the artefacts, and was able to wield ‘magic’ in causing the phenomena he wanted.

With the use of this magic, Zodias managed to send the Ryuujin Tribe back to the ends of the earth and reigned as a new king that unified almost all of the lands on the planet. That prosperity and what would ultimately cause the downfall of the Zodias era, however, is yet another story.

Anyhow, the vehicles that had the ability to suspend above ground and go through the sky on this planet, like the airships and air frigates, weren’t science, but an inheritance from the magic that Zodias gave birth to.

In order to acquire floating ability, a power to repel the gravitational force was created with the use of ether, and when it flew, ether was radiated and scattered about. Of course, when the ether runs dry it would lose its ability to float, and the more it rose in altitude, the more the power to repel gravity lost its strength.

These ships were generally called ‘dragonstone ships’ because the skeletal frame of these ships was made of the so-called weightless metal that was refined from the dragonbone fossils excavated from the ancient layers of the earth.

These days, good dragonstone was a valuable resource, all the more because of the occurrence of ether depleting worldwide, which also caused the magic civilization to decline. And, even though it couldn’t be mass produced, it was certainly an indispensable military power to have on hand.

Orba would show up on the bridge, for several hours a day, before heading back to his room to rest. This was also what Fedom had suggested, after all, as he’d put it, ‘you can’t make mistakes when you don’t show your face’.

Orba found it convenient. Having all eyes upon him just for sitting still and staring ahead of him went against his nature and, moreover, he had been deep in thought these last few days.

Mephius, Ende, Garbera, and Ryucown.

He wanted to know their strengths and characteristics. Because he was unsure of his own knowledge of them, he had Dinn, who had received a much higher education than he, and Gowen and Shique, who said they’d lived in other lands before serving under the Tarkas Group, supplement him.

First of all, from Garbera’s point of view, they obviously couldn’t ignore Ryucown’s rebellion. However, as only one country, they would be at an overwhelming disadvantage if Ende participated in the war. In the likely event that Ende ''did'' have ties with Ryucown, they might also take the opportunity to take the next step and advance on the capital.

But what Garbera feared above all was internal discord. There were many vigorous, energetic youths within the country who had gathered under Ryucown and believed that they ought to attack Mephius. It was even possible that they’d abandon the royal family at the capital and form a new royal family by exploiting Vileena’s and Ryucown’s marriage.

“Concerning Mephius,” Gowen analysed, "They hope to strengthen their alliance when the marriage is concluded as it is after defeating Ryucown here as a team. They will also be prepared to face off against Ende, and they have the opportunity to place Garbera in their debt with the current campaign."

On the other hand, if the wedding didn’t hold, the territory of Garbera would be split between the royal family and Ryucown, which wasn’t so bad either. If it so happened that the alliance got annulled, Mephius might possibly be approached by Ende instead, setting their sights on collaborating with Mephius instead if it could make a change to their own country’s advantage.

But in that case, there was another risk.

“In contrast to what you just said, should Ryucown obtain Princess Vileena, they could unify the whole country with the cooperation of Ende.”
What they thought and how they moved – many routes were open before them, and they also had to consider the actions among each of these movements.

“Gowen, isn’t Iver originally from Garbera?” Orba suddenly said, mentioning a gladiator’s name.

“Ahh. He did work as a mercenary, but he said it didn’t fill his plate, so he became a bandit.”

“Seriously, you're thinking of slipping him over to Ryucown’s side? But they’re a hard-knit bunch of guys, he’ll be noticed right away.”

“Not if it’s in the midst of a chaotic battle, don’t you think?”

Orba immediately summoned Iver, and gave him some instructions. Of course, he did all of this as a ‘prince’. The only sword-slave who knew about his real identity was Shique.

Half a day after they crossed the border, the Mephian army was lined up on a hill that overlooked Zaim Fortress. They had their artillery ready for the siege.

The allied forces of Garbera were south of the fortress, and it took them about three hours to set up their battle formations on the plains next to it. Mephius had sent an envoy to Ryucown. This was to tell them that Princess Vileena was aboard their flagship, and to endorse them to surrender.

The envoy came back in less than an hour. But, although they’d headed off with three people, only one of them had been allowed to return. The face of the man who’d arrived on his knees at the bridge was pale.

“Rescuing Princess Vileena from the dastardly Mephians that hold her hostage is our most pressing concern. Although the princess will receive a hearty welcome if she wishes to take the trouble to come over, we will never allow any Mephian to set foot within this fortress.”

Along with the envoy’s message, Orba was handed a set of binoculars from one of the non-commissioned officers<ref>JP: 下士官 Lit. 'low officer'. In Edo-Japan this was a term for one who was enlisted as an officer, but not of noble birth.</ref>. When he looked through, he saw two spears raised on top of the fort. There were freshly severed heads hoisted at the tips. It was Ryucown’s reply.

“Now this man’s a rebel to his lord – isn’t he, prince?” Oubary said as he peered through a similar pair of binoculars. He hadn’t believed from the beginning that a ‘just cause’ like this would have the Garberan side working together with them on this.

“Our military force is greater,” he continued. “All right. Let’s start attacking them on from both sides immediately. If we waste any more time, Ende could send reinforcements over to Ryucown’s aid.”

Thinking that the prince’s excessive ‘meddling’ had ended with this, Oubary immediately gave the order to advance. With this, the prince’s abundant meddling (speaking voice) came to an end, it looked like he immediately gave Oubary the order to march. However, Orba interrupted him, saying,

“Wait.”

Everyone on the bridge, including the generals, looked at him with puzzled looks.

“First, let’s make sure that the Garberan side is ready as well.”

The opening of the battle commenced just before sunset. The Garberan troops went for the attack from the south, while the Mephian army held back to provide covering fire. But it had little effect anyhow, as the Mephian encampment was further from the fortress.

The dragoons clashed with each other on the middle of the plains. There was a clash of weapons scattering, as spearheads ran through the enemies’ heads, making them flutter through the air.

There was an iron solidarity and teamwork among Ryucown’s forces. Arrows shot out from the fortress as the Garberan forces tried to advance, and there were bursts of gunfire here and there on the plains – scattering about the flesh of dragons, horses, and humans.

Furthermore, while the aerial forces were mainly on standby up in the air, sometimes they would swoop in to attack at the right time. Additionally, Ryucown’s soldiers who had set up small bases around the fort, performed back-up by gunfire. It was an exquisite arrangement. The Garberan troops were at a standstill, and the aerial forces on Garbera’s side were also the victim of gunfire. They had fallen to a state where they couldn’t receive their ally’s support either.

“What the hell’s Mephius doing!?”

“Gahh, we’re at our limits! Fall back, fall back!!”

“Lift the dragonstone ships – withdraw under the cover of their cannons! Tell them not to go in too deep!!”

In the end, most of the Garberan army couldn’t advance, and two hours passed before they were back at their main camps. They had personally confirmed the robustness of the fortress that they’d built themselves.

It grew silent again around Zaim Fortress. Here and there, the torches inside the fort were extinguished, but one could easily perceive that they were diligently standing on guard.

Several hours after the evening battle, a Garberan messenger had headed for Dhum’s direction. He came to complain and to reconfirm their strategy. Orba had left everything up to Fedom, while he himself examined the map at the bridge.

There were also several captains gathered at the war council, but Orba hardly spoke a word. Even so, at the end, he didn’t give them the final permission to advance. Despite the confusion and doubt, most of them had feelings of anger.

“Is this supposed to be Prince Gil’s first campaign?” Oubary murmured almost to himself. A sneer was stuck to the edge of his lips. “I wonder whether him being unreasonable is a form of caution. And we are supposed to tell this to all of the soldiers and hope that, at the most, our caution isn’t taken as cowardice.”

After the war council,

“What are you scheming?” Fedom said, having appeared at the ship’s room that was assigned to the prince. “Have you lost your nerves? If nothing else, I’m not telling you to do a bloody suicide attack. Just leave it to me. If you do any more of these selfish actions, I’m really going to have your head!”

His cheeks were quivering in anger as he spoke, but in the end, this was a battlefield. The real prince wasn’t even in the area. Orba didn’t think Fedom could do anything to him in the current situation.

After Fedom left, Gowen posed a question.

“We also don’t know what on earth you’re thinking. To whom do you actually feel the need to show mercy?”

“It has nothing to do with showing mercy. I’m sorry, but I’m in a position where I can’t tell friend from foe.”

“Friend, foe? Are you talking about Garbera?”

“Them too.”

It wasn’t only Orba who didn’t have confidence in the Garberan forces. Actually, the long-serving general Rogue Saian was watching signs among the Garberan camp, aside from the enemy’s movements. Although the amount of people who would contemplate betrayal was probably no more than a tenth, if they turned coat in the middle of the battle, they could very well suffer a great deal of harm. The emotional unrest could be huge. And if Ryucown pulled out his forces at that very moment, they might cut through to them in no time.

“However, you don’t plan on taking your time and keep besieging them, do you?” Shique said. “If they ''do'' receive supplies from Ende, this will drag on and on, and the morale on Garbera’s side will plummet. If Ryucown remains, more civil wars will break out over the place, and it might even escalate to a war that splits up their entire country.”

“It won’t just end with those who consider changing sides raiding our camp at night. They’d want to take Prince Gil’s head, rescue Princess Vileena – things like that.”

When he heard Gowen’s words, Orba grinned. If an opponent had seen him like this during his time as a gladiator, and Orba hadn’t been wearing a mask, he would surely fly into a rage. After all, it was the type of smile that seemed to terribly belittle the opponent.

“It’s fine. Because I’m still waiting for exactly ''that'' moment to arrive.”

Gowen let out a groan – Shique also wondered whether this was some sort of joke – and got a mixed look on his face.

“Orba, you can’t be! Is this why you brought the princess along?”

“Who knows.”

Not knowing friend from foe didn’t only apply to Garbera. He was still not able to grasp the full picture of what happened at Seirin Valley, and Orba – or rather Prince Gil – couldn’t put much trust in the Mephian army from the beginning. He wasn’t able to make a move with the situation unclear on whoever bound his hands and feet, and whoever was pulling the strings.

Rather than explaining how many tricks he still had up his sleeves, Orba said,

“These soldiers, who are ‘accustomed’ to fighting without knowing anything, are different. I don’t have nerves that thick.”

This was actually his only true motive. For he had fully realized what it was that had been lost to him before.

Strengthen your own position, know your friends and your enemies, and collect various information, large and small – if he could pile up all that information into a stronghold, even bold actions would have their effect. Without any of that, he wasn’t any different than a fool going in for a suicide attack.

''Be discreet before you start a fight. It will be thorough and fast. You don’t have time for thoughts when you’re at that point, do you? So the only time you have to think, is now.''

Orba thought, staring fixedly out of a window that was furnished in his room.

<noinclude>

===References and Translation Notes===
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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter4|Chapter 4]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter6|Chapter 6]]
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter4

2018-01-21T21:50:07Z

MondSemmel: minor grammar errors

== Chapter 4: At Seirin Valley ==

=== Part 1 ===

As far as Simon Rodloom was concerned, Fedom, the Lord of Birac, showed no signs of a change of heart.

Despite the council having become a more nominal existence due to strengthening of the Imperial household’s authority, Simon was still a leading aristocrat. He grasped the movements of the other nobles to some extent, their principles and claims, and also intended to understand their situation.

According to Simon’s insights, Fedom was clearly one of the anti-imperial faction.

He had persuaded the emperor, who actually wanted to continue the war with Garbera, and as the leader of the group promoting the peace negotiations, he had built up support for himself amongst the Imperial Court. Although his skills as a leader, as well as his wisdom, were somewhat lacking, he was much better compared to the other group of corrupted nobles.

However, that Fedom was definitely acting strange. Since last night’s party – no, ever since they headed out for Seirin Valley – he had for some reason been sticking close to Prince Gil, just like a wet nurse poking her nose into people’s business here and there.

''Did he say he’d educate the prince, just to raise him into a puppet doing his will?''

That thought passed through his mind, but wasn’t it a little too late to take such actions now?

Incidentally, it was also related to the prince himself. As far as he knew, Prince Gil and Fedom should have hardly exchanged any words. When the prince hung around with his young friends, Simon had always heard him call the man ‘that manipulative wannabe swine’ behind his back.

How come he seemed to generously accept Fedom’s sudden intimacy or – even worse – seemed to rely on him?

Aside from making sure by meeting with the prince in private, there was a lot of work left for Simon. A delegation from the Principality of Ende had also rushed in for congratulations, although it was unusual that they decided to only a week ago. At first, there had also been talks of Ende and Garbera forming a bond by engaging royal partners, but it had probably been just one of the many things Ende and Garbera had in mind. Simon was pressed to welcome them.

But somewhere else,

“That ungrateful bastard, Orba!”

It was Tarkas, rudely snorting and prowling about in the room.

When he thought of the Mephian noble Fedom’s sudden visit, even if it had been so abrupt, he wondered why the man had bought Orba without asking for consent.

“The one who raised him was me! Shit, he was just about to earn his pay as a working swordsman, when of all things he had to be snatched away by some noble…!”

“We do not understand it either, though.”

He had summoned Shique, Gowen and Gilliam, his main swordsmen, at a private room inside the cliffs, established for Tarkas’s use. They were here because he had to change the pairings of the competition due to Orba’s sudden departure.

“So why was it decided that Orba had to suddenly be pulled out? Although that kid may be a good swordsman, he was the so-called spearhead of the games to celebrate the wedding. If he simply wanted to purchase Orba for his abilities, I think they should’ve made him participate in the fights.”

“I would also like to know – that shithead!” Tarkas said. “Even though he was bought by a noble, he could've at least offered himself up for the last battle as a favour. That son of a bitch!”

“Maybe it’s because we were supposed to kill each other. I’ll surely celebrate his new life, but I can’t get used to this feeling, and I’m bothered that he left without a single word.”

“Oh, Gilliam. Does even a man like you get lonely when one of his acquaintances leaves?”

“Shut it, Shique! I just regret that I haven’t settled things with that guy!”

“Well, it can’t be helped that he isn’t here. Let’s consider making some exciting pairings,” Gowen said in order to calm everyone down.

Naturally, he also felt a bit strange lately.

He had no time to figure out what had happened. He had to take a look at the condition of the newcomers Tarkas had bought, and because this was different from the usual procedure, he also had to review every single swordsman.

However, something that faintly weighed on Gowen’s mind was whether Orba, who had been looking forward to a future even when his mind and body got beaten down, was now living in that very same future.

While people were busily moving about around him, former gladiator Orba seemed to have time to spare, being practically left on his own.
Being tasked as a body double was fine, but he couldn’t talk unless Fedom whispered the words to him, like ventriloquism.

''It’s strange...''

These nobles had snatched away his brother to be a soldier. Not only had they abandoned their village but, of all things, the nobility had aimed its blades at its own citizens and had taken Alice away, causing him to fall into a life of slavery and making him wear that mask.

It might be because of a whim of fate, but none other than one of those Mephian nobles suddenly plucked Orba out of his life of slavery and ordered him to become a substitute for one of the leading figures in the imperial family.

Theft, extortion and illegal gun trading – having lived off sipping water from the gutter, he couldn’t help but think he was a laughingstock for the crown prince. Although the fact that he still didn’t know what another day might bring was similar to being a slave.

However – being on the other side of those black plastered streets – perhaps now he could expect to find one spot, yes, just one spot of light. As the prince’s body double, he’d have the opportunity to come in contact with leading figures, other than Fedom of course. It wouldn’t be so strange to find the one who burned down his village – General Oubary – among them.

Although Orba had been hit on his head back then and had only seen him for a moment with a dazed glance, for all those two years he’d been a sword-slave, he hadn’t forgotten his face for even a day. Even now it vividly came back to him in his mind.

“Gil-sama.”

''If we meet again.''

''I wonder what I should do then.''

The boy swordsman, who had his mask removed, continued sinking in ceaseless thoughts. He would think of a way to give the guy the most miserable death possible, as long as it was conceivable in this world. Besides, if he was able to meet up with Oubary, he could trace back the lines to the time he got separated from Alice and his mother. Also, although he himself did not expect too much of it – for he couldn’t wish for the unimaginable over and over again and virtually hope for a miracle – if he found other people recruited as soldiers by Oubary, they might know something about his brother Roan’s whereabouts.

“Gil-sama, Prince. Prince Gil!”

“Eh?”

Being spoken to in such a firm voice, Orba looked to his side.

Princess Vileena was sitting at a distance not too far from him. She was in front of the altar, at the place where the valley was at its deepest, looking out over the area. Only Vileena and Orba were sitting in chairs, with a stalwart group of soldiers surrounding them, while at the front of the altar, priests were chanting hymns of prayer and blessing.

“What is it you’re thinking of?”

“Nothing,” Orba replied curtly.

It wasn’t possible for Fedom to be around him during the ceremony, so he’d told him to ‘say nothing’ in the meantime. Turning his face forward, he pretended to be concentrating on the ceremony.

“That’s a lie,” Vileena decided, also in a curt manner.

''What…? A lie?''

The timing was so excellent that Orba couldn’t ignore it, and he again gave the princess of the Kingdom of Garbera a glance.

She was again wearing a dress, but a different one from yesterday’s party, and she wore an informal tiara on her head. This close, it surprised him. Although she seemed like only a little girl the first time they met face to face, when she turned aside with a serious look every once in a while, she looked really mature.

He wondered if it was because of her clear-cut features, although Orba thought her face looked much like a doll’s. At the moment, except for being from a different birth, she seemed almost the same as Orba. Only moving when told to, and only speaking when told to by someone else.

Indeed, when he thought about it, that was what this wedding was all about. Even though she was only fourteen years old, in contrast to her true wishes, she had to become the wife of a man she only first met yesterday, and was of a former enemy country to boot. Although he couldn’t get himself to feel sympathy for someone like her, who was born into a royal family, she seemed to have various hardships of her own as well.

''So, it’s the same for everyone.''

He suddenly remembered that voice.

''– Nobody knows what kind of person he’ll be. Everybody longs for a world they don’t know, and pursue a meaning in life for which they’ve been born – even if he’s a priest, or royalty.''

''It was just like Roan said'', Orba groaned deep inside.

“You really ''are'' lost in thought.”

When she once again spoke to him out of the blue, Orba impolitely replied with the words,

“So what?”

Vileena chuckled.

“For quite a while, I thought you had frightening eyes at times, but now you seem to smile, thinking of something pleasant. Please tell me, you who are about to become my husband – what is it that troubles you on such a fine day, and what on earth is this matter you can’t help but remember?”

The ceremony went on. They had grilled a dragon they just killed this morning, and while they scattered the bones across the base of the valley, the priests chanted their prayers. They called for the souls of the dragons that once ruled this planet to protect the country’s prosperity.

“Could it be that the Ryuujin, if they come back, may not necessarily give this place their blessings?”

Back when humankind landed on this planet, the dragons only roamed the fields and thought of nothing but filling their stomachs, in short, they had degenerated to being on the same level as beasts.

However, they excavated the ruins of enormous cities and artefacts of unknown purpose here and there on the planet, and there also seemed to be traces of a magical civilization that possibly used some form of ''ether''<ref>It's called 'ether', but the author uses the characters for 'Elementary' and 'Magic'.</ref>. Humankind was able to wield their first ‘magic’, Zodias, after a while, and this blessing of wisdom was said to have all been obtained from these dragons’ ruins. It was believed that the ancient dragons formed the intelligent body that once governed this planet, probably thousands of years before humankind ultimately arrived.

The custom to call those dragons of old ‘Dragon Gods’ or ‘Ryuujin’ was particularly Mephian, and there was a time it had been the religious faith in all of the country. Although it was now a mere shadow of its former self, for important rituals like these, the priest who presided over the ceremony was selected and summoned from one of the tribes of nomads living in the area near the Mephian border, where the roots of the Ryuujin Faith lay.

“Like I said, it’s nothing.”

Again, Orba briefly ended the conversation.

He had received a brief explanation from the page, Dinn, concerning the history of the Ryuujin Faith, but naturally he didn’t feel too strongly about it. So, he wasn’t able to tell whether Vileena had been joking or not.

''If the real prince’s and this girl’s relations grows awkward after this, I won’t be taking responsibility for it, Fedom-sama.''

On the other hand, Vileena finally gave a sigh, getting lost in her own thoughts. For Garbera, the dragons having a civilization equal to or greater than that of the humans in the past was viewed upon as nothing more than a ‘dragon god’ legend. Therefore she could not experience this ceremony as something sacred. And although she had gotten carelessly and completely bored, when she glanced at the person next to her, Prince Gil – the one who would become her husband when this ceremony was finally over – she couldn’t help but be distracted. So, to slightly stave off her boredom, she tried to tease him a little. But, possibly revealing his ‘true character’, although she tried her best to look like a lady, the prince was genuinely blunt. Not only that, his brief way of talking really got on her nerves.

She wondered if it was because he was embarrassed. During last night’s party, she hadn’t caught wind of his behaviour being resentful against women either. But when she thought he might be a bit like Ryucown, Vileena felt offended by herself. There was no way the bravest general of Garbera resembled someone who was rumoured to be a complete ‘retard’ here in Mephius.

''In any case, this is the same thing as war. To fool the enemy, I have to keep up the pace in this place.''

Vileena maintained her smile, pretending not to be offended. It would be best if the prince fell madly in love with her. However, she didn't know whether it would work out that way if he already had some love affair with another girl. Anyway, it wouldn’t be a problem if she just kept smiling.

''Grandfather also told me that he loved my smiling face above all. So in that case, I shouldn’t be mistaken.''

The priests’ tedious prayers would be over soon, and then the sword-slave battles would finally take place.

It was said to be part of the ceremony that, when the dragon bones have turned to ash and are poured over the ground, the lifeblood of men is given. Nevertheless, what they did was hardly any different from your everyday gladiator battles. The only difference was that the introductory remarks were slightly more formal than usual. The arena, a levelled ground at the bottom of the valley with only some pillars staked into the earth, was even simpler than the usual.

There, the gladiators were standing in rows to the east and west sides. Orba recognized Tarkas, Gowen, and a lot of other faces he knew, and an unusually boyish smile appeared on his face.

''I doubt those guys would even imagine I’m right here.''

Although Tarkas was probably furious about him having left so suddenly, exactly because it happened so soon, it wouldn’t occur to him that he’d be looking down from such a high position.

Vileena, on the other hand, despite having been informed of this earlier, was looking on with gloomy thoughts about slaves having to kill each other hereafter. There was no slavery in Garbera, which was the main reason they spoke ill of Mephius as a country of barbarians.

''Unsatisfied with the war, have they wilfully made a show of looking down on slaves and forcing them to kill each other?''

When the divination was over, the first group of people stepped forward. The movements of the gladiators were somewhat awkward, but perhaps it was because of the unfamiliar environment up until the end of the first round, namely, until the loser was turned into a sprawled corpse on the ground.

In Garbera and Ende, with restrictions on slave companies active in the entertainment industry, there wasn’t an opportunity to see a gladiator fight. So, although the envoys had been prejudiced at first, and although it looked like they might have been enraged as the sound of clashing swords ran about, before long, they ended up bending over the stands, clenching their fists tight, giving cheers along with the people of Mephius, and started giving their applause.

Vileena soon got sick of it. Then, thinking of His Lordship, she again peeked to her side. When she saw a huge, grinning smile on his face, Vileena again felt a renewed disappointment appear. No matter how she looked at it, he clearly enjoyed seeing them kill each other from the bottom of his heart. She had assumed that he would like it, but not to this extent.

Suddenly, she was no longer able to restrain her feelings. The once disdainful feelings for her partner had turned into emotional disgust. It all happened so sudden, and she herself was actually quite perplexed. She was again reminded of how she, until just now, had to constantly try to subdue her emotions. Even though she was the princess of a country who had said she would give priority to her own nation before herself, she was only fourteen years old.

''I can’t, I can’t!''

Vileena strongly clutched her fists in her lap.

''This, too, is a battle. This, too, is a trial, Vileena. My body was given a push in the back and sent forward. I can’t let my spirit lose its strength like this.''

Shique stepped forward at the arena. The cheers concentrated on this unique gladiator, with a decadent white-painted face. Looking at his opponent, however… Orba raised his eyebrows.

''He’s…''

For some reason, it was one of the newcomers Tarkas had hired in his good mood. Taking Shique’s skills into consideration, it was obvious this opponent wasn’t suitably matched. Even if he was able to liven up the battle, Tarkas had struck a bad deal. This would be over in an instant.

Shique readied his trademark dual swords. Both were single-bladed swords of middle length. The newcomer nervously stood ready on the other side. This would be over within the blink of an eye – or so Orba thought at the time.

But while he thought this, he heard a loud rumbling through the ground, which practically shook violently under his feet. During that lapse in time, a dense cloud of dust swelled up on the other side of the arena.

Those soldiers who looked up at the dust, towards whatever it was, were the first to fall victim. Although they’d gathered around the arena carrying spears and guns, they also hadn’t expected such a sudden occurrence, and were crushed to death underneath a dragon’s forelegs. As soon as the clots of blood painted the ground bright red, a scaled dragon, tinged with slime here and there, emerged from the cloud of dust. The huge-shaped mass was basically stepping forward.

It was a large-type dragon, Sozos. Chains were supposed to be tied to its feet and naturally it should have also be locked up in a cage, but the dragon had become a freed creature, and even more of them appeared all at once.

“Wh-Whaahh!!”

One soldier, stunned by the death of his colleagues, fired his readied gun. The moment he removed his aim, a sharp claw about three times his height swung down on his body and he immediately splattered into a heap of flesh on the ground. Then the other soldiers who were near him, shrieked like women, dropped their guns, and started running away. Their screams and shouts began to sound much like the rumbling in the ground.

“W-What, what’s going on?”

“Why are the dragons on a rampage?”

A large number of people started bellowing at each other underneath their tents. The dragons that were to be used by the gladiators had broken through their cages and were rampaging about. There were some people who picked up swords and guns and headed for the guards, some who ran as fast as they could, and some who spread instructions to their subordinates – mixed in with a lot of other people.

Orba stood up from his chair. For a moment he couldn’t see Shique’s figure from under the cover of the dust cloud. Then one of the gladiators, the one who was the next to go, got kicked hard by a Baian. And another, someone from the Tarkas Group who tried to recklessly lunge at their bellies, got trampled under a Sozos.

Then, he spotted a single, small silhouette among those dragons. It was Hou Ran. She was probably running around in tears trying to stop the dragons. There were several times when she barely escaped being kicked around by the dragons’ legs.

''Lend me a gun.''

Orba came close to shouting those words and taking a rifle from one of the guards. However, he was interrupted halfway as he suddenly felt a sharp pain at a certain spot on his forehead.

“Ah!”

Guided by impulse and not by reason, Orba quickly concealed his body under the table. Something was flying overhead, high in the sky, at a great speed. Someone with the intent to kill. As it took form, he had a feeling that it was aiming for the ground.

''A sniper!''

Blended in with the sound of the dragon’s feet, the raised screams of the people, and the angry voices, was most definitely the sound of a rifle’s gunshot that rattled his eardrums.

=== Part 2 ===

In the blink of an eye, the arena down below was covered in a cloud of dust. Seeing the turmoil in front of her, which was much like a battlefield, Vileena jumped out of her seat.

Able to see the rampaging dragons and the many people falling victim to them, her eyes were reflexively trying to look for an airship. If she could cut in from the sky, she might be able to draw the dragons’ attention. There certainly had to be an old-type scouting ship among the number of crafts in the Mephian defence force.

“Hey, you, don’t come any further!”

“How rude, out of all the people that came here, just who – wahh!”

A disturbance occurred among the guards who were standing in an organized line. It wasn’t because of the dragons’ disturbance. There was a man who was running away, aiming straight for them, and although two soldiers tried to hold him back, they were cut down in no time.

''Who the—!?''

She meant to speak, but a lump of saliva got caught in her throat. Getting a glimpse of the bloodied sword, she recognized him as the man that should have been fighting in the arena just now. The Garberan princess barely dodged a single blow swung down from the side. However, tripping over the hem of her long dress, she fell down.

The other guards, distracted by the rampaging dragons, were moving about all over the place. Vileena nimbly rolled over on the ground and snatched a gun from the waist of a soldier who’d been cut down. Sparks jumped out before her. The steel blade had dug into the ground but, within a short interval, he swung it down again.

Vileena’s vision was fixed on the point of the sword, as if she had just fallen to the brink of the dark shadow of death. Then, suddenly, a single sword came down from the side, stopping the blow.

“Your opponent is me.”

The words came from behind the man – it was the gladiator who had been fighting him a while ago. His red lips formed into a mysterious smile.

“As soon as the dragons appeared, you headed straight this way. Who are you?”

“Bastard!”

The man shouted in a hoarse voice, without releasing his grip, he rotated his body and pulled out a dagger from his waist. With a movement quick enough to stir up a wind, he aimed for the gladiator’s chest. However, that gladiator – Shique – tilted his shoulders. He swept aside the dagger with his other sword, and thrust his first sword into the man’s chest.

When the man collapsed in front of her with a surprised look in his eyes, Vileena heaved a sigh.

''An assassin…''

It felt like cold hands had taken a hold on her heart. And then, suddenly realizing the situation, she looked over at Prince Gil’s side. He was jumbled together with several other people, hiding under a table. Only his face peeped out, quietly observing the state of his surroundings. Although his safety was most definitely important, it couldn’t be helped that her sense of disappointment in him only grew. When his fiancée had been attacked just now, this man had been quivering all by himself.

Then Vileena accidentally got startled, because Gil looked her way. There was not a hint of fear in his eyes, rather…

“Princess, get over here and lie down,” Gil – although, it was of course actually Orba – suddenly said.

He half-forcingly pulled at a bewildered Vileena’s arm and, after he made her lie down on her stomach like him, called out Shique’s name.
The gladiator froze over with genuine surprise. Seeing him so flabbergasted, Orba was driven by the urge to make a joke, despite the current situation.

“I’m a fan of yours,” he said. He then immediately gave a serious look. “The dragons are only a diversion. There must be a sniper aiming for us here. Find out where he is.”

“Ha, hahah...”

Suddenly being spoken to in person by the prince of his country, although he was basically given an order, even baffled Shique. Orba, however, continued without concern anyway.

“Also inform Gowen to let anyone who can fight to lend a hand.”

Shique started running, quick to come to action, although he turned his head every now and then. He started running past the dragons that were going mad with blood and devouring several people. While making sure to guard his back, Orba peeked out from under the table. And immediately drew back in again. He repeated the movement several times, until a gunshot also reached Vileena’s ears for the first time.

''A lure?''

She realized that thought with a flash. He’d purposely exposed his body like that to invite the enemy’s gunfire, so that the gladiator named Shique could learn of the enemy’s position. This prince – just what was his true face?

A Sozos climbed up through the mayhem in the valley and was approaching their location.

“Your Highness, Princess! This way!”

Two men rushed in among the guards. Finally someone who acted in the right state of mind had come for them. Orba also decided it was a good time to leave. He stood up and led Vileena by the hand. She didn’t go against him and followed suit.

Orba was running. Maybe he had expected something like this to happen, because he had to act as a double. But right now, he didn’t have the time to think of that. Although he was worried about the safety of the gladiators, Orba decided that, considering that the gunshots had ceased, they were probably all right.

Orba and Vileena, holding each other’s hands, looked over their shoulders several times, as they rushed into a cave underneath the cliffs, led by the soldiers.

“Get into this hidden passage for now. It leads to the other side of the cliffs.”

When the soldier struck one of the pillars in the cave with his fist, the side of the steep cliff wall rotated, opening a space where only one person could pass.

“Go, hurry,” they urged the princess on.

The moment Vileena’s body was pushed inside, the wall somehow rotated again behind her.

“Huh?”

She raised her voice and turned her back when there was only darkness in front of her. There wasn’t a single lamp inside the cave, and although she looked for a switch, she couldn’t find it in the hidden passage. Furthermore, she heard voices on the other side of the wall in some kind of argument.

Surely the enemy hadn’t planned an ambush? – she soon thought.

“Princess Vileena!”

A voice called out to her from behind. Again there were two soldiers in armour, and came from the other side of the passage carrying lamps. However, they weren’t dressed in Mephian gear.

“Princess, make haste over here. A ship is coming to pick you up.”

“Ship? What do you mean by ship?”

“It’s a ship that has come to take you away from these savage lands, to a place more suitable for someone of your noble lineage.”

“You guys…”

While the Princess Vileena was struck with a certain foreboding feeling, something like a gunshot roared from the other side of the thick wall.

It was in the instant Vileena entered the hidden passage.

“Hey, what’s going on!?”

Several soldiers who seemed to be guarding the inside of the cliffs came their way. Then one of the soldiers who had guided Orba quickly struck the pillar again, leaving Vileena alone in the passage she’d entered.

“''We'' don’t know either. But it’s going well.”

As he spoke, he pulled and fired a gun from his back.

Almost at the same time as the guard up front collapsed with a spray of blood, the other soldier was about to lunge into their flanks with a drawn sword. Without having the time to accept the sudden challenge, one soldier, and yet another one, got cut down.

Orba was standing with his back against the wall, watching over this sudden bewildering development. This didn’t look like some internal discord. With the thought that Vileena was in the hidden passage all alone, it was likely that the soldiers who had guided Orba here were involved with the dragon rampage and the sniping.

Orba gently leaned over, and took a sword from a fallen soldier. He concealed it behind his back for the time being, as the battle before him ended.

“Worthless,” the soldier who’d fired the gun said and turned around to face Orba. “What should we do with the prince here?”

“Let’s keep him hostage. Get over here, you!”

The soldier holding the sword held out his hand. It was the same hand that belonged to the one who, due to the element of surprise, had killed six soldiers in an instant. Not wearing a helmet, his face was beaming with haughtiness.

“W-Who… are you people?”

Trembling, Orba edged sideways with his back against the wall. The two had sneers on their faces, covered with their victims’ blood.

“Hmph, I didn’t know the prince of the Great Imperial Dynasty was this pathetic. After all, he can’t do a thing without his many retainers by his side.”

“A guy like this would become the Vileena-sama’s husband? Ridiculous. He’d sully Garbera’s prestigious blood. Now, Prince Halfwit of Mephius, come!”

Orba screamed and ran away from the man’s outstretched arm.

“I don’t have time to play. Now, if you don’t come quickly.”

As the soldier chased after him with mocking laughter, Orba promptly turned around, and cut him right up front with the sword he’d been hiding. Leaving a trail of blood and an accompanying scream, he jumped over his fallen opponent and quickly stabbed at the shoulder of the flustered man holding the gun.

“B-Bastard.”

He drove the pommel of his sword into the man’s face, who collapsed onto his knees and fainted.

Then, from the opposite side of the cave, other guardsmen from Mephius showed up. They’d probably caught the sounds of the disturbance. Orba quickly explained to them the circumstances – and ordered them to bind up the unconscious enemies.
After that, he urged them to open up the hidden passage, but it took him quite some time and effort because the soldier in charge wasn’t there.

''I hate enemies who stay hidden and gather knowledge.''

Time was precious. Without fully knowing the reason behind his impatience, Orba privately clicked his tongue.

Several minutes after Vileena had disappeared into the hidden passage, they finally opened the door.

The first thing Orba heard was the sound of men and a woman struggling with each other.

As expected, if he could say so, men were holding Vileena on both sides and trying to drag her along through the narrow cave passage.

“Unhand me, you insolents!”

Vileena’s voice left the trail of an echo throughout the narrow cave. The Mephian guardsmen set out ahead of Orba.

“Who’s there? Where are you taking the princess?”

“Stupid Mephian savages! Don’t you get it!?”

As the enemy soldier answered back, he pulled out a pistol. The Mephian soldier was about to counter-attack immediately, but,

“Wait, you’ll hit the princess!”

Orba took command as he tried to lay low. In that instant, suddenly something unbelievable occurred.

Having lost her restraints on one side from the man holding the gun, Vileena lightly jumped up and raised one foot from her dress. Taking in the brunt of the force from her foot, the gun dropped from the soldier’s hand. Quickly recovering from his initial shock, Orba made a quick decision.

“Now—! Don’t use guns, charge!”

In response to Orba’s orders, the soldiers armed themselves with swords and spears and rushed into the other party.

Although one of them showed signs of fighting back, in the blink of an eye he was overwhelmed by the Mephian force.

“Draw back, draw back!”

Eventually they commenced their escape, leaving the princess in place.

The Mephian soldiers raised cries of war and chased after them, but it was a narrow cave after all. One Garberan soldier came to a halt and started rapidly firing at them, making them lose their joint effort as they had to take cover here and there. Providing cover for his allies thus, when his bullets inevitably ran out, he removed a knife from his pocket, jabbed it into his own neck, and finished himself off.

Orba hadn’t witnessed these details to the very end. The rest was an issue between Mephius and Garbera, where he himself was unrelated. Aside from that, the safety of the people he knew weighed on his mind and he followed the road all the way back through the cave.

When he came back, the disturbance had settled a bit. The dragons were lying with their long necks on the ground, or leaning against the huge slopes in the valley, spewing out blood. They had sunk beneath the gunfire of the sword-slaves, including Gowen, and the artillery the Mephian soldiers had brought out. Having played quite an active role, Gilliam and Shique’s swords were wet with vast amounts of blood, and their muscles heaved along with rough breaths.

However, the strained look didn’t leave their faces, rather, their looks were coated with a preparedness for death. This was hardly surprising, because the guns the Mephian soldiers had set up were currently pointing in the direction of the sword-slaves.

“What’s the meaning of this, Tarkas!?” a red-faced Fedom berated Tarkas.

The dragons that had suddenly gone on a rampage had been brought along by the Tarkas Group, and several people had witnessed some of the sword-slaves pointing their swords at Gil and Vileena. Although Tarkas had a pale face and desperately told him he ‘didn’t know either’, Fedom didn’t have the ears to hear it. If he would have had a gun in his hands, he would’ve likely used it to shoot Tarkas on the spot.

Most of the sword-slaves were forced to disarm themselves, and had to cross both arms over their heads. However, there was confusion on the faces of even the guards pointing their guns. After all, the ones who’d fought back against the dragons first were none other than those slaves.

Still shrouded with dust, the smell of earth and gunfire abundant, there was confusion in the air.

“Wait!”

Orba stepped forward. The surprised soldiers holding the guns made way. Fedom glanced over at Orba and twisted the corners of his mouth.

“What? When you butt in like this—”

“Who are you speaking to? Don’t you recognize me, Fedom?”

Shutting his mouth with a start, Fedom gave him a disgruntled look. Seeing such a thing for the first time, Tarkas snickered.

“This man may be involved in a country-wide conspiracy. Maybe someone took advantage of him, right? I believe that the Mephians who hired these people without knowing a thing are also responsible. But we can’t say who. If I see anyone shift his responsibility and execute even one of these sword-slaves without permission, I will have his head – I’ll take it off with my— ''our'' sword!”<ref>Orba actually corrects himself, using 余 (''yo''), a more dignified way of saying 'I', instead of his usual おれ (''ore''). Seeing as there's no better way to translate this correctly in English, the majestic plural is used here instead.</ref>

“I agree.”

Turning around, Orba raised his eyebrows in surprise. Vileena came walking up to them. She seemed to be wavering a little, but if you took into account the mayhem from a little while ago, you could say she was carrying herself rather firmly.

“Ah, princess!”

Her maid Theresia rushed over to her, probably having been worried about her all this time, and Vileena greeted her with a thin smile.

“Even though it was a gladiator that aimed for my life, the one that rescued me was the gladiator over there. We won’t be able to come to a simple conclusion with the current circumstances, will we?”

Although her dress was covered with sand, her face bore countless beads of sweat, and her braided hair had become frayed here and there, her pupils were filled with a clear purpose.

''Straight after such a commotion…''

Instead of being panicked, she was analysing things calmly. Until some time ago, he’d only seen this girl as a puppet, but it was only after she was injured and knocked about, that it roused his flesh and blood, and Orba actually felt that she was a person with the same beliefs as he had.

“Besides,” the foreign princess suddenly cast down her eyes and gnashed her teeth. “They were probably our Garbera’s— General Ryucown’s subordinates.”

That evening, Orba was in a single room inside the cliffs. It was the same room he’d spent his time in yesterday, as it was made appropriate for the Imperial Family to stay in.

While he didn’t grasp the full story behind the situation, they had judged it too dangerous to go back to a city in Mephian territory with only themselves for now. With their military power currently forming a line of defence in the valley, they were waiting for reinforcements to arrive from the city.

Of course, several people from Garbera, including Vileena, and the delegation from Ende were being confined in the valley as well. At any rate, the atmosphere had gotten complicated.

The moment the Mephian soldiers, who had chased the enemy down the hidden passage, had slipped out to the valley on the other side, they’d witnessed a dragonstone ship flying up into the air. It was a high-speed cruiser that could carry about ten people, and it had probably been waiting on the other side of the cliffs until just a while earlier. So they might have been planning to take Vileena?

Vileena had said these were ‘Ryucown’s actions’.

Ryucown was a great warrior from Garbera. Even Orba knew his name. It seemed only obvious to claim that this chain of disturbances was plotted by Garbera.

''However…''

Orba started thinking it over. If that ''had'' been Garbera’s doing, there were too many unnatural aspects.

“Gil-sama? Gil-sama!”

He was a little late to react to the voice calling out to him. The page, Dinn, had just placed several wine bottles and three glasses on the table. It was these items that told Orba everything.

“You’re still a little late in noticing, aren’t you?”

“I’ve never been called by that name, you know?” Orba said, shrugging his shoulders. “Names aside, the ‘sama’ doesn’t sit well either. It’s awkward. You don’t have to overdo it when there’s no one else around.”

“No. Anyone can keep an eye out, and you never know who’s straining his ears. Besides, I’m not such a skilled person either. So I’m not confident I can change my behaviour when it really matters if I don’t regularly keep calling you Prince Gil. You too. If you don’t get used to it – if you don’t constantly behave like a prince should – you might expose yourself when push comes to shove.”

The still twelve, thirteen-year-old boy answered, puffing up with a noble’s pride.

“Get used to it, huh?” Orba said, as he noticed the full-scale window that reached from the floor to the ceiling.

Because the curtains were drawn, he couldn’t look out over the valley. While the balcony was packed with soldiers on guard, because the balcony itself protruded directly from the cliff, he didn’t have to worry that they could hear their conversation.

That was when he remembered, and Orba smiled, thinking back. When Tarkas had been accused by Fedom, he’d offered some timely help, and afterwards, Tarkas had bowed over to him in gratitude many times over. He would never forget that hapless, tear-filled face for the rest of his life.

“Seeing the number of glasses, who are the guests coming over?”

Just when he was about to answer, the soldier guarding the other side of the door informed them he had visitors.

“Let them in.”

Being flanked by two soldiers on the left and right, two people came in that Orba had ordered to call over some time ago.

Entering quite timidly, probably due to surprise and nervousness, were the person in charge of training sword-slaves, Gowen, and the gladiator, Shique.

=== Part 3 ===

“Thank you for coming.”

Speaking up first, Orba acknowledged the two as they came into the room. Although he displayed a princely thin smile, naturally, in his heart, he couldn’t help but find their unusually abashed behaviour amusing. The normally fearless Gowen fumbled muttered words of greeting out of his mouth, which he could barely hear, and Shique kept staring around in wonder.

He realized that, most likely, they’d been like this ever since receiving an ‘invitation from the prince’, and Orba had a hard time resisting the urge to burst out laughing.

Dinn was also equally surprised. He had thought either Fedom or another prominent Mephian figure would come in.

“Wait – what’s the meaning of this? I can’t have you inviting gladiators without permission. If Fedom-sama finds out—”

“''I’m'' the prince, right? Can’t I do as I please? Or am I not allowed to talk with somebody without your approval?”

As he brought up again their earlier conversation about behaving like a prince at all times, Dinn couldn’t give a reply. By Orba’s command, he helplessly poured wine into their glasses and treated the two visitors to a drink.

“These guys have worked well as sword-slaves. If it wasn’t for their efforts, I might not have been able to pick up this cup. We should hail them as national heroes!”

He raised his hand to put glasses together, the two nervously joined in. Enjoying his companions’ reactions, Orba slightly sipped his drink. It was essentially not so strong.

‘Prince Gil’ didn’t quite seem to go onto the main subject, even though his guests grew more uncomfortable, so Shique finally broke the ice. It looked like he unexpectedly had more guts than Gowen in this kind of situation.

“Although I thought it strange that you spoke to me back then, how come you are f-familiar with our names?”

“You said you’re a fan,” Gowen said. “B-But I haven’t fought in the arena myself these past several years. Even back when I was a gladiator, I don’t remember having any fights to leave such a mark. So, really, where Your Highness learned the name of someone like me…”


“Really, I’ve known,” Orba said, purposely grimacing. “Is it something so inconvenient that I know your names? Or does an outrageous thing, like a prince indulging himself in gladiator fights, go against your conscience?”

“N-No, never!”

“No, never mind. Drop it. I’ll give the instructions later.”

Although he didn’t know what these instructions were, Gowen’s face stiffened and Shique frantically took a step forward.

“Please forgive us, Your Highness. We are but lowly gladiators. We’re not used to a place like this, let alone know the proper etiquette when talking to people of royalty. We barely even know one language… If we have in some way offended you…”

Orba kept staring at the flustered Shique with cold eyes, but then,

“Kuh…”

Finally, he couldn’t bear it any longer and sputtered a laugh. He took another shot, and then Orba started clutching his stomach, laughing loudly. The two stared blankly at him.

Dinn turned pale, and kept rebuking him, saying “Prince, Prince!”. However Orba said, “Who’s this prince!?”, wiping the tears from his face and laughing once more.

“You still haven’t found out, Gowen? This is so unlike you! So you’re quicker with the sword than with words?”

Taking a smallsword hanging on the wall, he thrust it out right in front of Gowen’s eyes.

“Although I haven’t used it in the arena many times, it was you who taught me the basics of using a smallsword. Show refinement in your posture, strain your upper arms, but keep it supple from the elbow down – isn’t that so?”

He lightly thrust out the tip of his sword in a dance, performing his steps around Gowen. Shique then raised his voice in surprise. Orba gave him a wink, with a smirk on his face.

“Could it be – no, but – although his voice is quite similar… n-no, but…”

Orba took one step forward, aiming for Shique, who couldn’t seem to reach a decision. Shique easily moved his face away from the sword’s tip, swinging through the air. He took a step back on reflex.

“Will you allow me to scar your face? So it’ll become a bond between me and you?” Orba said, grinning.
Instead of Shique, who was moving his white throat, gulping up and down, Gowen raised his voice.


“Orba!?” he shouted recklessly.

The two sat at the table, taking in the shock, and it looked like not all doubts had been completely cleared away. They listened in astonishment as Orba explained how things had gotten this way. No one interrupted him in the meantime, and Dinn continued serving the three at the table with a half-sulky attitude.

“Hrm,” Gowen grunted. “I’ve been alive for many years and haven’t heard such an odd thing. But, without the mask, your face really does resemble the prince’s. Honestly, I already thought he was quite young, but didn’t think it was this much.”

“I thought about the same,” Shique said, having completely reverted back to his normal attitude. “Better yet, aren’t you more of a handsome man like this?”

Gowen shook his head.

“But is it all right to be so open about this with us? Isn’t this a state secret?”

“It's 'not' all right,” Orba quickly said. “But if I pretend to be a prince all on my own, I won’t have any breathing space, right? I thought at least you’d be able to keep your mouths shut.”

“Ohh?”

“What’s with those eyes?”

Receiving a squinted look from Shique, Orba uncomfortably turned his head to the side.

“Well, never mind. You’ll get used to my face.”

“No, that’s not it. Orba, it’s not that the mask’s been removed. Something in the atmosphere has changed, you know?”

“The atmosphere?”

“The gladiator in you, somehow, seems to have been crushed by something ‘invisible’ to the eye, yet your eyes seem to constantly be shining. While, among the gladiators who are mostly ruffians, you were apparently seen as some sort of dangerous person. You gave ‘em the chills. Now, however, even if there’s no reason for it, part of you seems to have completely lightened up.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 185.jpg|thumb]]

“Though, posing as the crown prince, I seem to carry this country’s weight on my back? You’re taking Mephius rather lightly.”

“Even so,” Shique said with a puzzling smile.


Strangely feeling like he was being treated like a child, Orba started to get a little irritated.

“Anyhow,” Gowen interjected. “If you’ve been trained as a body double before the wedding, does that mean they already expected a surprise attack like today on Mephius?”

Shique also turned serious and shook his head.

“That seems a little bit too strange, right? All of the Mephian soldiers were taken by surprise and were hardly able to deal with it. If the prince… I mean, Orba, hadn’t given those orders, we would’ve stayed in the confusion too, and both the prince and the princess could have been killed by the sniper, right?”

As expected from a swordsman with this much experience, he took a good look at the situation. Orba held out the wine bottle to Gowen, who had drained his cup.

“Ah.”

Raising his voice, Gowen gave a forced smile. He still was a little uneasy about this situation.

“Weren’t there any signs that Tarkas knew something?”

“N-Nah. He seems to persist that he didn’t know or was aware, but… that man isn’t the type to put on a false show. I fear it’s likely that he truly doesn’t know anything at all.”

“But the ones who were about to kill Princess Vileena, and shoot the two of you, were the newcomers that Tarkas had brought in. If I’d at least kept one of them alive…”

Shique curled his red lips. But he couldn’t have expected to arrest his opponents in the middle of the melee. There was only the one swordsman whom Orba had hit unconscious and tied up. Right now he was being interrogated, or possibly in the midst of torture.

“And Hou Ran? She’s so good at handling the dragons, if it’s her, she should know something about that rampage.”

“They say they’re questioning her about the drugs. Although it seemed that she let one of the newcomers take care of the dragons, it has credibility. But I’ve gotten a better opinion of Tarkas. Because she comes from a tribe of the Ryuujin Faith, and yet came to like handling the dragons, she was the number one person to doubt. And even though the provincial council finds it to be obvious that she applied the drugs, he continues to keep sticking up for Hou Ran.”

“So, when it comes to it, Tarkas can be a good guy?”

“According to Tarkas, after he was to be the presenting gladiatorial group, he was approached by a merchant who offered considerable financial support. Apparently, he’d jumped in without a second thought, because the Tarkas Group could then somehow carry that load on its own. He claims he had to take in those ‘newcomers’ as a trade-off.”

“So ''that'' guy’s pulling the strings? But if he had to lay out a lot of money only for those newcomers, he must likely be on a short list of names here in Mephius, right?”

“That’s…” Gowen said, having regained his usual calmness. “If only it were so. Whether it’s true or not, any mention of this ‘person’ is only coming from Tarkas’s mouth. Nevertheless, you could say it was a bold cooperation, but there’s no clear evidence to catch him by the tail. It’s fruitless anyway. This obviously won’t be any ordinary foe. You can conclude that something of a larger scale is behind this.”

“For example, the Garbera Kingdom?” Shique asked.

“I believe there’s no doubt Garbera’s involved.”

Orba chose his words carefully.

The soldiers he’d personally faced in the hidden passage, clearly held feelings of love and respect for Princess Vileena. However, that was also why it was such a baffling issue. According to Shique, it was likely that not only Orba, but also the princess, was about to be killed back then. There was no question that those people, who had been planning to help the princess get back home, wouldn’t try to get her killed.

Gowen cocked his head in thought.

“It’s not entirely unlikely that Ende was about to exact revenge on Mephius and Garbera either. They too, could bear a grudge for the alliance they once wanted to form with Garbera, being called of all. Most of all, if these two countries become allies, Ende would be the first to get into danger.”

“Aren’t you jumping to conclusions now? If that’s the case, instead, it’s like virtually giving us a justification to attack Ende.”

“You’re right,” Orba agreed. “Especially if both royals get killed, the momentum will be terrible. Until yesterday, Mephius and Garbera were mutual enemies, but then they will join hands for a firmer cooperation to thrust the sword of revenge at Ende.”

“Oh. Such a princely speech, huh?”

“Shut it.”

Suddenly, it grew noisy near the room’s entrance, and the atmosphere was again about to become strained.

It looked like the palace guards had prevented someone from entering the room. In an instant, Gowen and the rest prepared themselves, as if an enemy was about to break in.

“I’m sorry. Will you please go back to your rooms?”

Hearing the guards’ polite words, Orba spoke up without batting an eyelid.

“Dinn, let them in.”

“Prince. On your own accord, again…”

“It’s okay. If you want, you can go ahead and reveal my social status.”

“If I do, you will be hanged!” he said in complaint, although it was the same for all who were already inside.
Dinn sighed and obeyed his orders. And although Dinn felt gloomy when he gave them permission to enter the room, he took a startled step back when the door opened.

Watching the ones who entered, Gowen and the rest hurriedly sat up straight as well, and stood up from their seats. Although he had about expected this, Orba, too, was inwardly surprised.

Crossing her hands before her waist, walking gracefully, but showing a firm pace, was Princess Vileena of the Kingdom of Garbera. Behind her, her chief attendant Theresia followed suit. Although both their expressions were stiff, the colour of readiness and determination shone through.

“Ahh, even though she’s supposed to never enter the other’s chambers before marriage. Although I do understand this is a disgraceful act for a Garberan lady, this has somehow turned into an unforeseen situation. Please forgive us for our rudeness, Prince Gil.”

It seemed that the first to show her determination was Theresia.

In any case, because the ceremony had been interrupted halfway, Gil and Vileena still weren’t officially a married couple. Orba again took on the mask of a prince and offered them a seat, but Vileena remained standing stock-still.

“Please, have a listen, and pay no heed to my impoliteness.”

The first thing she said, Vileena said with the look of a soldier challenged with war. It was due to her errand, the subject, and, most of all, due to her expectations. Vileena charged that this matter was never an incident directed by her country, and that Garbera didn’t feel inclined to stir up trouble with Mephius once more.

“But,” Orba interrupted his adversary. “Is this Ryucown not someone from Garbera?”

When his name was spoken, she cast down her eyes for a moment. She tightly chewed on her lip, and immediately regained her composure. The scowling look that she gave seemed to consider Orba as an enemy.

“Yes. Now that this has happened – it’s too late. When my country is informed of this incident, Ryucown will be stripped of his knighthood, and lose his Garberan nationality.”

“So this was a scheme by Ryucown alone?”

“It only seems most likely. Those soldiers who tried to take me away also used Ryucown’s name. And right now, there’s only one person in Garbera who has the strength to attack Mephius like this.”

“Ryucown?”

“Indeed.”

“What kind of person is he?”

The black pupils in her bright and beautiful eyes opened wide. Orba’s tone of voice was mild, and she hadn’t been prepared for him to ask her such an unexpected thing.

“Of course, he is famous enough that his name is known even in our Mephius, but we know nothing of his true nature. Have you happened to meet him, your highness?”

“Yes… I have.”

Ryucown’s lineage came from a powerful clan of an area that had recently become Garberan territory and, in the generation after his grandfather, had officially become a retainer to the House of Garbera. However, Ryucown’s father lost part of his territory due to a skirmish with an equally strong clan, and his family was forced to practically live the life of commoners. Most of the nobles who had become central figures in Garbera had supported the country that was built around the Garberan royal family as dukes<ref>The actual term used here is 譜代 ‘[http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fudai_daimyo fudai]’. They were trusted lords of the Tokugawa family in Japan, similar to dukes in being the most powerful lords beneath the monarchy. The Garberan noble hierarchy described here, is about the same as that of the Tokugawa family in the Edo Period. Outside lords, given positions when the territory expanded, held a lower status.</ref> for generations and stood firm against any influence from the ‘outside lords’.

When Ryucown was ten, he served as a knight commanding a single unit. After getting his first military feat at the age of thirteen, and having many more successes up to the age of twenty, they said he was simply not able to get out from his rank as a knight apprentice.

The status of ‘knight’ was not a familiar term in Mephius, so she made it easier to understand by explaining it as a noble among warriors. In Garbera, all the people that led the army beneath the king were knights. Although not all nobles were knights, a commoner couldn’t ever be one. Ryucown too, because the earlier mentioned dukes considered him an outside connection, didn’t seem able to become a knight so easily.

And then, the story traced to five years ago.

At that time, a rebellion took place in Garbera against the royal family.

Having expected to be the leader among the dukes, a man named Bateaux, in cooperation with a number of local clans that had been assimilated by Garbera several years ago, had played a central role in staging the revolts. Although it was considered to have probably been a plot by Mephius, Vileena refrained from speaking about that for the better.

Nine years old at the time, Vileena had been out to play at her grandfather Jeorg Owell’s estate, but Bateaux wanted nothing more than to have that palace. At midnight, they were struck by a sudden attack.

Although Jeorg, who was at the time retired, fought a commendable battle with a small company of men, the reinforcements he was waiting for didn’t seem to come. As he judged it pointless to just increase the number of deaths like this, he decided to submit. With the palace surrendered to Bateaux, Jeorg himself, Vileena, and the others were held hostage.

Jeorg had been injured during that battle. Even without taking his illness into account, the wound was a severe one, and he’d been bedridden ever since. There was a short supply of doctors and medicine, and naturally they couldn’t get any supplies from the outside. And the soldiers, who had barely survived the battle, were also in a condition that if one didn’t lose his life yesterday, he would do so today.

At that time, Princess Vileena was the one who took over Jeorg’s place representing the monarchy in the negotiations with Bateaux. While she had the body of a child, she argued with him on a grand scale. She insisted on keeping herself as a hostage and demanded of him that, first, her wounded grandfather and the dozens of injured soldiers, as well as the women, be released. Bateaux, impressed by the young girl’s courage, complied by releasing half of his prisoners, but Jeorg would remain among the remaining half’s hostages.

However, although the rebellion had been very effective in its initial stages, it also contributed to internal discord among the families during their struggle for power, and one month passed in which they were being suppressed one after another. In the end, only Bateaux remained with his hostages at the estate, while he continued holding the fort. There was only a little water and food left, but Bateaux didn’t intend to lay down his sword. It looked like he was prepared to die in battle.

Be that as it may, his resolution made his troop’s morale drop. The people of the palace, who’d become hostages, found collaborators among several of the soldiers. Although several of them were tasked with keeping a tight watch in the castle’s underground waterways, one day, they succeeded in making an opening between the watch for but a short amount of time. They tried to take it to their advantage by setting at least Jeorg and Vileena free.

However, Vileena refused. She wasn’t sure whether only her wounded grandfather and her young self would be able to escape. And even if they did, Bateaux was bound to find out that they disappeared, completely ruining their secret route in and out of the castle. And the people left behind would stand no chance. They would either starve to death with Bateaux, or might die, swallowed up in the fight when the Garberan army started their relentless assault, as they would no longer have to worry about rescuing the royals.

Although Jeorg was lying on the floor, he agreed with his granddaughter, and they worked out a plan. Vileena had secretly made a rough sketch of the palace layout including the soldiers’ positions. She handed it over to a young lad among the hostages and told him to ‘join the Garberan troops outside, waiting for this.’

After getting this information, the Garberan army gathered a number of capable hands and sent them into the palace. They used the same route through the underground waterways. Vileena guided them to the hostages, who were imprisoned separately, and they rescued them right away.

Among this small number of elite troops was, of course, the 23-year-old Ryucown. As soon as he gave the sign that the hostages were freed, the Garberan army commenced its attack. And, when the defending forces were too busy with the assault, Ryucown singlehandedly rushed into their midst and personally brought back Bateaux’s severed head.

''Wow, impressive…''

Orba honestly admired the tale deep inside. Not Ryucown’s part. But Vileena’s – arguing with a rebel at the young age of nine, and still not giving up hope when she’d used her wits together with her grandfather.

Afterwards, when Ryucown’s meritorious act of subduing Bateaux was recognized, the previous king Jeorg wrote a personal letter of recommendation to be sent directly to the current king, and he was finally officially appointed as a knight. And, after that, Ryucown quickly rose to fame. His achievements up to then immediately gave him the authorization to command a single air carrier. In Mephian terms, it was like getting the status of a winged dragon officer.

Ryucown further made a name of himself in his battles against Mephius, and soon after, it was decided that he would be engaged with Vileena. It was an attempt to further solidify the sense of unity in the country.

“If I would have to describe General Ryucown’s character in a single word, it would be, yes, ‘honest’. He’s a person who isn’t able to cheat. Not even for others, and probably not for himself.”

“Himself?”

“Yes,” Vileena nodded. He noticed her lips slightly forming into a faint smile.

“Therefore, if it’s so that my marriage into Mephius will bring peace, he’ll be all the more against it. It’s not because his own chances of marrying into the royal family were made void. I don’t like it that others might suspect this is the case – I refuse to even consider such criticism. He would never even think of something like that. His feelings are much more straightforward, for he would simply hate to end the fight with Mephius halfway. He carries the pride and courage of a knight more than anyone else. I’m afraid that he’s always been a knight, ever since the day he was born.”

“Isn’t that the idea all Garberan citizens apparently support?”

“No,” looking as if she suddenly woke up from a dream, Vileena raised her guard again. “Of course, a lot of people yearn to become someone like General Ryucown. When they decided on having this marriage, there were also a lot of generals who were opposed to the idea. But, that’s just an opinion based on the stubborn side of man. Among the royal court, no, within most of the country, everyone wants an end to the war.”

“Is that also Lady Vileena’s opinion?”

“Me? I… of course.”

The girl, whose eyes started to grow dark with a sadness unbecoming of her age, placed a hand on her chest.

“The soldiers are tired, and my people have been forced through hard times for too long. At the very least, to save them from their troubled times, no one could wish it more than me to form an alliance between Mephius and Garbera with this wedding.”

Vileena looked straight at Orba, speaking without hesitation. It was within a glance, but for the first time since meeting her, she gracefully showed the true person inside. It was the kind of look that gave off the impression that there wasn’t even room for anyone to doubt her words.

And that was exactly what got on Orba’s nerves.

“Your people, huh?”

This princess spoke as if she knew her people – with an unquestioning attitude, as if she personally knew them all on sight – but he was certain she wouldn’t think twice of someone like him, who stood at the bottom of society. Compared to some of the Mephian nobles, who treated their people as if they weren’t even human, it felt as if she looked down on them even more.

“If the royal family caused this war out of their own accord, without considering their people’s feelings, how can they now claim to take them into consideration by ending that very same war? Only being born into a different rank completely changes the way you’re treated. It was better not to start a war in the first place! If that had happened, we wouldn’t have ended up with a situation where a princess has to cast herself into a marriage she doesn’t want.”

“So, that means… Are you trying to tell me that you, the prince, don’t want this marriage either?”

“Aren’t we the same? Yesterday, those ‘ringleaders’ were the ones who caused this blood-stained fight. Today we hold hands, have a marriage, and make peace. But the people who didn’t want to fight, or even those who found at least ''some'' meaning to it, have all ended up under a stack of corpses. What kind of peace is that?”

“That’s—”

It looked like, the moment Vileena made a sound, she suddenly sucked in all of her words. Although he may have been right for putting the blame on the royal family, eventually her fair cheeks reached the highest shade of red, and she raised her voice.

“You can simply direct your words at other people’s business, but it was ''your'' imperial family that drove its people and its soldiers into war against us! As for your feigned ignorance, isn’t that nothing more than betraying those who have died in your name? We were both born into either the royal or imperial family. It is our duty to devote ourselves to the country’s affairs. We cannot help it if it’s our duty to quell personal joy or personal will. It’s only to be expected that people praise our superior blood and kneel before our superior selves. Without such awareness, not only usurpers, but the populace too, would rise against the royal family.”

“Superior blood? Superior selves!?” Orba shouted.

When he was leading a life full of hardships, the thought of royalty hadn’t even so much as come up in Orba’s mind. So when the word ‘superior’ came out of Vileena’s mouth, it was as if he received the mixed nuance of conceit and mockery full in the face.

“I see. So, as one who was born ‘superior’, you can hold all the lives of your subjects in your grip. You’re completely in control of how they live, and how they die. Your kingdom’s ‘pride’ is nothing more than a figure of speech when you win as long as you can change the rules that’ll make you win. Quell personal joy, you say? Just what’s the fun in having hundreds, thousands, ten thousands of people, each with their own feelings, kill each other!?”

“You…”

Flying into a rage, Vileena took a step closer to Orba, but Theresia, calling out “Princess!”, pinned her arms behind her back when she was halfway there and stopped her.

“What!? You’re only fourteen years old – how can you act like you know anything and everything. Go on, tell me!”

Orba, as well, took a step into her direction. When Dinn called out “Prince”, hoping to stop him, Gowen and Shique quickly helped him out.

“Let go, dammit! You…”

“Cut it out, Orba,” Shique whispered into his ear. “Others are coming. If it’s revealed you’re a double at a time like this, the peace with Garbera will be entirely gone.”

“Don’t you think I know?” Orba yelled back, and Gowen continued.

“If it gets out the marriage ceremony was done by a boy double, it won’t just be Garbera, but the Mephian imperial family will hang you to protect their own hides. Then what’s the meaning of having survived those two years as a sword-slave? Is this the kind of future you had in mind?”

“Let me go Theresia! Unhand me!”

On the other side, too, Theresia was having trouble with the fuming Vileena.

“Please stop this, princess. Just what were you trying to do? You can’t deceive my eyes. Though this may be something you didn’t like, that was the attitude of a princess about to wallop her company.”

“That prince! He’s trampling his dirty feet on the Garberan royalty’s pride, with the face of a child that knows nothing! What’s wrong with hitting him? I’m just teaching him a lesson!”

“Princess, you’re revealing your true colours. Control yourself.”

They were raising quite a commotion, screaming and brawling like children being brought along to see a dragoneer at the pens for the first time.

At that point, someone else appeared in the room. Of course, the guards had tried to tell them so up front, but it had fallen on deaf ears for Orba and Vileena. That person stared at the strange commotion with boggling eyes.

“Prince! Princess of Garbera!” he shouted out in an angry voice, drawing the attention to himself.

It was Fedom Aulin.

“What’s all this about, at a time like this? Lady Vileena, as well. A situation is a situation. Please refrain from any rash behaviour.”
The two said nothing in return. They were glaring at each other with detest. Fedom cleared his throat.

“Very well, it’s actually convenient now that His Highness and Lady Vileena are together. Just now, airships from our country have arrived. They were carrying a notice.”

Fedom pulled out the report with a look on his face that suggested he had been quite shocked and surprised by the contents himself.

“Yesterday near dawn, Zaim Fortress, near the border of Ende and Garbera, was occupied by an army calling itself the ‘Ryucown Force’. They claim to be the true representatives of the Garberan nation, and that the Garberan royal family fully supports them.”

“No way!”

Vileena turned pale and stood stock still as if she’d been hit by a lightning strike. When Orba saw that, although he felt inclined to say it served her right, he immediately blocked that thought.

“Emperor Guhl Mephius has concluded that the sudden attack during the wedding ceremony at hand was also done by Ryucown. Regarding this vicious inhuman act of crushing the country’s dignity and its people’s hope, our Imperial Dynasty demands retribution. Troops will be sent over and, under the command of the crown prince, Gil Mephius, subjugate Ryucown—”

“What?”

“In a hasty conference with the country of Garbera, we have obtained permission to cross its borders. Without passing through the imperial capital, the crown prince must immediately head for the Fortress City of Idoro along the eastern border. That’s what it says.”
When he finished speaking, Fedom heaved a deep sigh.

When silence swooped down over them, Orba naturally assumed it wasn’t related to him at first. But Fedom’s eyes told him that this would be his ‘first campaign’.
<noinclude>
===References and Translation Notes===
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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter3|Chapter 3]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter5|Chapter 5]]
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter3

2018-01-21T20:21:03Z

MondSemmel: minor grammar errors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was primarily a dragon’s nature.

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

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

But, there seemed to be individual differences among them.

“Orba. Help me out without just looking.”

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

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

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

“You should get on, Orba.”

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S-Shit, that’s why dragons—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The soldier once more brandished his whip.

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

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

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

“D-Do you bloody know your place!?”

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

“Wait! Wait, Orba!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then…”

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

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

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

But Fedom said, “I don’t mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Wait.”

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

“Wait!”

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

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

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

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

“W-Wait. Wait, I tell you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine, just wait a bit.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand, Hermann. Go ahead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want a mirror?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well then.”

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

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

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

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

=== Part 2 ===

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s as I said earlier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

''What a bullshit story!''

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

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

''The prince of Mephius, huh…?''

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

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

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

“Let me ask one more thing.”

“What is it? Speak up.”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

''Where am I?''

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

''Brother… I can’t sleep.''

''Take hold of my hand…''

''Brother…''

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

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

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

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

“Prince,” someone called out to him.

“Your Highness, congratulations.”

“Prince Gil!”

“Congratulations on your wedding.”

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

Fedom was walking perfectly close to Orba.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

''You can all drop dead!''

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

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

''Not yet.''

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

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

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

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

“The third princess of Garbera,” Fedom whispered.

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

''Isn’t she still just a kid?''

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

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

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

=== Part 3 ===

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

''Enemy territory.''

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

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

“We’ve arrived.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, yes.”

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

''Will this man become my husband?''

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

''But on the other hand,''

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<noinclude>

===References and Translation Notes===
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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter4|Chapter 4]]
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter3

2018-01-21T20:09:53Z

MondSemmel: minor grammar errors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was primarily a dragon’s nature.

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

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

But, there seemed to be individual differences among them.

“Orba. Help me out without just looking.”

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

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

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

“You should get on, Orba.”

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S-Shit, that’s why dragons—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The soldier once more brandished his whip.

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

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

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

“D-Do you bloody know your place!?”

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

“Wait! Wait, Orba!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then…”

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

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

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

But Fedom said, “I don’t mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Wait.”

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

“Wait!”

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

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

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

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

“W-Wait. Wait, I tell you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine, just wait a bit.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand, Hermann. Go ahead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want a mirror?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well then.”

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

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

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

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

=== Part 2 ===

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s as I said earlier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

''What a bullshit story!''

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

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

''The prince of Mephius, huh…?''

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

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

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

“Let me ask one more thing.”

“What is it? Speak up.”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

''Where am I?''

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

''Brother… I can’t sleep.''

''Take hold of my hand…''

''Brother…''

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

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

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

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

“Prince,” someone called out to him.

“Your Highness, congratulations.”

“Prince Gil!”

“Congratulations on your wedding.”

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

Fedom was walking perfectly close to Orba.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

''You can all drop dead!''

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

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

''Not yet.''

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

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

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

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

“The third princess of Garbera,” Fedom whispered.

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

''Isn’t she still just a kid?''

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

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

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

=== Part 3 ===

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

''Enemy territory.''

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

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

“We’ve arrived.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, yes.”

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

''Will this man become my husband?''

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

''But on the other hand,''

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<noinclude>

===References and Translation Notes===
<references/>
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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter4|Chapter 4]]
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter2

2018-01-21T18:47:08Z

MondSemmel: minor grammar error

==Chapter 2: Two Boys==

=== Part 1 ===

After that, having slipped into the Mephian territory of Birac, Orba repeatedly stole. He had no hesitation or any difficulties with it. Running around barefoot on the ground day after day, he headed over to another area just before the surrounding people and guardsmen memorized his face, doing the same thing over and over until he, once more, headed for his next location.

He started hanging out with boys of the same age who had the same circumstances. Together, they usually sold stuff they’d gathered from dump sites or stuff they’d stolen at the side of the road, sometimes snitching purses with a single wield of the knife, or threatening wealthy-looking merchants coming out of bars, plucking them of their money.

While spending his days like that, one time, something happened that caused several people to get seriously injured amongst the same-age group Orba was hanging out with. Apparently, they’d been challenged by boys from another group. The children were having a children’s turf war. And as always, it was accompanied by force.

Everything was taken from them. Everything – meaning, they already had such a minimal lifeline where they barely managed to live another day, but if they were cut off like this, basically all of their members would be left for dead.

“We’ll either die, or fight and die. But those who want to do more and win, follow me!”

Orba gave those children who were about to become fainthearted a pep talk. He didn’t want to have everything snatched away from him twice. Gathering up the remaining members of their small group, Orba retaliated against a group of opponents that was much bigger in number.

However, he didn’t attack them straight ahead. He thoroughly gathered intelligence on the rival group beforehand. So, when the timing was right and they had the least number of opponents in place, they carried out their attacks.

What Orba valued above all was information. He always had to have the latest information, understanding both friend or foe, singling out the enemy’s numbers, strength, movements, and other things like that.

''This is what separates adults and children.''

It was the only thing Orba thought. A child who knows nothing only gets robbed without even knowing who the enemy is. But if you distinguish friend and foe on your own, and if you know your enemies, you can become the adult on the robbing side.

When Orba was fourteen, he’d become the leading figure among the boys his age. At first, the group he was acquainted with numbered only about ten, but, increasing with each passing day, it finally expanded to more than a hundred members.

However, the black blood that boiled inside of Orba never cleared away. There were hundreds of verbal disputes as well, where he certainly was the kind of person to use physical strength and mostly settled things quickly with his fists. At the same time, though, rather than spending the nights with his friends drinking alcohol, making a racket, getting in high spirits, and chattering, he was also the type to keep to his own, prop up his knees in a dim corner of the room, and be lost in thought.

Therefore, Orba, who liked to spend the night alone, made some spare time for reading. When immersed in the world of books, he was sometimes reminded of his older brother Roan, thought of Alice, or worried about his mother’s whereabouts.

For how long should he be conserving his strength? First of all, could he call upon that strength when fighting his ‘enemies’? And how many nights more would these thoughts circle around in his head? There was no end to the insecurities and self-questioning. Nonetheless, Orba still held that time of worry dear to him, because it allowed him to keep pushing forward.

It was about four years after coming to Birac.

That day was supposed to be just another ordinary day. Ordinary being extremely busy, counting the profits in the safe from the illegal gambling house he was running, before preparing his meet with influential gun-smuggling merchants in the alleys of Birac, training with sword and gun for about one hour, and revising his plan to attack a merchant ship with several of his best men, which was to be carried out within the week.

The plan at the end of the week was a large scale one. They intended to make a surprise attack on one of the air carriers – formally called dragonstone ships – that was fully loaded with gold bars and goods slated to be delivered to the district west of the city-state, by ambushing it in the ravine located twelve kilometres southwest of Birac. They had three single-seated airships prepared on their side. Several platoon leaders, including Orba, were already assigned with flying practice.

However, because it was such a large-scale operation, no matter how much the boys agreed on the method, there were big holes as well.

Several boys of the former rival group, envying Orba’s success, had slipped into their group as spies, and had leaked several details about their plan to the Birac garrison.

The second floor of the bar they used as a hideout in those days, was attacked by surprise, and Orba found himself surrounded by the city guards. He didn’t have any weapons at hand to fight back and all the escape routes were blocked. The moment he was struck by their ropes, having again become a person deprived of status, Orba bit his lips causing blood to trickle.

''Bastards.''

Still trying to resist as his face and body suffered at the guards’ fists, Orba again felt the swell of dark blood inside of him.

''Shit, shit, shit!''
''It’s not over. I’m still alive. Mephius or Garbera, I won’t be killed easily, not even by these people. I will live. Live by all means.''

He was put in prison for possession of a large amount of illegal weaponry, and obviously for planning to attack a merchant ship, and one crime after another, such as repeated gang robbery and illegal gambling, was further uncovered.

The time to carry out the investigation didn’t take a day. And Orba, who was once more tossed into a cramped cellar, got a hot iron pressed against his back. He was branded. A long, vertical line in the centre of an X mark, was the proof of being a slave.

He got a high fever from the pain, and that evening inside prison, when Orba was alone, writhing in agony, he experienced an even stranger fate.

“…Indeed, they’re alike.”

He was grabbed by the chin and felt himself being lifted. Far from able to shake it off, he didn’t even have the energy to open his eyes and see the face of this person. Even without paying attention to any of his emotions, it was like his brains were on fire, simmering slowly. 

“From what I heard during the interrogation, his voice is also the same.”

“Even though they’re alike, it has its limits. Actually, he seems to be a different person depending on the angle. If he were a little more alike, he’d have some purpose. Well, what’s going to happen after this?”

“According to the place I selected, this man holds some interesting portent. With luck at your side, he’ll certainly be helpful to the master any time in the future, won’t he?”

“But a sword slave? If this kid’s life may not be there on the morrow, how can he be of help to me? If I had known about the verdict earlier, I would’ve considered dealing with it differently.”

“No. You certainly won’t know tomorrow’s fate if you invested in him, but this man should expect to become a huge talent. To put it in other words, nothing can be made of this man now. But after passing his days as a sword slave – naturally, if he doesn’t get his neck reaped on the first day, or possibly die from some other cruel twist of fate – I think that he’ll survive more than three years, no, two years, possibly.”

“Then, I suppose I’ll wait without expecting anything. At any rate, there’s certainly no way this lad can become a slave with his actual face.”

At that moment, Orba, being held down by the same people that had branded him earlier, suddenly felt an oppressive feeling on his face and, with just the trace of a heat like fire, Orba’s skin started burning. He squirmed around, screaming, wondering if maybe it all was a dream, not even being sure whether he was really still alive or not.

The next morning, his body still tormented by the pain and fatigue, Orba was dragged and taken out of the dungeons and then tossed onto a cart where stark naked men were crowded together. The medium-sized Houban dragon, a dragon with a flat body and eight long legs, was fitted for pulling. Still within a light-headed state of mind, Orba went away from Birac being pulled by the dragon.

It was probably about two days later when the journey came to an end. They got a meal once a day, but because it was only one cup of water and some dried meat, the men, including Orba, were exhausted, doubled over, not even having the energy to start a conversation.

“This is another strange slave, huh?” a man with a tanned, muscular body said, white hair and a moustache covering his features as he peered into Orba’s face. “Gladiators that are already renowned often wear such masks or helmets to promote their personal appeal, but is he really a newcomer?”

The man grasped Orba’s face, and tried to pull it off. Reminded of the pain, as if his skin was getting torn, Orba immediately flung back at the arm.

“Bastard!” an armed swordsman said, about to beat Orba up, when the man used only the word “Stop!” and took control, grinning with his lips buried in his beard.

“Looks like this is no ordinary mask. According to your background, you’ve got an unyielding spirit. But most of the time it’s merely only that of a stubborn lad who’ll become nothing more than a tame dog after three days. I was appointed as a breeder who’ll teach you to ‘sit’ and ‘wait’. I’ll teach you first-hand what’ll happen to you if you oppose me.”

With those words, the man raised a fist the size of a hammer and slammed it into his bare back. A painful grunt escaping his lips, Orba doubled over without a word.

“I am Gowen. I’d like to form a long-standing relationship. You’ll be made to kill each other after ten days at the earliest. Let’s hope it won’t come to that.” 

After that, the sword slave training began, and Orba also noticed that he was wearing a mask that night. Looking at the mirror in astonishment, Orba, resenting the joke, frantically tried to tear it from his face, but it was stuck closely to his skin and he couldn’t take it off, as if it had become part of the skin itself.

After one hour of wrestling, out of breath and sweating all over on his body, he punched his own strange figure reflected in the mirror.

It cracked with a shattering sound and the iron mask became a warped reflection.

''How far must they go to scorn people? Giving me such a foolish mimicry, how much further must they make me fall?''

''I’m going to live and get out of here, by all means! I’m going to find the ones who made such a mockery of me and make them suffer through the same thing!''

As he pretended not to hear the sound of his own sobs, he crumbled down on the spot.

The next day, Gowen summoned Orba before him in the practice ring and suddenly threw the sword he had in hand at his feet.

“Try to strike me any way you want.”

Orba looked at his opponent with a look that doubted his sanity. Even though Orba wasn’t thinking about trying to escape right now, at the moment Gowen was unarmed, and what’s more, considering the chains usually tied around his ankles, it was ‘only during practice’ that these chains were removed.

Orba picked up the sword, bent his back as if building up his ‘reservoir’, and rushed forward within a single breath.

It was much like a surprise attack. He acted without mercy. He aimed for the throat. He was going for the kill.

However, his arm did not reach for half the amount he’d imagined, and on top of that, he was kicked hard and fell to his knees. Standing up, he made the same move once more. It brought the same result. The moment he struck, Gowen nimbly went to his side and suppressed him by the elbow.

“You seem to have a little experience. However, that experience only gets in the way right now. Forget it,” Gowen said, after he easily dodged Orba, who tried to attack him for a third time.

Orba wasn’t used to being told things so unsympathetically. His head was seething with anger as he turned and struck, but Orba had no luck no matter how much he tried to challenge Gowen. What irritated Orba the most was that his opponent didn’t seem to take it seriously. So he cursed Gowen, provoked him, recklessly charged at him saying he’d kill him, while in truth, despite keeping a watchful eye, he couldn’t find any openings in his opponent.

“Are you trying to kill me, Orba?”

Orba’s supposedly polished self-taught style could not be called brilliant.

“But, that’s too bad. You no longer have anything. No name, no status, no clothes, nothing to eat, and you just can’t do anything about it. Yes, even your life. Slaves don’t even have the freedom over their own lives or deaths. Even if you want to get it back, you can’t just repurchase it by offering more money than what you were sold for.”

This one-sided training where he was only getting knocked down was equal to a hellish self-punishment, however, as the day came to an end, an ever more excruciating pain was lying in wait for Orba.

It was the mask’s ‘curse’. At midnight, while he was lying down exhausted, it suddenly emitted a heat like flames that burnt as if they were melting Orba’s face, much in the same way as when the mask was placed on him the first time.

It was mostly in the evenings, through irregular intervals. Sometimes nothing would happen for three days straight, while at other times the heat was being emitted regularly for three days and three nights.

At those times, there was nothing Orba could do. He could only roll over the ground, drawing blood as his ankles scraped against the chains, and continue to hope that the pain would go away sooner, even if just for a second.

''I’m going mad.''
''I’m going mad, I’m going mad, I’m going mad.''

As he rolled over the floor, Orba harboured that fear time and time again, and even thought to become so might only be better. However, the power to hold onto it until the end, just before his consciousness was about to be taken away by a white, splashing wave, worked out at last. Gritting his teeth, bending his back as if the bones should break, Orba endured it just to endure. Many of his fingernails broke, as he tore at the ground, and tore at his mask.

The other slaves, and the soldiers held responsible for monitoring the slaves of the Tarkas Gladiatorial Group, naturally felt revolted by his figure frothing in pain. Rumours soon spread whether it was a curse by true magic, causing Tarkas, who had bought Orba from the slave traders, to make a bitter face.

“Merchandise is merchandise. Like I care if it’s magic or a curse!? Just don’t ever let him die when he’s not earning his pay!”

Giving those orders, Tarkas was certainly a most undaunted man. Orba was generally ignored as long as he didn’t die a dog’s death.

''I won’t die.''

It was a long, long night. His flesh and bones scraped by pain and the temptation of madness, wishing to die every second, it felt like the night would never break, but eventually it came to an end. Unless Orba himself gave up his life into the darkness, dawn would always come. Exhausted, lying down with his body already having no drop of strength left, he could feel the morning light upon his mask. Unsteadily raising his hands and taking hold of the mask, he pushed strength into his fingers and made an oath.

''Unless someone stabs me in the heart, I will never let myself die.''

It was as Gowen said. ''My life is not mine. But it doesn’t automatically belong to Tarkas either.''

''My life, with all that was taken from me, is all that I have.''

His heart had been beating in order to live until he’d meet his mother, Alice, and possibly his brother Roan again, his muscles only brandishing a sword to reach those who raided them, with the purpose of building a mountain of corpses.

After that, Orba was totally absorbed into his training. The sword and Orba’s body soon became integrated as one. He was holding formless hatred without knowing how to clear himself of it, and different from the time when he was just full of unease. The sword gave form to his hatred. His sword became a spear of hatred that cut and tore through all doubts. Altogether put in another way, it became his desire to live.

“If you want to survive, learn the technique to kill an opponent, and at the same time, also to kill yourself. People who can’t solely kill themselves, are killed by others in the end. There’s no exception.”

Gowen said so clearly. And Orba followed those instructions.

He killed his emotions. He burned them vigorously, roaring like a flame, day and night, so that he could also thoroughly burn himself. However, at the same time, the fire couldn’t be extinguished either.

Therefore, at midnight, although lying down quietly with possibly his face scorching under the mask, Orba continued burning his secret firewood – the anger and hatred in his chest – smouldering them into glowing embers.

Before long, he received his debut match. When Orba set foot in the arena, he was welcomed by a large crowd surrounding the place.

While the sky and earth were wrapped in loud voices, Orba fought a man that had picked up a sword like him, and killed him. He didn’t even remember whether his opponent was young, or if he was older than him. Only the moment he killed, and the moment even more cheers poured onto his sweating back, was what he remembered in great detail.

“Die!” Orba yelled as he looked up at the spectators. “Fuckin’ die !!”


Although the voice itself was drowned out by the cheers, Orba raised his bloody sword and continued spitting his profane language at all of them.

And, within one week’s time, he was to perform his second match. It was against a bearded man holding a zigzagged short-sword. It was something of a disgrace. There might have been jeers, or they might have progressed to the name of gods. Twice, thrice, he took a blow from a violent slashing attack. Each time, Orba changed his grip on the sword. He changed the placement of his feet. He was studying how to fight in the midst of battle.

He fended off a sword that was about to attack him from his side. And his opponent’s body was ''opened'' before his eyes.

Orba had swung his sword down right in front of him. The sword had cut into the middle of the face. Blood, bones, and brains were spilling from all sides. His hand growing numb, he hardly had any sense of touch. It was the third time he’d killed someone.

Orba became a gladiator and time went by for a little less than two years. In that time there were countless battles. There were also many endless nights spent counting all of the stars that filled up the night sky.

However, after a year passed, the curse of the iron mask heating up gradually disappeared, and after another half year passed, the periodic maddening pains became unbelievably docile. Although, it was no ordinary mask, as he still wasn’t able to tear it off, not getting a dent whether he struck it with the pommel of his sword or with a hammer. On the contrary it only seemed to endanger his own life and he was simply forced to postpone his wish to take off the mask.

And — when five days passed after Orba stopped the reckless voracity of the large-sized Sozos dragon at the Ba Roux arena,

“I found out why Tarkas was so merry,” Gowen suddenly said at the breakfast table. “You know Mephius and Garbera have been making peace negotiations, right? It looks like they’re finally planning to put an end to the ten-year war.”

“Hmm,” Shique nodded. “So the crown prince of Mephius and the princess of Garbera are going to have a political marriage, huh?”

“Mephius has various etiquette concerning marriages of the imperial household. The marital vows have to be performed at Seirin Valley<ref>Valley of Holy Descent (聖臨の谷).</ref>, for example, and there are also gladiatorial fights in the repertoire to be hosted. It looks like we from Tarkas Gladiatorial Group are the only ones recruited.”

Kain whistled. For a little while now, he was making the repairs of a clock with dexterous hands at the table, as requested of him by Tarkas.

“Well, that means they’re going to make us kill each other in front of the imperial family.”

“We can pay our respects to the crown prince himself. Exciting, isn’t it, Orba?” Shique said, while Orba was as usual bent forward with his eyes on his book.

“It won’t change a thing. Not one. Just putting flowers on armour and sword,” he replied bluntly.

=== Part 2 ===

It was early after dawn when Gil Mephius returned. Leaving his horse at the stables and heading for the back gate, Gil soon recognized the figure of Simon Rodloom and got a sombre look on his face. And then, as expected, he ended up having to listen to his complaints.

“Young prince, I am not impressed. You’ve been tomfooling around like this every day and night.”

“Your hobby of ambushing people is awful too.”

He shrugged his shoulders and turned to look behind him, at the friends he’d been hanging around with. They were all children of nobility – seventeen, eighteen of them – around Gil’s age and just a collection of second or third sons with no claim to the family succession.

“I do not want to mimic a father impatiently waiting for his daughter’s return either. However, your highness is also in the offing for the wedding with the Garberan princess. Things like this will not do. Please show some understanding.”

“I know. Don’t glare like that. Exactly because the wedding is at hand, I want to enjoy the freedom of being single before it’s too late.”

“It’s just that I can’t cover up for you every single time.”

“That’s why I told you – I know!”

Gil was about to lose his temper as usual, but,

“If you truly know already, please prepare to dress yourself in due haste. His majesty is waiting at the palace gates.”

“Father is?”

Blood draining his face, the angry expression was replaced by the tint of dismay. Also, Simon did not fail to notice that the prince’s friends were laughing in secret.

“Well, see ya.”

“Prince, at the dawn of the wedding, let’s make some racket all night again.”

As expected, even though their outward behaviour was very friendly, they seemed distant. While all of them had renowned noble fathers, they hung around the prince nearly every day and night. In the canyon-rich country of Mephius they had street races with rare horses, invited young women from distinguished houses to entertain at the river, gambled, imitated hunts, drank alcohol, and had meaningless wild parties.

''But that’s only their responsibility'', Simon thought.

The nation and its soldiers were tired of the long-standing war. However, although there had finally come an end to the battles with Garbera with the political marriage folding the curtain, it wasn’t what everyone had been hoping for. To make matters worse, during the peace negotiations, the southern territory of Apta that had played a central part had been divided with Mephius getting the short end of the bargain.

Sandwiched between the two countries of Mephius and Garbera, was the Duchy of Ende. It didn’t have a very large territory, but the country had a long history whose lineage could be traced back to the beginning of the magic dynasty, and it also had tight connections with the gulf countries across the sea. Furthermore, because the powerful eastern nation, Arion, had a longstanding relationship due to their similar lineage, they weren’t an opponent to make light of if they decided to compete for supremacy of the continent’s centre.

Ende hadn’t intervened in the ten-year war, but, although it continued to keep a small trading relationship with both countries, albeit separately, it had shown signs of forming a military alliance with Garbera.

As soon as the Emperor of Mephius received the information, he easily took back the vow he pledged three years ago before the divinity at the Dragon Gods temple, ‘Until the neck of the Garberan king is presented before me, I will never sheathe my sword,’ and suggested to make peace with Garbera.

Of course, Garbera wasn’t so sure of his change of heart. But they also had some conflicts amongst themselves. If they were amply allied with Ende, it might be enough to attack Mephius anyway. However, the war had brought much damage and ruin to Garbera. Moreover, if they would increase military activities together with Ende, they also raised the concern that Ende might do with their territory however they pleased.

For Garbera, who had the same dilemma with Mephius standing at their side, the territory of Apta was brought in. In the end, as a result of weighing the different options, Garbera complied with Mephius’s request for an alliance.

''His imperial majesty, too, must have considered it a bitter decision.''

In and out of the country, Guhl Mephius was whispered of as the ‘Dragonheart Emperor’. Partly as a literal symbol of fear, but also partly as nothing more than irony.

Around the time they entered their sixth year of war with Garbera – it was at the time when the aforementioned divination was done – Guhl had arbitrarily strengthened the imperial household’s influence in order to prevent confusion in the chain of command. The council, which consisted of the major aristocrats, lost half of their authority, and now it existed almost in name only.

Simon Rodloom, too, was a said member. The Rodloom House currently had no successor though, because twelve years ago, in exchange for becoming the council president, the western fortress city that made up the heart of their territory was handed over to another noble. Hence, as he currently had no territory to govern and no soldiers to command, he was a noble from a distinguished family in name only.

His situation virtually resembled that of other nobles. Aside from those who had kept their influence by being servile to the emperor for many generations, for those who were willing to hope for just a little progress in the country, the current Mephius was only a stifling place.

Simon thought he was much like the ones who’d hung around the prince earlier, having enough room for sympathy among the nobles’ second sons, as they neither had a promised position nor a future to look forward to. If the war came to an end, and those who’d made a name of themselves on the battlefield were given titles, they couldn't have them acquire part of their extended territory.

Of course it was the world of belligerent countries. Although war itself might not necessarily disappear after this, with Mephius currently wrapped in a feeling of war-weariness, an opportunity would probably only arrive after five, ten, or even twenty years.

The irony of the nickname ‘Dragonheart Emperor’ lay in the fact that, even though he was thought of as an authoritative dictator in his homeland, recently, he hadn’t been able to demonstrate his influence on foreign territories.

''Although it probably fits as a symbol for the current state of Mephius,''

Simon thought, not hesitating on having such opinions and showing a slight self-mockery while waiting for the crown prince to finish his preparations. Simon, who had retired from his position of council president, was now more like the prince’s nursemaid.

As Gil hurriedly jumped out of his room with a change of clothing and hairstyle, he ordered Gil to walk beside him.

“You’re so bossy all the time, Simon. Like a nagging courtesan.”

“There’s no need to get angry. Or you’ll hear that tone every day when you get married.”

“Why shouldn’t I get angry? I won’t be doing as told by a wife three years younger than me.”

“Although Princess Vileena of Garbera is young, she’s someone who has gone through a lot. She’s also resolved to brace herself for a confrontation with the prince.”

“What’s that, talking as if it’s some battle?”

“Married life ''is'' a battle. The vague line between winner and loser only gets thinner. It’s also important to know information on the opponent beforehand. So, are you willing to listen to me talk now?”

Although Gil only meant to make a joke, it had stirred up a hornet’s nest, and Simon, not at all caring about Gil’s scowl either, started talking about tales of Princess Vileena.

It was about five years ago, when Garbera was in the midst of a rebellion. It was the work of local lords secretly in touch with Mephius. They first attacked the villa where the king’s predecessor lived, and then took it over. Princess Vileena, who had come over to play, also happened to be there and they kept her hostage along with her grandfather, the previous king. However, the princess, who was only nine years old at the time, did not shy from their rebel opponents at all, and seemed to have stood against them admirably, seeking the release of all hostages other than her.

Also, compared to other foreign countries, Garbera still vigorously mined dragonbone fossils, purifying the raw materials into the weightless metal known as dragonstone, which had become a big source of income. And, Princess Vileena was known to be an expert at flying the suddenly famous Garberan-style single-seated airships made of the very same metal.

“Certainly, she decorated the airship race that’s performed in Garbera once every few years, by becoming a splendid runner-up.”

“Do women ride airships?” Gil said, with a weary look. “Geez, she’s passed fourteen, but she still seems like a child. In Mephius, you don’t even think of women flying in the sky with such vehicles. I can’t even try to imagine my wife at the palace garden, capering in the sky with an airship. People would point their finger and make a laughingstock out of me. Why would the first prince born in historic Mephius give his bride a freedom like that? I’d rather look for a natural beauty anywhere in the city! Simon, isn’t it possible to cancel the marriage in some way, even now?”

He gave a nonchalant sigh, but it was Simon who wanted to sigh even louder. Should the royal prince come to graciously inherit the imperial dynasty, he’d half-heartedly give priority to his personal preferences over the nation and its people.

''The prince isn’t even a bad person. But what he said will only cause severe intrigue and mayhem'', Simon thought inside. ''And his father is a hero. Although he’s lost part of the southern territories, he also had the ability to make peace with Garbera within almost five minutes, outwitting Ende.''

''On the other hand, he isn’t a good father.''

“Father, have you called for me?”

The two had made their way over to the emperor’s private room. It was still early in the hours and the hall of the imperial court was not yet open. However, the impatient Emperor Guhl, sitting at breakfast, had already decided to let many men seek audience one after another and listen to their words.

Then, before the many nobles – the people who would later become Gil’s retainers – the father openly railed at his son.

“How much time has passed since I summoned you!? You still don’t have any territory, not a single soldier depending on you. You don’t even have a single job assigned to you, and yet you make off like that where my eyes can’t reach? But you were probably just occupied with your worthless nightlife, anyway.”

“No, father, I…”

“So, the only son that I’ve born is a useless sloth like you. It’s the most pathetic truth that our dynasty’s long history will meet disaster.”

Simon gazed at the prince’s shivering back. Over his shoulder, he also had a view of the raving emperor’s figure. Deep wrinkles formed on his face as the extent of his temper grew wilder.

“It seems like Princess Vileena is quite a courageous princess. I heard she can handle a gun and airships better than any ordinary man. You’re not evenly matched. Probably the only manly achievement you’ve got is that you’re about to marry her. Have you got the honour of killing a dragon, capture any survivors of the Ryuujin Tribe, or maybe even discovered an ancient spaceship buried in the ruins? Oh, those are feats worthy of a main character in a saga!”

The emperor pleasantly struck the table, buying the laughter of the retainers lined up around him. When several people followed suit, he added with satisfaction,

“You should be careful, or before you know it, you’ll be the one wearing a dress and carried up into the bed.”

''What a despicable sight.''

Of course, Simon did not mutter those words out loud.

Among those at table was Ineli, the eldest child of the emperor’s second wife, Melissa. In front of the girl with fair skin and highly donned hair, Simon had seen that Gil became a much more easily swayed man. Although he had apparently been invited by Princess Ineli to watch the gladiators just yesterday, she also turned down her face and suppressed her laughter.

In the end, Gil hardly uttered a single word either.

“I think I also find it a bit despicable.”

As soon as the emperor made his leave, Fedom Aulin spoke to Simon.

Although he was much younger than Simon, with his body covered in fat, he was also much bigger. He was the noble in charge of Birac Fortress and its surrounding area. He was also one of the sole leading members who proceeded over the peace negotiations, and was much more promising than other lords with their deathly gazes. Simon kept an eye on him.

Although, in truth, that hardly meant he was a great man.

“You can’t assume the prince can carry this country on such unreliable shoulders. Sure enough, compared to those who were fated to be born on the streets, you could call him lucky.”

Solemnly shaking his head, he lowered his voice to a whisper,

“The resistance against the imperial household is growing stronger. Emperor Guhl still gathers much respect and fear because of his successes, but when it comes to Prince Gil… The way things stand, those who consider him no good may not necessarily have to come out either. No, no, however, bearing the country’s future in mind, can we really just condemn them as traitors?”

It was obvious that with ‘them’ he meant himself. He was quite blatantly riling Simon up, trying to gauge whether or not he could become a potential ally, for there could possibly be an even greater amount of dead than there would be war casualties if Mephius lost the ten-year war against Garbera.

“The prince is young,” Simon said, not showing the slightest change in expression. “Anything can still happen after this. Even when His Majesty was young, there wasn’t any indication of him becoming the Dragonheart. We have to support the young prince and build the future of our nation together.”

“Haha! That’s so like you, Lord Simon. Your eyes are turned towards the future.”

Fedom stroked his strongly slackened jaw. Simon unintentionally spilled a smile.

''Well, I wonder if this man was able to understand my current honour student-like words.''

Simon was certainly worried about the current state of Mephius, as it was currently impossible for the prince to do good.

However, despite such fears, everything might start to topple into an unexpected direction very soon. And Simon would not separate himself from the person concerned. Having experienced the destined changes of Prince Gil Mephius up close, it was still much better than Fedom Aulin’s methods.

=== Part 3 ===

What was called the Mephius Empire, boasting their power as an ‘imperial dynasty’, dated back to seven generations before the current emperor, Guhl Mephius.

The Domick Flats that cut diagonally through the mountains was currently all of its territory. The famous Black Tower, known as the ‘Sword forged from the remains of the Space Immigrant Ship’s bow’, stood at its centre with the imperial capital Solon surrounding it in a circle. Among the natural stronghold formed by intricate valleys, many small forts were built that couldn’t even be called castles, which in turn protected several major cities and the large and small villages dotting the area. The forts, including the city and villages surrounding it, each had a district official, while the nobles in turn usurped and commanded several of its regions.

It was evening.

Gil Mephius was making his favourite horse run at reckless speed.

To the west, the Domick Flats were glittering and shining bright red, while, to the east, the mountains and rows of cliffs towered over like a pitch-black wall, enveloping it in darkness. If he’d look up at the slope rising to his west, he would see the rocky mountains where the Mephius Family built their castle three generations ago. It took the strength of dragons and humans, and it was said they even borrowed the power of several magicians who were rare in Mephius, to carefully carve the limestone mansion. Although it had first been used as a council hall after the new castle was built, now, it was only so in name.

But Gil didn’t spare those historical buildings a glance as he cantered down towards the town streets, passing the statues of Mephius’s founding king and many heroes lined up in the natural corridor.

''Shit!''

No matter how much he tried to empty his head, his father’s face, the ridiculing voices, and the figure of Ineli’s downcast shoulders and shivering form kept coming back.

“About tomorrow’s plans?”

Although he had asked Ineli out again at noon, she rolled her alluring eyes in a charming gesture.

“Haven’t you just been scolded by father this morning? Although your boldness has indeed the quality of an emperor’s, shouldn’t you be a bit more prudent?”

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 097.jpg|thumb]]
Holding the hem of her skirt, she bowed before him. Her eyes, however, glancing his way with an upturned look, held signs of testing him out. And, as Gil was at a loss for words just like when he’d faced his father, she turned her back and left after saying, “Have a good day.”

While Gil ran his horse, he gritted his teeth.

''She was definitely provoking me.''

That sweet look in her upturned glance. Ineli had been implicitly making a mockery of Gil.

''— So, you’re still afraid of your father, huh?

''— A child that can do nothing but follow his father’s orders can’t keep me company.

''— Now, why don’t you hurry on back to your room and play by yourself?

Today he didn’t even get a little drunk. When the day fell, the black water lily powder he’d always mix with his alcohol, although it should have instantly made him forget about all annoying things as usual, just today, it seemed to have a bad effect on him. So he nearly doubled the amount he normally knocked back. Then suddenly, after getting severely drunk, Gil wanted to take a fast ride on his horse. He didn’t call for his friends. He was all by himself for today.

Gil had never received a single kind word from his father. He’d almost never seen him show a smile.

When he hadn’t yet become ten, Gil had tagged along on a wild dragon hunt. At the time, as a sort of ‘test of courage’, he’d placed his foot on the dragon’s neck, which had just been shot dead with a gun. Upon seeing his own son drawn as a painting, raising his chin with his arms crossed like a hero, Guhl said,

“Look, it’s a dragon-slaying hero! My son will rise up to the heavens devouring dragons.”

And he laughed, baring his white teeth.

Gil could not bring himself to stay irritated when he so cherished the memories of his childhood. On the other hand, he couldn’t help it that it was the only pleasant memory he had of his father.

''Father must really hate me,'' he thought.

It was obvious that he didn’t have the makings of a hero. How many times had his father sighed during his sword training? Publicly too, like earlier today. All the retainers supported his father. The only one that stuck up for him, his mother, had died five years ago.

And, before last year, his father took the widowed Melissa from a notable family as his second wife. He got two sisters she brought from her previous marriage. Because she had not yet fully finished mourning her late husband, there were many malicious whispers about her in the palace, and, also for other reasons, Gil did not like Melissa. She was, of course, not his mother. Like the older retainers standing at father’s side, in his father’s eyes, she was no person to look down upon.*

And at the time, her oldest daughter Ineli too… When he imagined looking down at her figure at the time, with looks that got more strangely sensual, Gil noticeably kicked the flanks of his horse in a fit of anger.

“Oh?”

Among the people who narrowly avoided being run down by his horse, was Fedom. He was just coming back from his mistress’s house. To his companions he asked,

“Wasn’t that the crown prince just now?”

“Really?”

“At a time like this, without his friends?”

“It may very well be possible that it is our highness,” he said with a hardly amused hint of cynicism. “Alright. It doesn’t necessarily have to be so strange. Someone chase after him. If there’s any trouble, use my name and politely bring him back,” he ordered.

There was more than a common crowd of people in the middle of the streets. Slowing his horse’s pace with great frustration, Gil expressionlessly cut through the gaps between the boisterously laughing people. Of course, he didn’t have the appearance of being from royalty. Because the town people only knew their prince’s face from portraits sold as a courtesy at festivals, he should be able to come out without them even recognizing him.

Sure enough, even though no one called out to him, Gil was not able to ignore them as he let his horse walk through. For some reason, the sight of people getting merry and enjoying themselves got on his nerves. And, despite the light tones of the kithara<ref>An old Greek instrument, a bit like a lyre.</ref> and flute, it seemed that they were making a little fool out of him. Was the laughter rising everywhere simply them pointing fingers at him?

His heartbeat throbbed faster. The drug was finally having its effect and started dispersing Gil’s thoughts. As it were, the scenery before him, that he thought was softly disintegrating into a misshapen variety of viscous colours drawing him in, started to look like a row of little devils sneering at him.

''Stop…''

Every last one of them was laughing, pointing at him with twisted claws.

Take a look – that’s Mephius’s crown prince. That man is like a child, forever frightened by his father. He can’t freely woo a single girl, that deplorable man.

He should just die already. A man whose rule is of no use to anyone in this country should just die right now.

''Stop!''

The series of disgusting colours squirmed and twisted all around him. The fear, which had likely been oppressed, further urged Gil’s disgust and terror. He truly regretted that he hadn’t brought a gun from the palace. Surely, if he filled all of these people with lead bullets, it would clear his head…

“Your Highness, Gil?”

Suddenly, there was someone holding his horse’s bit. That moment, it first looked like one of the figures embodying the devil, but when Gil, shuddering on horseback, stared very hard, he noticed it was a man whose face he’d seen several times before.

Considering he was carrying a sword at his side, and also wearing a handgun at his waist, he had to be someone of the imperial guard, who were allowed to wear arms at times of peace. But because he knew him only his in military uniform, he looked like an entirely different person wearing ceremonial clothes.

“Do you have some business in a place like this?”

“No…”

The prince shook his head, pretending to be in a normal state of mind. The imperial guard was directly under the control of the emperor. That meant they stood at his father’s side, and they were not the kind of companions Gil wanted to be familiar with either way.

Although one could only become an officer class if he came from a good family, the ruler was permitted to freely appoint anyone regarding the soldiers forming his own division. Gil too, when he reached his fifteenth birthday two years ago, had received the authority to select soldiers directly under his own control, but that was merely a formality – in practice, he would one day directly inherit his father’s army division.

“It’s dangerous to be here on your own. Let me send a messenger to the court.”

“Leave it, don’t do something unnecessary. That aside, what’s all this commotion?”

“Ahh.”

The member of the imperial guard, around his mid-forties, narrowed his eyes with embarrassment. He pointed at the centre of the street. On top of a horse-drawn carriage that had its canopy removed, stood a young man and women fully dressed up.

“Tonight’s my daughter’s wedding ceremony,” he laughed.

The girl was happily smiling with a face that resembled her father’s. Her pure white dress, although it couldn’t help being plain in comparison to those he’d seen at the imperial court, was strangely dazzling.

The daring, once-in-a-lifetime dress design revealed her cleavage, making her sensual body line stand out.

“The prince should also take care of his body, being in the offing for marriage. I can call for a subordinate, and hurry on to the castle—”

Half of the imperial officer’s words didn’t even reach Gil’s ears.

The laughter, the sounds, and the people dancing in a circle, flickered darkly before him, just like a play of shadow puppets. The worthless smiles in the streets, the singing voices, and the dances increased the uneasiness within Gil.

Why were they all behaving in such a cheerful manner? Even he, the heir to the Mephian Imperial Throne, didn’t see such things at underfoot among his days. No, maybe it was that, just because they were commoners, they could spend their days without fear? They hadn’t chosen their lives. They received what they were given, and grieved for what was robbed of them. If he could also spend his days like that, how much comfort would it give?

It became all the more irritating. An all the more violent throbbing keenly put pressure on his brains. The thump, thump, thump, thumping made Gil’s body tremble. The shadow puppets were shaking along vertically.

At that time, Gil’s lips opened up in a semicircle. He was laughing.

What a foolish notion. That he, as the prince, should envy the happiness of such lowly humans. This would all become his territory one day. He just needed to remind them of that. He needed to teach them that, if such happiness was so easily given, it could also be snatched away in an instant.

“Right to the first night.”

“Eh?”

The officer of the imperial guard holding his horse’s bit once more raised his head. Although Gil was wiping drool from his mouth, the tone of his words was clear.

“I exercise the imperial family’s right to the first night.”

“Prince!”

The officer’s shout made all of the surrounding faces face their way.

''Are you finally looking?''

As he got into the height of drunkenness, Gil laughed even more. If he’d had a mirror at hand right now, Gil would see that his own face resembled those demonic figures he was daydreaming about earlier.

''Do you finally notice I’m not part of you, not just one more life, not just one more human being?''

The males of the Mephian imperial family had the so-called right to the first night. It meant that, if there was a marriage between man and woman anywhere in the domain, almost without exception, he could take from the groom the right to spend the first night with the bride.

There was a time when it was believed the blood of a virgin was something filthy, and that going to bed with power-wielding royal family members or priests would cleanse that blood – although, with that said, it was essentially only a means to pluck high taxes, paid in order to avoid the right to the first night. The law was established about a little less than 200 years ago, in the midst of the successive battles with the Ryuujin Tribe that impoverished human civilization.

Nowadays, the right to the first night had become a dead letter. Just like the selection system of the imperial guard.

“Prepare some place, imperial officer. Are you listening to what I’m saying? If you go against the imperial family, not only you, but the bride too, will go to the guillotine.”

Surprise and confusion spread throughout the circle, creating a wave around Gil. The laughter subsided, the singing stopped, and the dancing broke up. The looks on the young pair atop the horse carriage got frozen still.

On the contrary, Gil didn’t stop laughing. As far as he knew, the right to the first night had never been claimed before. Of course, neither had his father, Guhl Mephius.

Didn’t his father say he wouldn’t become such a man? Someone who would leave his name in history? Didn’t even Ineli try to taunt him? He’d show he’d surpass his father. From now on, they couldn’t say whatever.

In a world that had fallen silent around him, Gil was the only one who felt truly satisfied from the bottom of his heart.

Half an hour later, Gil kept the bride waiting on the second floor of a cheap tavern close by. The security of the barroom was entrusted to none other than the imperial officer from earlier. While grinning broadly on his own, he went up the stairs with a bottle of alcohol. The sound of creaking wood was strangely comfortable.

He threw open the door, and the figure on the bed moved with a shudder. It was dark. The only light came from a soot-covered lamp all the way over to the pillow.

“Prince,” the woman, rubbing her hands together, tried to plead with him. “Please… please, let this slide. If it’s about the tax – I’ll pay! Please forgive me! I still… still haven’t entrusted my body to a man yet. Even my husband…”

“That’s why it’s called the right of the first night, isn’t it?” Gil said, sneering. “I’ll take care of all the tainted blood. After that, you can get intimate with your husband in peace, as much as you want.”

Throwing off his upper clothes, Gil sidled up to her on the bed. The bride let out a scream and backed away on the bed. He could see the flesh of her behind bulging through the thin clothing. Gil’s throat was rumbling.

At that time, there was a violent thumping on the door. Clicking his tongue and turning his head, Gil watched the imperial officer come into the room, and raised a stern look.

“It’s insensitive for the father to break in upon the bride’s wedding night. Although I heard there’s a custom where witnesses are invited to a royal wedding’s first night, that’s not the case for you. Fall back.”

“Well, prince, will you please reconsider? This is a disgrace to Mephius’s imperial household!”

“What are you saying? Someone like you hasn’t the position to scorn the imperial family. Openly disrespecting it like you just did is worthy of the death penalty!”

The imperial officer, Rone Jayce, watched the prince’s eyes up front. They were unfocused, and froth was leaking from his mouth. With a single glance, he saw they were the effects of the black water lily. As the prince fixed his sharp gaze, he continued blurting out incoherent words.

“I… I am of the Mephian imperial family… no… I’m that Guhl Mephius’s child. If you say the very country opposes me, fine, I’ll have you and your family packed into an inescapable coliseum! Suffer at a dragon’s fangs until you settle all alone in its stomach for all I care! Leave, if you don’t like that. What!? That’s still not enough? We can just resume the marriage after this. I’ll even make sure to also put on one of those celebratory outfits.”

Gil turned his white back his way.

''Ah…''

In that defenceless state, Rone was dizzied, struck by a severe indecisiveness.

Layla was his only daughter. Doing hard work as an officer of the imperial guard, he was never quite confident if he was a good father or not.

It was more than ten years ago, at the time of Rone’s birthday. He returned home, arriving near midnight. Although, in the end, he had even forgotten that the day was his birthday, Layla had been lying asleep with her face on the table. While his wife had placed a blanket on her shoulders, she said,

“She tried her best to stay awake, you know.”

His daughter was holding a white wreath of flowers, one she probably made herself, tightly in her hand.

As he’d softly placed her small hand in his own, he vowed he would do anything in exchange for his daughter’s happiness. Even if it took his own life.

When he came to, Rone was about to jump on Gil. He nearly tumbled to the floor, as he fell forward with the prince. The screams of his brain, saying ‘What are you doing!?’, was swirling along with the sound of everything falling apart.

But, Rone was not really thinking of that at all. The prince was obviously using a drug that made him act this way. If he lost consciousness here, by the time he awoke, he would possibly not remember a single thing. Even if not, he wouldn’t think much more of it than that had happened in a dream. Although it would be necessary to get a large crowd of people to cooperate with him, Rone would use any means necessary to ensure they did.

On the other side, Gil was currently in a state of frenzy. Having the belief he had to surpass his father or have his name be thoroughly defiled, he was about to raise his body, feeling signs of a wild beast. It was as if he wielded the power against his own father.

“Filth!”

As he struggled with this ‘father’, he noticed the handgun hanging at his opponent’s waist. He frantically tried to seize it. Rone noticed it too. At the end of the silent struggle, the handgun fell from both their hands. It fell with a solid sound on the floor. They both quickly extended their hands towards it.

Bang! – when a gunshot echoed throughout.

Following the news he received from his attendant, Fedom rushed to the front of the tavern with a restrained sword.

''The right to the first night, of all things!''

Looking at his side, there were several figures gathered up, assimilating with the darkness in a place where they did not stand out in the streets. All their eyes were glaring at him and Fedom got chills running down his spine. It reminded him of a dripping wet fuse. You’d leave it alone, since it wouldn’t make an explosion anyway, but if even one strong spark was incidentally thrown into the lot, it could quickly blow up anyway.

Clearing his throat, Fedom drew closer to the front of the bar room. Several people of the imperial guard were standing watch at the door. They had bewildered looks on their faces. Summoned by their superior officer, they hadn’t received an explanation on why they had to guard this bar either. Fedom raised his title as a council member and was led through.

Then – bang! – a gunshot rang that made his eardrums quiver.

Standing still for a moment, Fedom then quickly ran up the stairs. His attendant, being a great fighter, leading ahead, opened the door. They equally caught their breath. The smell of gunpowder reached their nose. There was a puddle of blood spreading on the cheap building floor.

''……''

Under those circumstances, a strange silence blew over them.

For a little while, Fedom wasn’t able to think of anything. He had no words, his mind seemingly refusing to accept what he saw for fact, and he only stared at it vacantly. However, bit by bit, reality started corroding his brain cells and a certain thought arose within Fedom Aulin’s mind. Even ''he'' thought it was a ridiculous idea. It was too much.

''No…''

Fedom swallowed a huge amount of saliva. Wasn’t this some heavenly revelation? Now, to break to the old empire’s shell and give it fresh blood? He could give real meaning to this country, suitable for its current turbulent times. Wasn’t this nothing more than a sign from the heavens, that no other than he could do this?

Despite the stench of blood in the cheap tavern, right now, Fedom’s eyes seemed as if they were wrapped by a golden light. While personally shuddering, experiencing excitement and fear, he realized that, if he wanted this, he had to hurry, and impatiently urged on.

At first, after commanding his subordinate to let no one enter this room, he approached the father and daughter who were embracing each other, shivering, on the bed.

“…I am prepared,” the imperial officer said. “But my daughter, and my family, is not to blame. I take all responsibility for this on myself. Please, have mercy on everyone else but me. I’ll do whatever you desire of me, immediately; be it the coliseum, you can make me face a dragon barehanded, offer my neck to the guillotine, or tie my four limbs to dragons and tear me apart.”

“Oh?”

Fedom’s cheeks were trembling. He was looking down for a quick glance at the man lying down with the bared back. He didn’t move a single inch. It looked like he was already no longer breathing.

“Do not fear,” Fedom said, albeit in a shaky voice. “He’s still breathing.”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t you hear me? He’s still breathing. Do not fear. The crown prince will be in good health.”

Rone Jayce remained quiet, still surprised. Fedom quickly resumed speaking.

“All right, if you still want to protect your family, I’ll ask you to not leak out a single word that I say, got it? If just one little thing about what happened here reaches my ears through someone else, you, your family, and all your blood relatives will be the first to enter a dragon’s stomach. Got it? In short, I’m telling you that ''isn’t'' the case right now. Understand?”

The imperial officer, Rone Jayce, suddenly glanced up. A spurt of blood on the chest, his daughter was clinging on to him. Over their heads, loomed Fedom’s face. Those eyes with undetermined focus were much like the ones Prince Gil had just a little while ago.

<noinclude>

===References and Translation Notes===
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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter1|Chapter 1]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter3|Chapter 3]]
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter1

2018-01-21T17:42:33Z

MondSemmel: minor grammar errors

==Chapter 1: Iron and Blood==

=== Part 1 ===

The outcome was decided.

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

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

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

“Go, go!”

“Do it, kill!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watch your mouth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now then! Gathered ladies and gentlemen!”

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

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

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

“Ballchain Verne!”

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

“It’s the Tiger!”

“Look, Iron Tiger Orba!”

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

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

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

The spectators started ridiculing him, saying,

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

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

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

“How should I know?”

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

“A wager, is it? For what, and how?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I like him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


“Start!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get serious!”

“Stop messing around!”

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

“You bastard!” Verne howled.

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

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

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

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

“M-Magnificent!” the orator cried.

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

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

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

“He… took out Verne.”

“With one blow.”

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

It was the roar of the Sozos Dragon.

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

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

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

“This way. Hurry!”

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

“W-Wait. Ineli’s…”

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

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

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

Then, from those eyes, she saw.

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

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

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

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

“Orba!”

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

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

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

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

“A-Are you okay?”

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

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

“No way, he is alive.”

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

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

=== Part 2 ===

“Two years.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Orba.”

Calling out his name, she quickly turned around.

“So I’ve been found out.”

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

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

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

“Do these guys know my name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then,

“Orba, good job yesterday.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t say it was magnificent.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not interested.”

“Haha, are you afraid of me?”

“Oh, I am. I’m scared. So, get lost.”

“You bastard!”

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

“Stop it!” Gowen commanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What…?”

Kain stretched out his arms, seemingly uninterested.

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you praising me or not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m being serious.”

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

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

“I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=== Part 3 ===

“So you were here, Orba.”

Roan suddenly showed his face.

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

“Did you have another fight?”

“Not really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

But when his brother was about to answer,

“Why are you talking about such difficult things?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The fortress has fallen!”

They came with the worst news.

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

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

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

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

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

“Orba, where are you going? Orba!”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this, there’s nothing!”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, there’s a woman!”

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

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

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

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

“Hey, what? What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

''This is…''

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

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

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

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

The blade was engraved only with ‘Orba’. Of course, he hadn’t known such a thing was in his house. He didn’t think his mother or other acquaintances would’ve especially prepared it for him. For all he knew, couldn’t this be nothing but a present from his brother Roan?

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

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

At any rate…

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

“This is mine!”

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

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

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

“I said, show me — gyahh!”

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

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

“That brat…”

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

“Stop!”

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

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

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

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

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

“You killed Douga. You lowly brat.”

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

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

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

“Let me go!”

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

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

“What’s going on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Commander, what’s the commotion!?”

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

“You’re a child of Mephius?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alice!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very well, this village was burned by Garbera. Let the soldiers be thorough. They can have the women, but kill them when they’re done with them. Don’t even sell them off. You will supervise.”

Shortly after that, the screams and shouts died out. Instead, a hot wind roasted his skin, and an acrid stench started filling the air. When he finally managed to stand up, his surroundings had turned into a sea of flames.

There wasn’t a single person left alive. Orba roamed about the village, calling his mother and Alice’s name in a loud voice, while brushing away sparks of fire at his hands. But the only things that came into his sight were the slaughtered bodies of the village people. The bodies of the elderly, women, and children.

''That Oubary…''

With the place scorched all over, Orba’s whole body had become dark red with the blood and soot falling from overhead.

''Isn’t that Oubary… Apta Fortress’s…''

He remembered hearing about it. When the fortress had urgently been recruiting soldiers, he was sure the military men that appeared in the village had spoken the name. He was the veteran general who had been entrusted with the protection of the fort.

So that meant this had been the Mephian army. After the fortress fell, the troops including Oubary went north, ahead of Garbera’s pursuing troops, and burned down the village where Orba and the others had escaped to earlier. And they’d taken all spoils of wars before going back to the capital, so that Garbera couldn’t make use of it.

''I’ll kill them'', Orba vowed.

Mustering up the strength from somewhere in his body, although there had not even been one drop left behind earlier, the power that kept him going forward, it came from his unrelenting vow with the intent to kill.

Although he had no clear answers on whether to kill Oubary, the Garberan soldiers, or the Emperor, and on how to achieve those ends, for now, he just kept on walking.

<noinclude>

===References and Translation Notes===
<references/>
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|-
| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter1

2018-01-21T17:06:38Z

MondSemmel: minor grammar error

==Chapter 1: Iron and Blood==

=== Part 1 ===

The outcome was decided.

The amphitheatre of Ba Roux shook. The many spectators that were crowded together unanimously shouted out the victor’s name and stamped their feet, creating a racket that sounded much like a tidal wave.

While the winner was being bathed in the passionate and boisterous cheers, the one who had received the opposite fate lay motionless besides his feet. Eventually, the loser’s headless body was struck with a hook and dragged away by the hands of two slaves.

The sun was still glaring even though it was near evening. The spectators’ faces were covered with sweat and glittering brightly, as if someone smeared them with oil, and their eyes, too, were sparkling with bloodlust, as they anticipated the next fight to be yet another battle to the death. Whoever just won or lost didn’t stay on their minds for long. It was only the heat of battle that left an everlasting taste, stood in the air, and kept whirling around the arena.

“Go, go!”

“Do it, kill!”

Today was another success. Because the more virtuous people living in the city, for whom the admission fees were no more than about a child’s weekly allowance, were able to watch the games, over a thousand spectators were gathered.

The next match was a cavalry battle. Both men were armed with spears, emerging from the east and west gates, and crossed each other at a great speed. At the second charge, one of the men got flung off of his mount and, as he scrambled to get up again, the other swiftly jumped off his own horse to give the finishing blow.

Up next were two barely clothed men, who started to grapple each other with their bare hands.

They were sword-slaves, or so-called gladiators. In compensation for doing these public, life-threatening battles, these people were granted a few days of their lives and the minimum amount of food required to get by. Some of them were already born as slaves, some had been thrown into the arena for committing crimes, and there were even those who had personally applied to cast themselves into this living hell.

But if gladiators got well-known enough to become veterans, they received a different kind of popularity from the crowd. One of them, named Shique, was a handsome gladiator who was popular among women and had just won the brawling match. He was strangely pretentious, bowing in a way much like a nobleman would, and notably, shrill voices rose from the crowd.

“Did you see that, brother? Shique just won!”
<ref> She actually calls him お義兄様 ‘ogikei-sama’, which, in this case, means he’s her step-brother. However, she pronounces it as ‘onii-sama’.</ref>

It was the voice of a girl yet in the more tender years of age, who was sitting in one of the grandstands among the front row seats. High pillars, which rose from the corners in the left and right, supported a roof that covered the stand. Only those who were able to pay a large sum of money were able to view the match from these special seats.

From the looks of it, the young man resting his chin on his hands next to her, whom she called ‘brother’, seemed to be dissatisfied. With a long cloth wrapped around his head, the ends dangling from both the left and right just like a believer of Badyne, it looked like he was concealing his face from the glances of people around him.

“Ahh, it is as you say,” he said. “The gladiator you had your eye on won. Now, isn’t that enough? Can we hurry and get something to eat? This place is giving me a headache.”

"But it is only beginning, is it not? Did the smell of blood sicken you? You, the successor of the lands of Mephius?"

“Watch your mouth.”

Not at all worried about the youth’s clear jumpiness, the girl gave a fickle laugh.

The next fight had already started, so the young man was forced to stay after all and rested his cheeks on his hands again with a bitter look on his face. How much blood had to be splattered around, and how many sweaty muscles did she have to see before getting tired of it?

He occasionally stole a sidelong glance at the young girl’s white skin and beautiful face. She had an innocence that matched her age, but a strange sensual and mature beauty as well – it was a view much more charming than that of the savage fight below.

Then, after about two battles, a new stage was being set in the arena. One huge stake got established in the centre, and a single woman was fastened to the top. She was a beautiful woman. Purposely made to wear torn clothes, each time she writhed in pain, her breasts and thighs swayed about while whistles came from the heated male audience.

However, the woman was in no position to be bothered with their obscene looks, for at the same time the stake got put up, a big cage with approximately the same height was carried in.

Inside was a raging beast that was roughly seven or eight metres long. Its slimy, green scales were flickering in the sunlight. It was a large dragon. Bred through repeated selective breeding by humans, it was of a variety called ‘Sozos’ that Mephius also used in wars.

Its clenched, humongous teeth, and each of its claws extending from six legs, were just like sharp swords. Probably because it was drugged, it seemed to have a somewhat repressed ferociousness and dulled instincts, but being hit by that bulk would nevertheless cause serious injuries, and it looked like it could blow away the steel cage like a toy.

“Now then! Gathered ladies and gentlemen!”

Suddenly an orator standing on an elevation began to speak over a loudspeaker, eager to finish his speech before the beast broke out.

“Next, is the start of our programme. The great dragons once roamed the earth and have likely established our culture, now they are no more than this bloodthirsty, simple beast we look down on. There is no need to fear. We are the brave souls, the purest of minds, that took over from an era of space voyage. Not even by the dragon’s tusks and claws – not to mention its fearsome, terrible breath! – will we be outdone. Please, take a look at the evidence. Behold the figures of these brave men who challenge this dragon of old, this beast of a terrifying false god!”

From the eastern gate, a single gladiator stepped forward. In the man’s hands, who sported a muscular body, was an iron ball connected to a chain.

“Ballchain Verne!”

The audience’s cheers became even louder, for he was a gladiator who could pride himself in being one of the most famous fighters in Ba Roux. The man was about in his mid-thirties with dark skin, and he responded by waving a hand to the ladies and gentlemen in the audience. Then,

“It’s the Tiger!”

“Look, Iron Tiger Orba!”

A swordsman, also alone, walked out, but from the western gate.

"How eccentric," the young man commented on the steel blue mask that was covering the gladiator’s face. As if imitating a tiger, small fangs protruded up from the lips, leaving only a small space for the mouth of this man named Orba underneath. Cut out into two splits were openings where the tiger’s eyes would’ve been, but naturally it was only Orba’s eyes peeking through. And, despite a tiger normally having rounded ears, the mask had pointed ends at both sides instead – it was almost as if horns were coming out from the corners.

However, that was all; he had no other outstanding character features. In comparison with Verne, he had an almost feeble body build, and he only held a simple, common longsword in his hand.

The spectators started ridiculing him, saying,

“Look at his thin body. Just one hit of the ballchain will completely smash him up!”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 022.jpg|thumb]]

“They say he took off Meier the Baron’s head at the Arena of Tidan after only two strikes. Let’s see him do the same to our Verne. Go on then!”

“This Iron Tiger Orba,” the girl said, as her cheeks blushed with excitement. “Isn’t this his first appearance in Ba Roux? But he seems to be famous. Do you know of him, brother?”

“How should I know?”

“My, what a cold reply. Fine, if you’re so bored with being here, why don’t we have a little bet on this game? Maybe it’ll end up getting you a little interested.”

“A wager, is it? For what, and how?”

“Simple. Of those two about to fight, who do you expect to win?”

“That’s stupid. How’s that even a bet? Even I know the name of that Verne guy. And his physique is way better. Even an amateur can see that. You're just trying to rip me off, betting on the clear victor yourself, aren't you?”

“My, you’re a difficult customer! But that’s fine. You can just sulk away like that as long as you like. And I even thought of bringing you along so you could have a little distraction. But I got it, I understand – you hate spending time with Ineli. If that’s the case, I will never invite you again, don’t worry!”

The girl stiffly turned away her face, as the young man panickingly stopped resting his chin on his hands.

“W-Wait. I was wrong,” he said. “I’ll bet on that masked swordsman. That’s what you want, right?”

“No. Ineli decided to bet on that swordsman first. You can take Ballchain Verne, brother.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I like him.”

''Even though you can't see his face?'' – was what the young man was about to say, but he stopped himself in time. He couldn’t afford to displease her even more.

“Now then,” the orator said, raising his voice again. “Will Orba or will Verne take up the role of the hero and set that woman free? Or will these rivals be fighting in vain, as the cage breaks and this poor, beautiful lady ends up in the dragon’s stomach?”

From there on, the two swordsmen would battle, and the winner would rescue the woman – or, as the orator stated, ‘a certain princess from a ruined country’ – from the dragon’s clutches, and also earn a night of love-making. Or so the scene was set out to be.

The two men both stepped forward at the same time. As they approached each other, the lack in Orba’s physique became all the more apparent. Verne spoke in a voice that could be heard by those in the front row seats.

“So, you call yourself a tiger, huh? I’ve heard your name. But, there’s nothing more unreliable than a rumour. You can try to hide your face, but I can see the skin underneath. You’re still young, just a kid.”

Ballchain Verne’s thick lips, in proportion to the rest of him, bent into a smile.

“I’m sure the mask is just a bluff so people won’t make fun of you. You’re not a tiger, you’re just a mangy cur! I’ll teach you what a real man’s battle truly is all about!”

Facing Verne, who was loudly laughing at his shoulders, Orba didn’t reply. Probably assuming his nerves were blown away, Verne gave a sneering look, took up a defensive stance, and slung the ballchain over his shoulder.


“Start!”

There was a pointed signalling voice, but it halfway disappeared into the further increasing sound of the audience’s cheers. In an instant, Verne made his move.

He wielded the iron ballchain with all his strength. At first, the masked swordsman was about to rush in, but, as if panicked by his sheer force, he quickly stepped back. There was a small spark as the iron ball chafed against the mask. It was enough for Verne to take pursuit of the stumbling Orba. The huge iron ball, which was much larger than a human head, approached with the howling of the wind, and Orba continued to avoid it by stepping back.

He rolled over the ground, excessively jumped aside, and finally bustled about by making an evasive gesture – which invited laughter from the spectators.

“Look at that, it seems the swordsman you like can’t get out of a tight spot,” the same young man said. “Or could it be that this fight isn't so fair and square?”

“You think?” the girl said, looking straight ahead as she put a finger to her plump and florid lips. “If that’s so, then why hasn’t the match ended yet?”

“That’s because his opponent keeps pitifully running from place to place.”

“I wonder why Verne can’t corner an opponent who so clumsily keeps running away.”

The young man wanted to say something in return but kept his mouth shut. As he watched, he noticed that Orba wasn’t outright retreating, but kept circling around his opponent while maintaining a fixed distance. And it looked like Verne was no longer able to attack and pursue his opponent so hastily either.

Probably because he lost his temper, Verne put all of his strength into tossing another blow. The iron ball flew past Orba’s shoulder and – although it seemed obvious to the bystanders that this was like a golden opportunity – he only returned a slight thrust with his sword, while once again taking his distance.

“Get serious!”

“Stop messing around!”

The audience stopped laughing and started jeering down at the arena. Not only at Orba, but also at Verne who didn’t seem able to take down his constantly fleeing opponent.

“You bastard!” Verne howled.

When he tried to rush at Orba diagonally, the girl suddenly raised her voice, “Ah!”, in surprise.

Orba, who had until now only retreated backwards, suddenly started to pitch forward. Stopping in his tracks, Verne, too, took the opportunity to strike another blow.

Orba tilted his body wide to the right, avoiding the iron ball and, as he rotated on his left toe, flashed his sword in a diagonal uppercut. The moment the chain got cut apart, a strange, clear sound echoed throughout the arena, then Orba twisted his body again and swung his sword downward with the force of a thunderbolt.

Verne’s cranium was split in two and the giant collapsed soon after.

“M-Magnificent!” the orator cried.

However, because it had happened so swiftly and came with such an unexpected conclusion, the audience was looking rather flabbergasted. Although the awkward silence wrapped around the arena, the victor didn’t seem to care either way and headed up to the stake, and, borrowing the hands of a number of slaves to lift it from the ground, used his sword to cut the ropes that kept the woman bound.

With a shout of delight, she joyfully clung onto his neck, only to be pushed away with a confused look on her face as Orba immediately started to return to his gate.

The girl in the special seat – she had also been staring agape at the sudden fall of the curtain – slowly began to form her lips into a smile. That gladiator named Orba didn’t seem aware of the audience at all. As if stating the only reason he was here today was to fight, and to kill as he was told.

“He… took out Verne.”

“With one blow.”

After that moment of silence, voices praising Orba began to raise little by little. Now that the mood had grown uneasy for the visitors, slowly the clapping of hands, the awkward stamping of feet, and cheers appropriate for a victor started to fill the stands. Then, almost at the instant the arena had returned to the state it was supposed to be in, the air shook heavily.

It was the roar of the Sozos Dragon.

It might have been the drug wearing off, or an instinctive reaction to the smell of blood, but all of a sudden it started swaying its enormous body from right to left, shattering a portion of its cage. One of the slaves who’d been in the process of towing everything away, was caught and raised from the head by the dragon’s claw. Before he could resist, his torso disappeared into the Sozos’s mouth.

There was the sound of breaking bones. And at the same time as the awful sound of salivated chewing could be heard, the arena grounds were suddenly filled with screams. In the midst of all the fear and panic that rapidly swept over the area, the Sozos rather calmly stretched out its limbs further and emerged from the broken cage.

Being pulled along into the crowd that strived to be the first to escape, the young man from earlier almost fell to the floor. But then, he was pulled along by a hand from the side.

“This way. Hurry!”

It was one of the soldiers who’d been guarding the special seats. As he rattled around with a sword and gun, he tried to bring the young man back inside.

“W-Wait. Ineli’s…”

Although he tried to resist, he couldn’t move freely as he kept being jostled by the crowd of people trying to escape. Then, he heard a suspiciously familiar, high-pitched scream. Right in front of the Sozos’s forepaws beyond the dividing wall, was a figure that belonged to no one other than Ineli. The girl had turned a pale colour as she had tumbled over from the gallery, and it looked like she was about to lose consciousness any minute.

The dragon’s long snout opened from top to bottom. As the rows of tusks, similar to sharp pointed swords, opened up, they formed long threads of slaver. The young man was about to involuntarily avert his eyes, when a thin streak of blood spouted from the Sozos’s neck. The gladiator arena’s employed guards had rushed in with guns. However, because they were close to the seats, they could only shoot at point-blank range, and from the way they stood, they hardly had the nerve. While they were conflicted at what to do while it approached, the Sozos turned around quickly and hit them with a single blow of its tail, fully sending several people flying.

The girl had sunk down to the floor, her eyes opened wide looking at her surroundings.

Then, from those eyes, she saw.

There was a shadow that ran past the Sozos’s flank like a gust of wind. Just before it came up against the brick wall that divided the seats from the ring, the shadow kicked against it and soared up into the air. A man with a tiger-imitating iron mask jumped into the girl’s sight, the figure of Orba the gladiator landing on top of the Sozos’s head.

Even though she had just witnessed him running up to the Sozos from behind while the dragon was distracted by bullets, she couldn’t suddenly believe it.

Despite Orba’s slim body, his joints and muscles seemed to fortify his arms like steel as he grabbed a firm hold of the dragon’s neck. While further sandwiching its neck between his legs, he held on tight with one arm and, with his other, brought his sword down into the head.

It swung its long tail around and rocked the ground by stamping its feet, but the dragon still struggled, not able to shake off the gladiator. It shook off a second strike. But the third tore through its scales, as tough as iron armour, and pieces of flesh and blood got splattered about. However, the sword broke when it came to the fourth strike, but at that time the other gladiators rushed in.

“Orba!”

Receiving a thrown sword from a brown-skinned swordsman, Orba once again raised it for a fifth attack, following the exact same process as earlier, until he fully caved the middle of the blade into the crown of the dragon’s head.

Its golden eyes goggled longingly at the skies. Just before its huge body sunk from the neck, the swordsman had swooped down next to the guest seats.

The girl, still kneeling on the floor, was looking up at him. It was almost as if he came from a tale, for she felt like a princess caught by an evil wizard, and although she fixed her eyes on him with a throbbing heart, of all things, the would-be-hero gladiator continued his walk, completely ignoring her, and nimbly jumped off the dividing wall and back into the ring.

There was still a cloud of chaotic fear hanging over the arena as he showed her his back and took his leave, but rather than drifting the air of a victor, he looked more like a solitary figure that could hardly endure the stares on him.

“A-Are you okay?”

She turned her eyes to the young man she had brought with her, who came running up to her with bated breath, and suddenly got an odd sensation. She had only seen it with a passing glance earlier, but the eyes underneath that swordsman’s mask seemed to closely resemble those of the young man.

And there was yet another man who focused a long look at Orba’s back, surprised for another reason.

“No way, he is alive.”

He wiped the sweat from his slightly slacking chin with the back of his hand. Standing behind the young man’s back - he was also one of the men who’d been at the special seats - he was speaking to himself in wonder as the unique smell of blood drifted about.

“Orba was his name? Two years... Two entire years, huh.”

=== Part 2 ===

“Two years.”

The gladiator, Orba, staring up at the darkness surrounding him, suddenly murmured those words in his mouth.
Although only ‘two years’ into this line of work, it had been full of hardships, blood, and corpses. How many times had he struggled for his life, only to have both his feet chained at the end, spend the night in the slave pens, where his only pastime was to train all morning in order to keep living as a sword-slave? And then there would be another fight.

No one, except Orba himself, expected him to be able to live through more than five battles. Two years ago, when Orba first set foot in the arena, he’d still been fourteen years old. His body had been even thinner than it was now, and he’d hardly been able to handle the weapons.

However, at the moment of truth, he’d survived. He brandished the weapon held in his hands, chosen from one of the few weapons he was able to wield, to the limits of his power. He only knew how to fight by recklessly charging in. As he gained experience, his skill, the thickness of each of his muscle fibres, the mastery of new weapons, as well as the opponent’s corpses he stepped over, increased every time he emerged from another fight.

And so, two years passed. Orba didn’t know whether that was a long or a short time. Sometimes, he thought he was a considerably old person, but he also felt like a youngster at times who still didn’t know anything at all about battles.

Anyway, maybe it simply had to do with the fact, that he had not been blessed with the opportunity to see his own face. Lying face up, he was still wearing the same iron mask he wore in the battle ring. Because it had never been removed those two years, the other sword-slaves belonging to the same Tarkas Gladiatorial Group had no way of knowing his true face.

“Get up, slaves! You hate wakin’ up? Then get ready for your worst day yet!”

When morning came, another day for the slaves began. The one in charge of training the sword-slaves, and the slaves’ main supervisor, was Gowen, who drove everyone from their bedrooms and made them start cleaning the accommodations.

When that was finished, taking care of the lions, serpents, boars, tigers and the like – the animals that were used in the arena – was waiting. In particular, taking care of the dragons was hard work. Even taking care of the small- and medium-sized dragons was too much for a single person to handle, but taking care of the large-sized Sozos dragons was far worse. While it was expected for slaves to die by the sword, many had also been crushed underfoot by these dragons that were purposefully trained not to grow accustomed to humans.

Orba set foot in the vast dragon’s abode, which was much larger than the slaves’ dwellings – far from it – and resembled a castle courtyard, but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed the back of a woman.

She was Hou Ran. Of all the other slaves ordered to feed the dragons, she was the only one who directly touched the dragons’ scales. Of course, the dragons’ legs and necks were wrapped in chains, as it was not necessary to carry out yesterday’s example, but that was by no means an absolute guarantee. At a distance that would even cause a gladiator to hesitate, greeting each dragon one by one, she gently touched their scales with her fingers.

“Orba.”

Calling out his name, she quickly turned around.

“So I’ve been found out.”

“I’ve been told by the ‘voice’ of the dragons.”

Ran smiled. She seemed truly unsuitable in an all-men, not to mention savage, sword-slave detention camp, and Orba still hadn’t gotten used to her defenceless smile.

Her skin like polished ebony, combined with hair that seemed to have turned pale, gave off a mysterious charm. Originating from the Dragon God worshipping nomads that roamed in the western mountains of Mephius, unlike her primarily reclusive kin, Ran had exceptionally been brimming with curiosity, secretly boarded one of her tribe’s caravan wagons and came over to the outside world. Because she never told him exactly what had happened after that, he did not know when Tarkas hired her, and how she could take care of the dragons single-handedly like this.

“Do these guys know my name?”

“Their ‘voices’ come like images into my head. They all know your face, Orba. You’re liked by the dragons.”

While it appeared idiotic, in fact, it seemed like her pupils, clearly giving the impression of being deep under the sea, held some kind of intelligence lost to civilized men. From the other side of the fence, the small-type dragons were poking out their snouts and snapping at him.

“It doesn’t look that way,” Orba said with a thin smile.

At the time Orba turned up two years ago, Hou Ran was already at the detention camp. Back then, although she didn’t make direct eye contact with the others employed by Tarkas, she didn’t even open her mouth to him. Whether they would see Orba’s face or hear Ran’s voice first, soon became the target of bets among the sword slaves short of entertainment.

But, one time, Ran was about to be roughed up by several new sword-slaves who’d recently come into the camp. Orba just happened to pass by and had beaten them up, and ever since then Ran had at least been able to speak to him a bit.

“I heard you were attacked by a Sozos at Ba Roux.”

“''I'' was the one who attacked the Sozos,” he emphasized. “It suddenly started getting violent.”

“Even with drugs, it’s useless to imprison its heart by force. If I had been the one supervising it, such a thing would have never happened.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 035.jpg|thumb]]

She bit her lips, but it was not because she was concerned about Orba or the visitors. With the figure of a girl patting the nape of a medium-sized Baian dragon in the corner of his eye, Orba finished his own work and left the dragon’s abode behind him.

After feeding the animals and cleaning was done, it was time to tend to their weapons. Because they left their own lives in their care, they carefully did them one by one. Whenever they handled weapons, about ten guards in full armour acted as supervisors. Naturally, they were there to make sure none of the sword-slaves tried to revolt.

Then, after finishing a meal with a sorry amount of bread and soup – the survivors of yesterday’s gladiator matches were treated meat and fruit as a reward – they each began their training at the start of noon. Just like when they’d been tending the weapons, there were armed soldiers on the lookout, but this time, the chains that connected both feet were taken off.

Sword-slaves that lasted over two years like Orba were extremely rare. Lives were lost one after another, and new faces always appeared again on the next day. Gowen tirelessly taught them the step work of how to hold a sword or how to handle a gun, and trained them thoroughly until they were fully prepared.

Orba also had some of the newcomers as opponents. Sometimes they clashed swords, just like in an actual fight, and it wasn’t uncommon for someone to part with a limb or lose his life in the midst of training..

Today, there weren’t any casualties. But that did not have to mean they were lucky. The next day may hold an even more miserable fate, and grislier deaths may be awaiting for these gladiators.

When all the faces of the sword-slaves had turned dark, their skin wet with sweat and covered in dust, Orba moved to the fence separating the training grounds from an aisle on the other side and caught sight of Tarkas’s figure.

Saying “At ease!” at the newcomer, Orba rushed up towards him.

Also noticing the masked man, Tarkas stopped in his tracks. There was a feeling of distrust slipping through his sagged cheeks.

“What is it, Iron Tiger? Ahh… good job yesterday.” He had a look on his face as if he just now remembered he forgot to feed his pet dog. “Verne was quickly becoming a well-known gladiator. The other gladiator troupe started talking about wanting to pit him against you. ‘Can’t we earn back all the money we invested in Verne that way?’ – don’t try that sarcastic bullshit on me. Well, I suppose I feel a bit grateful as well. And killing that Sozos—”

“Tarkas, how much longer do I have to continue winning?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s been two years already. I’ve kept winning all the time. How many times do I have to be the ‘main event’ like yesterday. Isn’t it about time you take these chains off of my feet?”

Sword-slaves, all of them, were each exchanged on a contract when bought by a merchant. Although Tarkas seemed to handle it quite vaguely.

“Don’t think I can’t read. Even a slave should have the right to look into my contract. I’ve been waiting here, Tarkas. I should’ve been allowed to leave a long time ago.”

As Orba spoke right in front of him, Tarkas sharply put a squinting look in his eyes.

“So, where do you plan to go? Surely you can be released from my hands, but you’ll still be a criminal. You don’t have the money to pay off your remaining prison term. Or maybe you want to work in the Tsaga Mines along the western border? Poisonous gases, wild man-eating beasts, human-hunting Geblin tribes, and – of course – extremely miserable and rigorous labour. If it’s the same hell, or if you think you may have it better off here, hurry up and get back to your training. And don’t ever speak to me like an equal, until you’ve become a full-fledged swordsman that earns his pay.”

Thrusting his thick finger in Orba’s face, Tarkas quickly took his leave, heading for his office. Behind him, unfamiliar faces followed suit. Considering this was a place where legs were tied up in chains, they were probably newly procured slaves.

Orba was silent. His eyes were teeming with rage however, but Tarkas’s words weren’t lies either. Concerning Mephian law, you can basically either sell your life or go to prison. Like the Mines of Tsaga that Tarkas spoke of – should he apply for the country’s public service, accompanied by dangers, and sell himself off as a slave there?

Grasping the fence tightly in his hands, he lost all sense of feeling in his fingers before he knew it, Orba remained there standing in place.

“What are you doing, Orba!? Get back here!”

After finally being rebuked by Gowen, he went back to practice. As always.

A few hours after that, after washing their bodies with a cupful of water, it was time for their second meal of the day. Orba, rounding up his body like a hunchback in the corner of the dining hall, was almost grasping at his food. As a habit, he couldn’t go through a meal without reading a book.

Then,

“Orba, good job yesterday.”

Another sword-slave, the one named Shique, nestled onto his back, and Orba roughly shook him off with his hand.

“That ballchain Verne chap. When the match was decided, I didn’t know what to do. If you seemed to get into a huge disadvantage, I considered shooting him down from the outside.”

“Go away. Unless you want me to wound that smug face of yours.”

“Ooh, scary. But I wouldn’t mind any wound you give me, for it’ll become a bond between me and you.”

Even though it was hard, despite Shique’s chuckling behaviour, to make an accurate judgement on whether he was serious or making a joke, Orba didn’t socialize with him either way. The handsome Shique had grown out his hair and even used make-up when it came to a gladiatorial battle. And just like that, because it seemed to further his degenerate good looks, he was tremendously popular among the female crowd. Even though the person himself was a self-styled, huge misogynist.

“However, I expected no less from you, Orba. Even without me lending you a hand, you managed to make a truly magnificent performance. Are you, both in name and reality, Tarkas’s top gladiator, I wonder?”

“I wouldn’t say it was magnificent.”

Gowen, the one in charge of training the gladiators, made his appearance. Although Orba showed plain the annoyance in his eyes as he sat down at the same table, he didn’t seem to mind.

“Although you did well, it’s a fact that it was also dangerous. When you broke in, your timing was still too hasty. It’s a bad habit of yours to take risks when you’re driven into a corner, only if even by a bit. You should spend more time putting an effort into ensuring your predominance. Although Verne was a brilliant swordsman, he wasn’t the type to target his opponent’s weak points. But a more observant opponent could easily see through your quick temper, and sweep you off your feet.”

He was a grey-haired man in his mid-fifties, but he still had a stout and tanned body, and the peering glances he gave the sword-slaves were filled with intensity.

“His opponent was that Verne, though. That guy was, curiously enough, in perfectly good shape,” a new voice called out, belonging to Tarkas Gladiatorial Group’s number one giant, Gilliam.

He had been in the same arena as Orba and Shique the day before, carrying a battle-ax on his shoulder, and with that the three strongest sword-slaves were gathered together. With long auburn hair in as much disorder as possible, his face, grinning with clenched teeth, had a look as intimidating as that of a wild lion.

“When I heard you had to go against Verne, I honestly thought you ran out of luck. Well, you don’t have bad skills. But, as usual, you still don’t know what it means to be a gladiator. It’s worthless if you win gracelessly. It won’t satisfy the guests. The way you carelessly kept running from place to place and then suddenly decided the match with one blow was just not entertaining at all. You’ve got to hit them up front.”

For someone like a sword-slave, it wasn’t just about winning the match. You had to be popular, in short, make sure that a lot of visitors come to see that gladiator alone. Plain gladiators, after finally having earned a pile of money, would be thrown before wild animals or dragons on their own, only to satisfy the sadistic tastes of their customers.

That was why the gladiators – every one of them – strove to hone their skills, and also tried to appeal to the audience with flashy personalities in order to survive. Some decorated their body with gaudy armors, some made a show out of dragging out their opponent’s heart after their demise, while others inked their bodies with mysterious tattoos.

As for Shique, he dramatically claimed to be ‘a descendant of an ancient royal dynasty’.

“This time, go against me, Orba. I’ll teach you what it is to fight for real.”

“Not interested.”

“Haha, are you afraid of me?”

“Oh, I am. I’m scared. So, get lost.”

“You bastard!”

As Orba continued eating his meal in his usual stooped behaviour, Gilliam pushed him in the back.

“Stop it!” Gowen commanded.

If there was a disturbance, the soldiers belonging to the gladiatorial group would rush in, so for the time being Gilliam took his leave with a reddened face.

“Come to think of it, some strange newcomers have appeared,” Gowen said, after some time had passed, as if he suddenly remembered. It looked like he was talking about the ones Orba had seen too, trailing behind Tarkas back then.

“Strange? Like, with horns in their hair, and the bulge of a tail in the back of their pants?” a sword slave named Kain interfered.

He was a boy, the same age as Orba, who came to the detention facility a year ago and took after him. He wasn’t that great physically or with a sword, but he excelled in dexterity, especially when handling handguns or rifles.

“Or maybe a survivor from the Ryuujin<ref>Dragon people.</ref> Tribe, doesn’t that sound romantic?”

“Ryuujin, Geblin, or whatever type of person appears now, I probably wouldn’t even be surprised. This is a sword slave company after all, a trading place for all kinds of races.”

“It’s a much simpler story. I heard every last one of those guys hardly have any skill at the sword.”

“What…?”

Kain looked stretched out his arms, seemingly uninterested.

“I mostly can’t believe Tarkas would have bought a bunch of good-for-nothings without a grumpy face. But he seemed in an unusually good mood.”

“Oh?”

“Certainly. For a master like Tarkas, whose eyes are always dazzled by the shine of gold, it sounds really strange, right?”

“Good mood? That guy?” Orba said, remembering the situation with Tarkas during the day.

“I’ve known him longer than you. The only times I’ve seen Tarkas in a good mood was when he got the chance to earn a huge amount of money.”

“Then again, I wonder if it’s nobles who came to visit. About an exhibition match, or something like that. Those newcomers could’ve also been nobles who were asking to be bought. Or maybe they’re political offenders who opposed the Mephius Empire. Could there be a request for them to be gruesomely fed to dragons in public?”

“There’s a strange intensity to your words, because I can’t read your face.”

“Anyway, where’s the new book? It’s been three months since I’ve asked for it.”

Losing interest in the conversation, Orba inquired about something else. The other guys had all started raising different topics among themselves. By tomorrow, they were likely to fight as opponents even if they were gladiators working for the same firm. The idea of deepening a friendship more than necessary had never been in Orba’s mind from the start.

“Ahh, it’s been purchased. It’ll be here tomorrow. However… although it seems a little late to say this, you’re a bit unusual too. Of the guys here, even those that can read and write letters, I doubt they’ve ever read more than a hundred in their life.”

Plucking at a skin of chicken, Gowen glanced over at Orba.

“Sometimes, even I’m almost driven with the impulse to tear off that mask. What’s the true face that lies underneath? There are times I think you’re only a young wild brat, and there are times the cool-headedness of a man who has survived many battlefields peeks through. Yesterday was like that. You took the appropriate actions against a Sozos without flinching.”

“Are you praising me or not?”

“I’m praising you. Other than taking up a sword and fighting for yourself, you calmly consider the circumstances. Although I think you may actually be better suited as a leader, if not for that quick temper of yours. You like books about history and people, get absorbed reading them late into the night, and swallow their knowledge.”

When meeting him for the first time, basically from the time he was bought by the Tarkas company, Orba’s face had been covered by a mask. Ever since then, he hadn’t taken it off even once. Of course, everybody wanted to know why. They wanted to see his face. They wondered about his origins.

In the beginning, it worried Gowen that Orba met fists with them in response to their curiosity and suspicions. But when half a year had passed, he thought of the makeshift excuse that ‘a magician put a curse on it’ and after a year the teasing stopped, and soon nobody asked him about it anymore. Although some newcomers occasionally asked him about it, Orba was able to turn a blind eye.

“What do you gain from reading a book? At least, at the place where I was born and raised, you didn’t gain respect no matter how many books you owned.”

“It sounds like you’ve been raised by ape men or Geblin.”

“Watch your language, Orba. I think I’m especially kind to you considering the circumstances. If it doesn’t matter to you, I too can adopt that same attitude.”

Behaving like a man who couldn’t understand a joke was one of Gowen’s beloved habits. Orba revealed a stifled smile, but the deep-wrinkled sword-slave training official unexpectedly gave a serious look.

“As a sword-slave, normally, you only try your best to survive for the day. Some go back out into this corrupted world, but, because they can’t live without committing yet another crime, there are some people who are content being a sword-slave for the rest of their life, – although, for most, their ‘whole life’ would probably be very short – but, you’re different. You, at least, do not get absorbed in the killing and focus on the future. After that, I always think: Hey, what should I say to such a man? Should I tell him to throw away a future like that? When it’s only hard, even if you hold onto it with such devotion? Or should I tell him to seriously hold on to that hope? Because it will be the strength for him to live this through?”

“Did you secretly drink some alcohol, gramps? You’re talkative.”

“I’m being serious.”

Gowen stubbornly shook his head. Orba decided he had truly gotten drunk. Usually, Gowen wouldn’t have remained silent after being called ‘gramps’.

“Who is it that you fight for? The other sword-slaves, yourself, or do you have some other goal in mind?”

“I don’t know.”

Scuffing his words like a boy, Orba turned away his face. He didn’t want his inner feelings to be seen, where he was trembling like a child.

Finishing his meal, Orba quickly left the dining hall. Although the sword-slaves could walk about freely, there was nothing but the dining hall and the bedrooms at the detention camp. It was called a bedroom, but it wasn’t much different from a stable to keep livestock. As he lay down in a corner, Orba stared at his own hands.

It had been two years since then. Even today, he could remember it so well. And if he hadn’t confirmed it himself, those ‘two years’ would’ve been no more than a number. For two years, Orba had barely stayed alive, surrounded by the smell of blood, guts, and iron.

However, he killed, survived, did it all over again, and what was the point in all of that?

Orba turned over on the floor. He had already grown accustomed to the feel of his hard mask touching the ground. It was as Tarkas said. Even if he was freed from being a slave, he didn’t know more of how to live the ‘clever’ way of life, but it seemed that Gowen had misunderstood something – he was not waiting with hopes for a future like that. Supposing he did…

Under the thin shadow formed by fangs, Orba tightly gnashed his teeth.

''If I do live through this, then what do I do?''

It was decided. He was tired of doing things over and over in the arena, the massacres, the blood, the fights, killing each other. On the way back, he was never able to think of things like ‘it’s okay’ or ‘it’ll get easier’.

An inexplicable anger was stuck in the glitter of his eyes, on the other side of the mask.

''I’ll get it back. I’ll take it back. And for the ones who took it away from me, even though it is not enough, I will have them fully taste the pain of the agonizing cries from all the people I’ve killed these past two years.''

=== Part 3 ===

“So you were here, Orba.”

Roan suddenly showed his face.

Orba, who had been looking up at the night sky, rudely averted his eyes. As a punishment for neglecting to take care of the animals and play instead, his mother had taken away his supper, and now he was just outside the barn, sulking on his own. His face, as well as both knees he buried his face in, were full of scratches.

“Did you have another fight?”

“Not really.”

The quick-tempered Orba often quarreled with the other children in the neighborhood. Swinging around a wooden sword, he even went as far as the neighboring village to pick fights. The villagers that caught sight of his figure, almost falling forward as he raced through the fields, half-jokingly said,

“Oh, Orba’s doing his best again,” as they waved their hands and watched over him.
Of course, after having his fights, his mother scolded him to no end.

“Why don’t you follow your brother’s example,” was what she would always say.

His older brother was able to do anything. In the old days, he looked through a single book their father brought back when coming from the city for several times, and from that alone he was able to memorize reading and writing letters by himself. He also learned how to do basic math at a very young age. Around the time he turned ten, after begging a merchant from the city to take him in as an assistant, he was also supporting his poor family’s living expenses.

Orba on the other hand, although he’d learned reading and writing letters from his older brother, was terrible at math, and above all, he didn’t know what to do with his boiling hot blood.

Almost every night, he spent sleepless hours staring at the ceiling. His blood was always screaming in the dark. After fist fights and such, the prickling pain of his injuries seemed to overflow with the hotter, more painful black blood from deeper inside, as if it would simply jump out into the open.

At those times, he’d jump to his feet and go outside. And he’d pick up his wooden sword that was leaning against the barn. No matter how many times it had been confiscated by his mother, he always made a new one from scratch. It wasn’t uncommon, either, for him to swing around his sword until the break of dawn.

“It’s okay if you get into fights,” Roan said, sitting down next to Orba. “But you have to help mother out properly. Working as a single woman is very hard. You know that too, right?”

Along the southern border of the Mephius Empire, was a place commonly known as Drought Valley. While a valley where the river had dried up was quite common terrain in Mephius, this poor village in barren lands, whose name was not even written down on any maps, was where Orba had grown up.

Orba didn’t have many memories of his father. He passed away when he was two or three. While he’d been engaged in additional construction work for the Apta Fortress that protected the border south of the village, his father had unluckily fallen victim to a cave-in while he’d been digging through the cliff. Cutting through the valley’s steep cliffs instead of creating houses or buildings was often the case in Mephius, and his father had been such a construction worker.

“Father was a man born only to dig a dark hole in the ground.”

He remembered that, one day, his mother had said those words in a tone that was neither complaining nor at grief. With that said, his mother too, was a person who had no pleasure in always working hard from morning till evening, every day. She ploughed the barren fields, sold native clothes and towels she made at the City of Apta once every month, and made the nearly tasteless stew for the young brothers every day without ever getting tired of it.

Orba too, also passed through life without change or color, with his only pleasure being when his brother came back home for a break, two or three times a month, and brought along many different books.

Books written about the Old World where humankind once left its nest, books about Magic King Zodias, and, above all, historical novels with colorful illustrations or heroic stories, got Orba fully absorbed into them. Brave heroes swinging their swords to rescue a country full of dangers, beautiful maidens in thin clothes that were imprisoned in tall towers, vicious dragons revived from ancient ruins — things he’d never experience in a lifetime and the many dazzling adventures in those worlds made Orba engrossed, and whenever he closed a book, being back in that small, miserable reality surrounding him only made him despair.

He longed for the olden days, like the age where long sword-wielding barbarians were once kings. But the truth was, from the moment he was born, it was decided Orba would live his life sipping muddy waters, and if he wanted to do more in the future, it would be be much more difficult than bringing the dead back to life.

“You know, aniki<ref>Familiar/honorific way of saying ‘older brother’.</ref>,” Orba said, burying his head between his arm-wrapped knees. “I feel like doing something more.”

“You’re not even ten years old, are you? Worrying about such things doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m being serious. Look at all the adults here. Even I’ll become like that within another few years. Day after day, you work and work, but life won’t get any easier. I’ll marry someone sooner or later, a child gets born, and if the child’s an ‘unruly boy’ like me, one day he’ll surely say he wants to go to the city, be a soldier for Mephius, or ride a Garberan airship, and I’ll say something like, ‘Oh, in the old days, your father also held onto dreams like that’, and then I’ll probably laugh along with the other adults while drinking my tea.”

“Everyone’s like that,” Roan laughed, bathing in the pale moonlight.

Around this time, you could always hear singing voices coming from the house on the other side of the road. Listening to the cheerful voices of men who got drunk, although he wasn’t really paying attention, he said,

“Nobody knows what kind of person he’ll be. There are people who can’t live without working hard every day, people who sail over violent waves by boat, old philosophers who’ve buried themselves in thousand-year-old books, priests of Badyne who will preach their truth to numerous believers, many renowned generals who soar through the skies in dragonstone ships, and even country leaders who’ve subdued many territories at their feet. What they do in a day may be surprisingly different, whether they soak their swords with blood, drown in the letters of the alphabet, or even chant the name of God, but I think even they can’t provide you with an answer.”

“They don’t ever think about our living conditions. Even the king, who’s surrounded by luxuries I wouldn’t have the money for within a lifetime, and stuffing his stomach with delicious food every night. He sometimes takes a large army on a campaign, or gets shocked by betrayal, but every day he’s alive. I can’t even think of living such a life. I’ll never be able to. Neither the king nor the nobles, can even imagine what’s inside our dreams. Those people… Yes, take this night for example, they don’t even consider themselves to be looking up at the same moon as I am.”

“I wonder. It could be that, exactly because the king spends every day like that, he may sometimes feel a yearning to spending his life out in town. Maybe, to get away from the constraining life in the imperial court, he wants to go out to a sour-smelling bar sometimes and drown in cheap wine, listening to ridiculous stories, disgusted that, every day, he cannot relax his guard, not even for blood relatives. And he’ll probably think, ‘Ahh, wouldn’t it be easy to just go through life breaking a sweat', with no more worries about being targeted?’”


“That’s just a delusion. You mean he’s yearning for a life like ours? Just because he doesn’t know the difficulties and insecurities of such a life, he’ll only think of it on a whim.”

“Exactly. Isn’t that what I said? There isn’t a human being anywhere who understands everything, knows what he really wants, or knows who he truly is. I think everybody longs for what they don’t know, what they have not experienced, and they’re also looking for wherever there their true course may lie. In this sense, they’re no different from us.”

“I don’t know. Then, you mean even the king, even the great priest, is someone who’s not completely satisfied?”

But when his brother was about to answer,

“Why are you talking about such difficult things?”

Suddenly Alice appeared, swaying her dark brown hair slightly. It was then that they noticed the singing voices from the house across had completely stopped. It looked like the girl had finally come to put them to sleep.

While she seemed to have overheard just a little, Alice showed a dimpled smile,

“In the end, it’s nothing but pointless stuff. In this world, no matter where you’re from, first of all, Orba, you have to start by taking care of your mother and work earnestly, so that you can get to eat tomorrow.”

“Hear that, aniki? When they’re not interested in the conversation, women immediately find it difficult, insignificant, or have more important things to do.”

“That, too, is the truth,” Roan laughed merrily.

Alice was two years younger than his brother and three years older than Orba. And when Orba was even younger, they played as if Alice was a sister among the three.

Soon after, they enjoyed talking about memories of those days. When, by Alice’s suggestion, they went fishing at the river, and that same Alice nearly drowned as she slipped on the rocks. Or the time they went to see the caravan’s horses as it arrived at their village, and Orba got into trouble secretly trying to mount one, causing it to go berserk. Or when, because a boy from the nearby village said he ‘saw a wild dragon’, the three went to the rumoured place and got completely lost on the canyon’s intricate path. Although they finally did come home late, all three had to suffer though a good scolding…

“Anyway, wasn’t it because Doug from that village deceived us? Ever since that time, you’ve had a bad relationship, right? Even your opponent from today’s fight……”

“Shut it.”

The nail hitting him right on the head, Orba turned away his face. Although the reason he picked a fight with Doug was all because of Alice, he never spoke of it.

However, as they laughed and reminisced together like that for the entire evening, it was the last time he spoke with his brother in peace.

In those days, the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius and the Kingdom of Garbera were already at war with each other. It was said the Garberan cavalry recently crossed their border, although the two countries had a history of repeated conflict for some time, concerning the very definition of that border. The southern Apta Fortress, which was close to Orba’s village, had also suffered from attacks by Garbera’s mounted troops on many occasions.

Eventually, Garbera temporarily gave up on capturing Apta Fortress, and aimed for striking them by another route. And that was by setting up a trap. Targeting them when the majority of the troops stationed in Apta had been pulled back to the imperial capital, they immediately drove them into a siege.

Naturally, Apta Fortress was forced to a desperate, defensive battle. As it soon turned into holding out until the reinforcements came from the imperial capital, the Mephian army forcibly commandeered soldiers from the surrounding villages. And Orba’s older brother Roan was also one of them.

Of course, his mother screamed, crying. If there was only one hope his mother worked for within her nearly colorless life, it was probably his brother. Although she clung onto the soldier that tried to take away his brother, Roan gently placed a hand on her shoulder and said,

“It’s okay. Help will come from the imperial capital soon enough, so be patient until then.”

Besides, the pay was much better than that of a merchant’s assistant, he added with a laugh.

Orba, standing next to Alice, was seeing him off, watching the backs of several of the village’s youths crossing over the layers of rock.

''If I were just a little bigger'', Orba thought. ''I could go to the fortress instead of my brother. Then, mother would not have to be so sad either, and I may even receive a distinguished service among the soldiers.''

After his brother disappeared, his mother, who had always been so devoted to work, spent almost entire days in prayer, as if something inside her completely snapped. Although she sometimes remembered to stand in the kitchen and prepare a meal, when it came to the menu, she acted as if his brother Roan was about to return from the city, making only his favorite food. But when she recalled that he wouldn’t be at the dining table after all, his mother threw it all away in the backyard.

Meanwhile, Orba ploughed the neglected fields, and also took care of their few animals on his own. During the evenings, Orba would climb up a narrow road carved into the cliffs and always stare at the direction of the imperial capital, looking for rows of gorgeous armors, vast dust clouds from military dragons during their march, and the majestic figures of dragonstone battleships – but he never saw the sight he was hoping for.

And, when about three weeks had passed since his brother left, residents from a village beyond the valley, which was closer to the fortress than theirs, were bounding in, out of breath.

“The fortress has fallen!”

They came with the worst news.

Apta Fortress had fallen before the approaching Garbera forces. They said the commanders and main staff who guarded the fortress had started on the escape, leaving their soldiers behind. There were no reinforcements from the imperial capital at Apta, for they’d been sent to the natural stronghold of Birac, next to the ravine further to the north. So it seemed the imperial capital had already decided that that would be heart of the southern border’s line of defense. Apta had only been used to buy time.

And, concerning the land in between, the Garberan forces that were camped at the fortress, started ravaging the surrounding villages. There were acts of plunder and assault – raiding, so to speak.

The people of the village were in a hurry to gather their few belongings, although there was hardly any food with the harvest being near and they were limited to holding their own crops, and left the village in a rush. Those who had acquaintances in the vicinity hurried over there, while the people who did not, took a temporary refuge in the valley, until the Garberan soldiers left their village.

Obviously, Orba followed them, but in the midst of his escape, he noticed that his mother wasn’t around.

Startled out of his wits, Orba turned back to the village. Beyond the rocks towering over the area like hills, he could see the complete panorama of his village sinking behind the evening mists. Surely, she was still there. She was waiting for his brother to come back. For his brother, who may possibly never come back again.

“Orba, where are you going? Orba!”

As Alice’s voice called out behind him, he pushed the crowd aside and headed back in a hurry.

And when he managed to arrive at his destination, there wasn’t a single soul, the village had become as silent as death. Because he was familiar with the scenery, there was an eeriness as if he had wandered into another dimension instead.

From the other side of the valley, he could see a group of men and horses approaching, and Orba ran towards his house in a hurry. When he opened the back door, his mother was there. She was trying to prepare a meal as usual.

“Roan?” his mother said, turning around, but when her eyes fixed on Orba’s sweaty figure, she, miraculously, shrugged her shoulders. “Were you still playing, Orba? Just help me out a little, your brother will be coming home soon.”

Outside, sounds could slightly be heard of the voices of soldiers, chasing the animals that were left behind. Afraid of the smoke rising up, he hurriedly tried to stop his mother. However,

“What’s this, there’s nothing!”

“What a measly village. Even though those guys at Gascon had it better. It seemed they slept with all of the girls.”

“Isn’t there at least any alcohol? Go and look!”

As soon as he thought he heard those voices coming closer, the door was violently kicked down.

Three soldiers came in noisily, each of them equipped with a simple chain mail, lance, and sword. On their faces, blackened by dust clouds, only the eyes casted a unique white light.

“Oh, there’s a woman!”

“What, isn’t she too old? Besides, isn’t there any alcohol? Or something to eat?”

After staring at his mother, who was protectively holding the crouched Orba in her hands, they started vandalizing the house, doing as they pleased. Orba was crouching down completely, concealing his breath like a herbivore trying not to attract the attention of wild beasts.

When the Garberan soldiers smashed through the door, his eyes had caught sight of the wooden sword, which had been resting against it, rolling over the floor. But in the end, it was nothing more than a child’s toy. He hated being told that more than anything, and was more than eager to stare back at those kind of people, but now he understood it painfully.

Then, as the soldiers were ransacking through to the shelves, they grabbed the crude ceramic tableware from inside and carelessly tossed them aside. Making a loud sound, the broken pieces scattered over the floor. It took Orba by surprise, as they were the things his brother Roan used, and his mother, who had been submissive until now, rose up with such force that Orba got pushed aside. From there, she started clinging onto one of the soldiers’ back.

“Hey, what? What?”

“It looks like she wants to play with me!”

A red-faced soldier unwrapped his mother, turned her around, and pushed her down in place. He placed his hand in front of her mouth when she tried to raise a piercing cry, then took out a pointed knife hidden inside his chain mail, and thrust it before his mother’s pale face.

“Stop it, you’d take any woman, wouldn’t you?”

“The taste of a young lass is nice, but an old flower like her ain’t bad either.”

As he spoke his red face showed a vulgar smile, and the thread holding Orba’s tensed up feelings snapped. Raising an awkward cry, he charged in. It was a desperate assault, however, and he was easily blown back by a single arm.

Knocking the back of his head against the shelves, although stunned for a moment, Orba gnashed his teeth and immediately faced forward again. And, from the top of the shelf, there was something that fell down with a loud crash. It was something long and narrow wrapped in a bundle and, with the front part of it torn, it was emitting a silver shine before Orba’s eyes.

''This is…''

Hiding it by reflex, Orba hurriedly tore apart the bundle. As he’d expected, it was a shortsword about sixty centimeters long. The round pommel had Mephian-made characteristics. Matching its slender blade, the handle was also a little thin, fitting nicely into a child’s hand.

As he took a hold of it, several letters carved into the blade jumped into his eyes.

''O, R, B, A...''

It was only for an instant – with his mother’s screams, the sound of the red-faced soldier disorderly throwing off his chain mail, and the noise of the soldiers laying waste to the house. Although the frightening surge of black blood boiled in his body, he drove it far away and, in that instant, the thoughts squeezed together guided him to an explanation.

The blade was engraved only with ‘Orba’. Of course, he hadn’t known such a thing was in his house. He didn’t think his mother or other acquaintances would’ve especially prepared it for him. For all he knew, couldn’t this be nothing but a present from his brother Roan?

But Roan should’ve handed over the money he got for his services to his mother. Besides, a blade like this could not be purchased in ordinary towns. Most likely, after going to Apta Fortress, he got provided with weapons as a soldier, and he’d asked the blacksmith stationed at the fort to engrave his name.

And then, he left it with the caravan that went circled the fortress and the towns. But when it arrived at his house, his mother must have accepted it. Thinking, afterwards, that it shouldn’t be crossed over into Orba’s hands, she most likely intended to keep it from her son’s sight. She probably thought that it was too dangerous for Orba, or maybe she was afraid that Orba would go away like Roan if he had a sword in hand.

At any rate…

“Hey, what’s that you’re holding?” a soldier called out from Orba’s crouched back. “It looks like you’re holding something valuable. Hey, why don’t you show me?”

“This is mine!”

“That’s not for you decide, but for me. Now, give it here.”

The soldier ridiculing Orba put a hand on his shoulder trying to get him out of the way with force. It was more than enough.

''That’s right, Orba'', he responded to his own inner voice.

“I said, show me — gyahh!”

Turning around, Orba swung his sword downward. With blood spraying from the man’s shoulder, Orba slipped under the staggered soldier’s arm and raced towards the man who was bent over his mother.

The red-faced man tore his eyes away from his mother and jumped back. Quickly picking up his hand-axe, he then received Orba’s blow that was coming at him. Orba stood firm on both his legs and somehow tried to get his sword through, but still, the blade was short, and a child’s strength couldn’t push a hand-axe aside like that. However, instead of easily getting over matched, Orba made himself fall to the side.

“That brat…”

He swung down another blow with murderous intent. Orba rolled over to the side. After doing one rotation, the axe’s edge bit down there, right in front of his eyes. In that very instant, his blood froze up,

“Stop!”

His mother was clinging onto the red-faced man’s feet. Flying into a rage, the man kicked at her hands, turned around, and raised his axe even higher. When Orba saw it, the tension of his black blood – the anxiety, irritation, rage and other various emotions that had simmering in the boy’s body for such a long time – was about to be released from one single point, as if it had only now taken its final shape.

He stood up. Holding his sword with both hands, he forced it under his arm and slammed it, along with the rest of his body, into the soldier’s defenseless back.

The man’s back, as he’d taken off his armor, first received the blade considerably easy. Then there was a little firm resistance, but it also went through smoothly as Orba’s pushed it through with both hands, until, in the blink of an eye, the point of his sword finally pierced through the man’s chest.

Because Orba was also being dragged while the red-faced man staggered, he hurriedly let go of the sword. The man clashed with his back against the wall. After turning around to face the triumphant Orba, he made his mouth flap open and close, probably trying to say some sort of grudge, and threw up a huge amount of blood as he sank to the floor, until his bright red tongue drooped out and he no longer moved.

“You bastard!” the soldier who had his shoulder cut shouted, grimacing in pain.

“You killed Douga. You lowly brat.”

The other also shouted in a loud voice, and came rushing over at Orba. No longer holding a sword, Orba received a full body blow and rolled over on the floor again. He got kicked in the stomach, and stepped on his back.

“Mother and child both, I’ll hang your heads under the eaves.”

Crawling on all fours, the tip of the sword was thrust before the nape of Orba’s neck. His mother too, was lifted up, twisted by the hand, and placed in the same position next to Orba. No matter how much he wrested his body with all his strength, he couldn’t get rid of the weight of the man standing on his back.

“Let me go!”

“Ahh, right away. After you’ve turned into a corpse, that is!”

Orba, raising a bestial cry, was suddenly hovering in the moment that came between life and death. With a whishing sound of wind being cut as it was brought straight down. Finally, he shouted out his brother Roan’s name, when,

“What’s going on?”

Suddenly, the wind-cutting sound ceased. Orba, scrambled thoughts mulling in his head, realized it wasn’t his brother who’d appeared though.

The one who had newly come inside the house, was a Garberan soldier after all. However, unlike the soldiers that had broken in, he was armed all over his body, with not a single part untouched, and his armor too was shining in silver. He still had a young face.

For a short time the soldiers could be seen flinching from the intruder, but then,

“It is as you can see, Knight Apprentice Sir.”

“We’ve come to receive our fair reward after winning the battle. Just because you stood in distinguished service for a while, you’re clad as a knight after all, surely you haven’t come to stop such unrefined things like these, right?” the two explained grimly.

Feigning a courteous manner, there was clearly an air that they were making light of the man.

“Besides, look. Our comrade was killed. There’s no way soldiers with Garberan pride can let this go by without getting vengeance, right?”

The soldier who spoke tipped Orba’s body over at his foot, and established the sword’s aim with his other hand. What Orba’s eyes saw as he looked up at the ceiling, was the point of the sword, but then a single string of light came flashing from the side.

“What are you doing!”

“How pitiable. Vengeance, is it? You mean to say there’s any pride in that against a child?”

The armored youth had drawn his sword. It seemed like the man had felled that one soldier, for Orba realized the sword that should’ve pierced through his heart had somehow been repelled the to the side. The other roared something in a hoarse voice nearby. It sounded like he’d called out the armored man’s name, but Orba didn’t catch it at the time.

“Y-Your comrade… how dare you, bastard!”

“I don’t want to be called a comrade or such by inferior people like you.”

As he thrust out the blooded tip of his sword, the soldier stepped back.

“Inferior, you say? Even though you’ve got the same history. Just because you were blessed with the opportunity to make a distinguished service, you get carried away. Always chanting, knight, knight as if it’s your favorite word, but did you become a real knight? You don’t share a bloodline with the Garberan royal family, you’ll be an ‘apprentice’ your whole life. Know your place!”

Soon, the solider who seemed to be stepping back, quickly pulled something out from behind his back and brought it in front of him. It was a crossbow, fixed with a long and slender pedestal, and he released the trigger.

That instant, the armored youth nimbly turned aside. Making a single spin, as if dancing, he narrowly avoided the arrow and decapitated the soldier’s head. There wasn’t the slightest hesitation. The decapitated head whirled through the air, struck the house’s wall and rolled over the floor.

“Garbera is a country of knights. Instead of further defiling its name, receive the honor of being killed in action.”

His handsome looks, his way of fighting, and those words he murmured – it was all as if a hero had emerged from the books Orba read all the time.

“Commander, what’s the commotion!?”

A voice was raised from the outside, but he replied with “It’s nothing,” as he wiped the blood from his sword.

“You’re a child of Mephius?”

Orba didn’t immediately know what was a good answer to the question raised. It was not that he was especially conscious of the name of the country called Mephius, either. The people of Orba’s village, generally living in a world of only about ten kilometers surrounding the village, weren’t very interested in the country or its territorial disputes.

The man gave Orba a thin smile when he gave no answer, and glanced over at the soldier who’d sunk in a puddle of blood. Orba, his body suddenly freezing up, tightly held onto his mother’s shoulders. He started looking if there was any weapon within reach, when,

“Hurry and get away from here,” the young man said. “It was to protect your mother – right? You truly hold the spirit of a knight inside of you. Much more than the people of Garbera, who seem to have forgotten all about the knight’s way. Now, you may get out of here. I’ll try to stop the plunder and assaults as much as possible, but I can’t catch a hold on all of them.”

Those eyes, for some reason, resembled those of his brother Roan. Supporting the shoulder of his sobbing mother, Orba slowly faced the back door, then, pulling his mother by the hand, he ran away at full speed. A wintry wind blowing through the streets after sunset, struck his cheeks. Urging his mother, who kept muttering ‘Roan, Roan’, sometimes even shouting at her, they finally united with Alice and the village people after an hour.

After that, they followed behind Alice’s father and headed for a village that was fifteen kilometers upriver to the north.

Orba didn’t know if the young armored man had been true to his words, but at least from there on the random plundering was no longer carried out around Apta, which later became the territory of Garbera.

However, the flames were still approaching the village that Orba and the rest had succeeded in running away to earlier.

There were hardly any signs. Suddenly, ‘they’ came at them in full force and immediately started plundering. They were men who were completely harnessed in black. Provisions, clothes, and of course money and goods, all the things of possible value were taken by force. The people, too, were no exception. As soon as they arrived at the village they took the women, and impaled any man who tried to resist with spears from atop their horses, decapitated their heads with swords, and exposed them to gunfire.

Amidst all of the confusion, Orba lost sight of his mother. Just when he stumbled forward with impatience and fright,

“Alice!”

He spotted Alice getting bound by a soldier with her arms behind her back. Even though she was about to be dragged away, Alice was still screaming at him to run away. Completely losing himself, Orba leapt forward. The feeling of killing that one person still remained in his hands. And now he’d decided to do the same thing. He reached out his hand for the sword the soldier was carrying.

But, the moment he took a hold of the handle, he received a strong blow to the back of his head. The sight flickered before his eyes, and his consciousness was soon about to fade. Just before it did, he had a feeling he heard Alice’s voice calling out his name.

When he came to, Orba was lying on his back, spread-eagled, on the ground. His head was throbbing painfully. His consciousness was still a little dim, and he wasn’t even sure if he was dreaming or not.

“General Oubary , what do you want to do?”

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard that voice. Amongst the screams of men and women nearby, and firing in the distance, Orba secretly peeked through half-opened eyes at the one who had been called out to earlier.

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 069.jpg|thumb]]
It was a man atop a horse, holding a bottle of liquor which he’d most likely stolen. He was lightly and stylishly dressed in armor, bald, and had the majestic air of a giant. Even though he had such an serious appearance, there was violet lipstick on his thin lips, giving the elevated, sneering figure a strange kind of look.

“If all the valuables are gone, set fire to the lot. Leave not a single grain of wheat behind for Garbera.”

Saying those words, the man called general threw away his bottle of wine. It splashed against Orba’s cheeks.

“Very well, this village was burned by Garbera. Let the soldiers be thorough. They can have the women, but kill them when they’re done with them. Don’t even sell them off. You will supervise.”

Shortly after that, the screams and shouts died out. Instead, a hot wind roasted his skin, and an acrid stench started filling the air. When he finally managed to stand up, his surroundings had turned into a sea of flames.

There wasn’t a single person left alive. Orba roamed about the village, calling his mother and Alice’s name in a loud voice, while brushing away sparks of fire at his hands. But the only things that came into his sight were the slaughtered bodies of the village people. The bodies of the elderly, women, and children.

''That Oubary…''

With the place scorched all over, Orba’s whole body had become dark red with the blood and soot falling from overhead.

''Isn’t that Oubary… Apta Fortress’s…''

He remembered hearing about it. When the fortress had urgently been recruiting soldiers, he was sure the military men that appeared in the village had spoken the name. He was the veteran general who had been entrusted with the protection of the fort.

So that meant this had been the Mephian army. After the fortress fell, the troops including Oubary went north, ahead of Garbera’s pursuing troops, and burned down the village where Orba and the others had escaped to earlier. And they’d taken all spoils of wars before going back to the capital, so that Garbera couldn’t make use of it.

''I’ll kill them'', Orba vowed.

Mustering up the strength from somewhere in his body, although there had not even been one drop left behind earlier, the power that kept him going forward, it came from his unrelenting vow with the intent to kill.

Although he had no clear answers on whether to kill Oubary, the Garberan soldiers, or the Emperor, and on how to achieve those ends, for now, he just kept on walking.

<noinclude>

===References and Translation Notes===
<references/>
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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter1

2018-01-21T16:56:28Z

MondSemmel: minor grammar error

==Chapter 1: Iron and Blood==

=== Part 1 ===

The outcome was decided.

The amphitheatre of Ba Roux shook. The many spectators that were crowded together unanimously shouted out the victor’s name and stamped their feet, creating a racket that sounded much like a tidal wave.

While the winner was being bathed in the passionate and boisterous cheers, the one who had received the opposite fate lay motionless besides his feet. Eventually, the loser’s headless body was struck with a hook and dragged away by the hands of two slaves.

The sun was still glaring even though it was near evening. The spectators’ faces were covered with sweat and glittering brightly, as if someone smeared them with oil, and their eyes, too, were sparkling with bloodlust, as they anticipated the next fight to be yet another battle to the death. Whoever just won or lost didn’t stay on their minds for long. It was only the heat of battle that left an everlasting taste, stood in the air, and kept whirling around the arena.

“Go, go!”

“Do it, kill!”

Today was another success. Because the more virtuous people living in the city, for whom the admission fees were no more than about a child’s weekly allowance, were able to watch the games, over a thousand spectators were gathered.

The next match was a cavalry battle. Both men were armed with spears, emerging from the east and west gates, and crossed each other at a great speed. At the second charge, one of the men got flung off of his mount and, as he scrambled to get up again, the other swiftly jumped off his own horse to give the finishing blow.

Up next were two barely clothed men, who started to grapple each other with their bare hands.

They were sword-slaves, or so-called gladiators. In compensation for doing these public, life-threatening battles, these people were granted a few days of their lives and the minimum amount of food required to get by. Some of them were already born as slaves, some had been thrown into the arena for committing crimes, and there were even those who had personally applied to cast themselves into this living hell.

But if gladiators got well-known enough to become veterans, they received a different kind of popularity from the crowd. One of them, named Shique, was a handsome gladiator who was popular among women and had just won the brawling match. He was strangely pretentious, bowing in a way much like a nobleman would, and notably, shrill voices rose from the crowd.

“Did you see that, brother? Shique just won!”
<ref> She actually calls him お義兄様 ‘ogikei-sama’, which, in this case, means he’s her step-brother. However, she pronounces it as ‘onii-sama’.</ref>

It was the voice of a girl yet in the more tender years of age, who was sitting in one of the grandstands among the front row seats. High pillars, which rose from the corners in the left and right, supported a roof that covered the stand. Only those who were able to pay a large sum of money were able to view the match from these special seats.

From the looks of it, the young man resting his chin on his hands next to her, whom she called ‘brother’, seemed to be dissatisfied. With a long cloth wrapped around his head, the ends dangling from both the left and right just like a believer of Badyne, it looked like he was concealing his face from the glances of people around him.

“Ahh, it is as you say,” he said. “The gladiator you had your eye on won. Now, isn’t that enough? Can we hurry and get something to eat? This place is giving me a headache.”

"But it is only beginning, is it not? Did the smell of blood sicken you? You, the successor of the lands of Mephius?"

“Watch your mouth.”

Not at all worried about the youth’s clear jumpiness, the girl gave a fickle laugh.

The next fight had already started, so the young man was forced to stay after all and rested his cheeks on his hands again with a bitter look on his face. How much blood had to be splattered around, and how many sweaty muscles did she have to see before getting tired of it?

He occasionally stole a sidelong glance at the young girl’s white skin and beautiful face. She had an innocence that matched her age, but a strange sensual and mature beauty as well – it was a view much more charming than that of the savage fight below.

Then, after about two battles, a new stage was being set in the arena. One huge stake got established in the centre, and a single woman was fastened to the top. She was a beautiful woman. Purposely made to wear torn clothes, each time she writhed in pain, her breasts and thighs swayed about while whistles came from the heated male audience.

However, the woman was in no position to be bothered with their obscene looks, for at the same time the stake got put up, a big cage with approximately the same height was carried in.

Inside was a raging beast that was roughly seven or eight metres long. Its slimy, green scales were flickering in the sunlight. It was a large dragon. Bred through repeated selective breeding by humans, it was of a variety called ‘Sozos’ that Mephius also used in wars.

Its clenched, humongous teeth, and each of its claws extending from six legs, were just like sharp swords. Probably because it was drugged, it seemed to have a somewhat repressed ferociousness and dulled instincts, but being hit by that bulk would nevertheless cause serious injuries, and it looked like it could blow away the steel cage like a toy.

“Now then! Gathered ladies and gentlemen!”

Suddenly an orator standing on an elevation began to speak over a loudspeaker, eager to finish his speech before the beast broke out.

“Next, is the start of our programme. The great dragons once roamed the earth and have likely established our culture, now they are no more than this bloodthirsty, simple beast we look down on. There is no need to fear. We are the brave souls, the purest of minds, that took over from an era of space voyage. Not even by the dragon’s tusks and claws – not to mention its fearsome, terrible breath! – will we be outdone. Please, take a look at the evidence. Behold the figures of these brave men who challenge this dragon of old, this beast of a terrifying false god!”

From the eastern gate, a single gladiator stepped forward. In the man’s hands, who sported a muscular body, was an iron ball connected to a chain.

“Ballchain Verne!”

The audience’s cheers became even louder, for he was a gladiator who could pride himself in being one of the most famous fighters in Ba Roux. The man was about in his mid-thirties with dark skin, and he responded by waving a hand to the ladies and gentlemen in the audience. Then,

“It’s the Tiger!”

“Look, Iron Tiger Orba!”

A swordsman, also alone, walked out, but from the western gate.

"How eccentric," the young man commented on the steel blue mask that was covering the gladiator’s face. As if imitating a tiger, small fangs protruded up from the lips, leaving only a small space for the mouth of this man named Orba underneath. Cut out into two splits were openings where the tiger’s eyes would’ve been, but naturally it was only Orba’s eyes peeking through. And, despite a tiger normally having rounded ears, the mask had pointed ends at both sides instead – it was almost as if horns were coming out from the corners.

However, that was all; he had no other outstanding character features. In comparison with Verne, he had an almost feeble body build, and he only held a simple, common longsword in his hand.

The spectators started ridiculing him, saying,

“Look at his thin body. Just one hit of the ballchain will completely smash him up!”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 022.jpg|thumb]]

“They say he took off Meier the Baron’s head at the Arena of Tidan after only two strikes. Let’s see him do the same to our Verne. Go on then!”

“This Iron Tiger Orba,” the girl said, as her cheeks blushed with excitement. “Isn’t this his first appearance in Ba Roux? But he seems to be famous. Do you know of him, brother?”

“How should I know?”

“My, what a cold reply. Fine, if you’re so bored with being here, why don’t we have a little bet on this game? Maybe it’ll end up getting you a little interested.”

“A wager, is it? For what, and how?”

“Simple. Of those two about to fight, who do you expect to win?”

“That’s stupid. How’s that even a bet? Even I know the name of that Verne guy. And his physique is way better. Even an amateur can see that. You're just trying to rip me off, betting on the clear victor yourself, aren't you?”

“My, you’re a difficult customer! But that’s fine. You can just sulk away like that as long as you like. And I even thought of bringing you along so you could have a little distraction. But I got it, I understand – you hate spending time with Ineli. If that’s the case, I will never invite you again, don’t worry!”

The girl stiffly turned away her face, as the young man panickingly stopped resting his chin on his hands.

“W-Wait. I was wrong,” he said. “I’ll bet on that masked swordsman. That’s what you want, right?”

“No. Ineli decided to bet on that swordsman first. You can take Ballchain Verne, brother.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I like him.”

''Even though you can't see his face?'' – was what the young man was about to say, but he stopped himself in time. He couldn’t afford to displease her even more.

“Now then,” the orator said, raising his voice again. “Will Orba or will Verne take up the role of the hero and set that woman free? Or will these rivals be fighting in vain, as the cage breaks and this poor, beautiful lady ends up in the dragon’s stomach?”

From there on, the two swordsmen would battle, and the winner would rescue the woman – or, as the orator stated, ‘a certain princess from a ruined country’ – from the dragon’s clutches, and also earn a night of love-making. Or so the scene was set out to be.

The two men both stepped forward at the same time. As they approached each other, the lack in Orba’s physique became all the more apparent. Verne spoke in a voice that could be heard by those in the front row seats.

“So, you call yourself a tiger, huh? I’ve heard your name. But, there’s nothing more unreliable than a rumour. You can try to hide your face, but I can see the skin underneath. You’re still young, just a kid.”

Ballchain Verne’s thick lips, in proportion to the rest of him, bent into a smile.

“I’m sure the mask is just a bluff so people won’t make fun of you. You’re not a tiger, you’re just a mangy cur! I’ll teach you what a real man’s battle truly is all about!”

Facing Verne, who was loudly laughing at his shoulders, Orba didn’t reply. Probably assuming his nerves were blown away, Verne gave a sneering look, took up a defensive stance, and slung the ballchain over his shoulder.


“Start!”

There was a pointed signalling voice, but it halfway disappeared into the further increasing sound of the audience’s cheers. In an instant, Verne made his move.

He wielded the iron ballchain with all his strength. At first, the masked swordsman was about to rush in, but, as if panicked by his sheer force, he quickly stepped back. There was a small spark as the iron ball chafed against the mask. It was enough for Verne to take pursuit of the stumbling Orba. The huge iron ball, which was much larger than a human head, approached with the howling of the wind, and Orba continued to avoid it by stepping back.

He rolled over the ground, excessively jumped aside, and finally bustled about by making an evasive gesture – which invited laughter from the spectators.

“Look at that, it seems the swordsman you like can’t get out of a tight spot,” the same young man said. “Or could it be that this fight isn't so fair and square?”

“You think?” the girl said, looking straight ahead as she put a finger to her plump and florid lips. “If that’s so, then why hasn’t the match ended yet?”

“That’s because his opponent keeps pitifully running from place to place.”

“I wonder why Verne can’t corner an opponent who so clumsily keeps running away.”

The young man wanted to say something in return but kept his mouth shut. As he watched, he noticed that Orba wasn’t outright retreating, but kept circling around his opponent while maintaining a fixed distance. And it looked like Verne was no longer able to attack and pursue his opponent so hastily either.

Probably because he lost his temper, Verne put all of his strength into tossing another blow. The iron ball flew past Orba’s shoulder and – although it seemed obvious to the bystanders that this was like a golden opportunity – he only returned a slight thrust with his sword, while once again taking his distance.

“Get serious!”

“Stop messing around!”

The audience stopped laughing and started jeering down at the arena. Not only at Orba, but also at Verne who didn’t seem able to take down his constantly fleeing opponent.

“You bastard!” Verne howled.

When he tried to rush at Orba diagonally, the girl suddenly raised her voice, “Ah!”, in surprise.

Orba, who had until now only retreated backwards, suddenly started to pitch forward. Stopping in his tracks, Verne, too, took the opportunity to strike another blow.

Orba tilted his body wide to the right, avoiding the iron ball and, as he rotated on his left toe, flashed his sword in a diagonal uppercut. The moment the chain got cut apart, a strange, clear sound echoed throughout the arena, then Orba twisted his body again and swung his sword downward with the force of a thunderbolt.

Verne’s cranium was split in two and the giant collapsed soon after.

“M-Magnificent!” the orator cried.

However, because it had happened so swiftly and came with such an unexpected conclusion, the audience was looking rather flabbergasted. Although the awkward silence wrapped around the arena, the victor didn’t seem to care either way and headed up to the stake, and, borrowing the hands of a number of slaves to lift it from the ground, used his sword to cut the ropes that kept the woman bound.

With a shout of delight, she joyfully clung onto his neck, only to be pushed away with a confused look on her face as Orba immediately started to return to his gate.

The girl in the special seat – she had also been staring agape at the sudden fall of the curtain – slowly began to form her lips into a smile. That gladiator named Orba didn’t seem aware of the audience at all. As if stating the only reason he was here today was to fight, and to kill as he was told.

“He… took out Verne.”

“With one blow.”

After that moment of silence, voices praising Orba began to raise little by little. Now that the mood had grown uneasy for the visitors, slowly the clapping of hands, the awkward stamping of feet, and cheers appropriate for a victor started to fill the stands. Then, almost at the instant the arena had returned to the state it was supposed to be in, the air shook heavily.

It was the roar of the Sozos Dragon.

It might have been the drug wearing off, or an instinctive reaction to the smell of blood, but all of a sudden it started swaying its enormous body from right to left, shattering a portion of its cage. One of the slaves who’d been in the process of towing everything away, was caught and raised from the head by the dragon’s claw. Before he could resist, his torso disappeared into the Sozos’s mouth.

There was the sound of breaking bones. And at the same time as the awful sound of salivated chewing could be heard, the arena grounds were suddenly filled with screams. In the midst of all the fear and panic that rapidly swept over the area, the Sozos rather calmly stretched out its limbs further and emerged from the broken cage.

Being pulled along into the crowd that strived to be the first to escape, the young man from earlier almost fell to the floor. But then, he was pulled along by a hand from the side.

“This way. Hurry!”

It was one of the soldiers who’d been guarding the special seats. As he rattled around with a sword and gun, he tried to bring the young man back inside.

“W-Wait. Ineli’s…”

Although he tried to resist, he couldn’t move freely as he kept being jostled by the crowd of people trying to escape. Then, he heard a suspiciously familiar, high-pitched scream. Right in front of the Sozos’s forepaws beyond the dividing wall, was a figure that belonged to no one other than Ineli. The girl had turned a pale colour as she had tumbled over from the gallery, and it looked like she was about to lose consciousness any minute.

The dragon’s long snout opened from top to bottom. As the rows of tusks, similar to sharp pointed swords, opened up, they formed long threads of slaver. The young man was about to involuntarily avert his eyes, when a thin streak of blood spouted from the Sozos’s neck. The gladiator arena’s employed guards had rushed in with guns. However, because they were close to the seats, they could only shoot at point-blank range, and from the way they stood, they hardly had the nerve. While they were conflicted at what to do while it approached, the Sozos turned around quickly and hit them with a single blow of its tail, fully sending several people flying.

The girl had sunk down to the floor, her eyes opened wide looking at her surroundings.

Then, from those eyes, she saw.

There was a shadow that ran past the Sozos’s flank like a gust of wind. Just before it came up against the brick wall that divided the seats from the ring, the shadow kicked against it and soared up into the air. A man with a tiger-imitating iron mask jumped into the girl’s sight, the figure of Orba the gladiator landing on top of the Sozos’s head.

Even though she had just witnessed him running up to the Sozos from behind while the dragon was distracted by bullets, she couldn’t suddenly believe it.

Despite Orba’s slim body, his joints and muscles seemed to fortify his arms like steel as he grabbed a firm hold of the dragon’s neck. While further sandwiching its neck between his legs, he held on tight with one arm and, with his other, brought his sword down into the head.

It swung its long tail around and rocked the ground by stamping its feet, but the dragon still struggled, not able to shake off the gladiator. It shook off a second strike. But the third tore through its scales, as tough as iron armour, and pieces of flesh and blood got splattered about. However, the sword broke when it came to the fourth strike, but at that time the other gladiators rushed in.

“Orba!”

Receiving a thrown sword from a brown-skinned swordsman, Orba once again raised it for a fifth attack, following the exact same process as earlier, until he fully caved the middle of the blade into the crown of the dragon’s head.

Its golden eyes goggled longingly at the skies. Just before its huge body sunk from the neck, the swordsman had swooped down next to the guest seats.

The girl, still kneeling on the floor, was looking up at him. It was almost as if he came from a tale, for she felt like a princess caught by an evil wizard, and although she fixed her eyes on him with a throbbing heart, of all things, the would-be-hero gladiator continued his walk, completely ignoring her, and nimbly jumped off the dividing wall and back into the ring.

There was still a cloud of chaotic fear hanging over the arena as he showed her his back and took his leave, but rather than drifting the air of a victor, he looked more like a solitary figure that could hardly endure the stares on him.

“A-Are you okay?”

She turned her eyes to the young man she had brought with her, who came running up to her with bated breath, and suddenly got an odd sensation. She had only seen it with a passing glance earlier, but the eyes underneath that swordsman’s mask seemed to closely resemble those of the young man.

And there was yet another man who focused a long look at Orba’s back, surprised for another reason.

“No way, he is alive.”

He wiped the sweat from his slightly slacking chin with the back of his hand. Standing behind the young man’s back - he was also one of the men who’d been at the special seats - he was speaking to himself in wonder as the unique smell of blood drifted about.

“Orba was his name? Two years... Two entire years, huh.”

=== Part 2 ===

“Two years.”

The gladiator, Orba, staring up at the darkness surrounding him, suddenly murmured those words in his mouth.
Although only ‘two years’ into this line of work, it had been full of hardships, blood, and corpses. How many times had he struggled for his life, only to have both his feet chained at the end, spend the night in the slave pens, where his only pastime was to train all morning in order to keep living as a sword-slave? And then there would be another fight.

No one, except Orba himself, expected him to be able to live through more than five battles. Two years ago, when Orba first set foot in the arena, he’d still been fourteen years old. His body had been even thinner than it was now, and he’d hardly been able to handle the weapons.

However, at the moment of truth, he’d survived. He brandished the weapon held in his hands, chosen from one of the few weapons he was able to wield, to the limits of his power. He only knew how to fight by recklessly charging in. As he gained experience, his skill, the thickness of each of his muscle fibres, the mastery of new weapons, as well as the opponent’s corpses he stepped over, increased every time he emerged from another fight.

And so, two years passed. Orba didn’t know whether that was a long or a short time. Sometimes, he thought he was a considerably old person, but he also felt like a youngster at times who still didn’t know anything at all about battles.

Anyway, maybe it simply had to do with the fact, that he had not been blessed with the opportunity to see his own face. Lying face up, he was still wearing the same iron mask he wore in the battle ring. Because it had never been removed those two years, the other sword-slaves belonging to the same Tarkas Gladiatorial Group had no way of knowing his true face.

“Get up, slaves! You hate wakin’ up? Then get ready for your worst day yet!”

When morning came, another day for the slaves began. The one in charge of training the sword-slaves, and the slaves’ main supervisor, was Gowen, who drove everyone from their bedrooms and made them start cleaning the accommodations.

When that was finished, taking care of the lions, serpents, boars, tigers and the like – the animals that were used in the arena – was waiting. In particular, taking care of the dragons was hard work. Even taking care of the small- and medium-sized dragons was too much for a single person to handle, but taking care of the large-sized Sozos dragons was far worse. While it was expected for slaves to die by the sword, many had also been crushed underfoot by these dragons that were purposefully trained not to grow accustomed to humans.

Orba set foot in the vast dragon’s abode, which was much larger than the slaves’ dwellings – far from it – and resembled a castle courtyard, but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed the back of a woman.

She was Hou Ran. Of all the other slaves ordered to feed the dragons, she was the only one who directly touched the dragons’ scales. Of course, the dragons’ legs and necks were wrapped in chains, as it was not necessary to carry out yesterday’s example, but that was by no means an absolute guarantee. At a distance that would even cause a gladiator to hesitate, greeting each dragon one by one, she gently touched their scales with her fingers.

“Orba.”

Calling out his name, she quickly turned around.

“So I’ve been found out.”

“I’ve been told by the ‘voice’ of the dragons.”

Ran smiled. She seemed truly unsuitable in an all-men, not to mention savage, sword-slave detention camp, and Orba still hadn’t gotten used to her defenceless smile.

Her skin like polished ebony, combined with hair that seemed to have turned pale, gave off a mysterious charm. Originating from the Dragon God worshipping nomads that roamed in the western mountains of Mephius, unlike her primarily reclusive kin, Ran had exceptionally been brimming with curiosity, secretly boarded one of her tribe’s caravan wagons and came over to the outside world. Because she never told him exactly what had happened after that, he did not know when Tarkas hired her, and how she could take care of the dragons single-handedly like this.

“Do these guys know my name?”

“Their ‘voices’ come like images into my head. They all know your face, Orba. You’re liked by the dragons.”

While it appeared idiotic, in fact, it seemed like her pupils, clearly giving the impression of being deep under the sea, held some kind of intelligence lost to civilized men. From the other side of the fence, the small-type dragons were poking out their snouts and snapping at him.

“It doesn’t look that way,” Orba said with a thin smile.

At the time Orba turned up two years ago, Hou Ran was already at the detention camp. Back then, although she didn’t make direct eye contact with the others employed by Tarkas, she didn’t even open her mouth to him. Whether they would see Orba’s face or hear Ran’s voice first, soon became the target of bets among the sword slaves short of entertainment.

But, one time, Ran was about to be roughed up by several new sword-slaves who’d recently come into the camp. Orba just happened to pass by and had beaten them up, and ever since then Ran had at least been able to speak to him a bit.

“I heard you were attacked by a Sozos at Ba Roux.”

“''I'' was the one who attacked the Sozos,” he emphasized. “It suddenly started getting violent.”

“Even with drugs, it’s useless to imprison its heart by force. If I had been the one supervising it, such a thing would have never happened.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 035.jpg|thumb]]

She bit her lips, but it was not because she was concerned about Orba or the visitors. With the figure of a girl patting the nape of a medium-sized Baian dragon in the corner of his eye, Orba finished his own work and left the dragon’s abode behind him.

After feeding the animals and cleaning was done, it was time to tend to their weapons. Because they left their own lives in their care, they carefully did them one by one. Whenever they handled weapons, about ten guards in full armour acted as supervisors. Naturally, they were there to make sure none of the sword-slaves tried to revolt.

Then, after finishing a meal with a sorry amount of bread and soup – the survivors of yesterday’s gladiator matches were treated meat and fruit as a reward – they each began their training at the start of noon. Just like when they’d been tending the weapons, there were armed soldiers on the lookout, but this time, the chains that connected both feet were taken off.

Sword-slaves that lasted over two years like Orba were extremely rare. Lives were lost one after another, and new faces always appeared again on the next day. Gowen tirelessly taught them the step work of how to hold a sword or how to handle a gun, and trained them thoroughly until they were fully prepared.

Orba also had some of the newcomers as opponents. Sometimes they clashed swords, just like in an actual fight, and it wasn’t uncommon for someone to part with a limb or lose his life in the midst of training..

Today, there weren’t any casualties. But that did not have to mean they were lucky. The next day may hold an even more miserable fate, and grislier deaths may be awaiting for these gladiators.

When all the faces of the sword-slaves had turned dark, their skin wet with sweat and covered in dust, Orba moved to the fence separating the training grounds from an aisle on the other side and caught sight of Tarkas’s figure.

Saying “At ease!” at the newcomer, Orba rushed up towards him.

Also noticing the masked man, Tarkas stopped in his tracks. There was a feeling of distrust slipping through his sagged cheeks.

“What is it, Iron Tiger? Ahh… good job yesterday.” He had a look on his face as if he just now remembered he forgot to feed his pet dog. “Verne was quickly becoming a well-known gladiator. The other gladiator troupe started talking about wanting to pit him against you. ‘Can’t we earn back all the money we invested in Verne that way?’ – don’t try that sarcastic bullshit on me. Well, I suppose I feel a bit grateful as well. And killing that Sozos—”

“Tarkas, how much longer do I have to continue winning?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s been two years already. I’ve kept winning all the time. How many times do I have to be the ‘main event’ like yesterday. Isn’t it about time you take these chains off of my feet?”

Sword-slaves, all of them, were each exchanged on a contract when bought by a merchant. Although Tarkas seemed to handle it quite vaguely.

“Don’t think I can’t read. Even a slave should have the right to look into my contract. I’ve been waiting here, Tarkas. I should’ve been allowed to leave a long time ago.”

As Orba spoke right in front of him, Tarkas sharply put a squinting look in his eyes.

“So, where do you plan to go? Surely you can be released from my hands, but you’ll still be a criminal. You don’t have the money to pay off your remaining prison term. Or maybe you want to work in the Tsaga Mines along the western border? Poisonous gases, wild man-eating beasts, human-hunting Geblin tribes, and – of course – extremely miserable and rigorous labour. If it’s the same hell, or if you think you may have it better off here, hurry up and get back to your training. And don’t ever speak to me like an equal, until you’ve become a full-fledged swordsman that earns his pay.”

Thrusting his thick finger in Orba’s face, Tarkas quickly took his leave, heading for his office. Behind him, unfamiliar faces followed suit. Considering this was a place where legs were tied up in chains, they were probably newly procured slaves.

Orba was silent. His eyes were teeming with rage however, but Tarkas’s words weren’t lies either. Concerning Mephian law, you can basically either sell your life or go to prison. Like the Mines of Tsaga that Tarkas spoke of – should he apply for the country’s public service, accompanied by dangers, and sell himself off as a slave there?

Grasping the fence tightly in his hands, he lost all sense of feeling in his fingers before he knew it, Orba remained there standing in place.

“What are you doing, Orba!? Get back here!”

After finally being rebuked by Gowen, he went back to practice. As always.

A few hours after that, after washing their bodies with a cupful of water, it was time for their second meal of the day. Orba, rounding up his body like a hunchback in the corner of the dining hall, was almost grasping at his food. As a habit, he couldn’t go through a meal without reading a book.

Then,

“Orba, good job yesterday.”

Another sword-slave, the one named Shique, nestled onto his back, and Orba roughly shook him off with his hand.

“That ballchain Verne chap. When the match was decided, I didn’t know what to do. If you seemed to get into a huge disadvantage, I considered shooting him down from the outside.”

“Go away. Unless you want me to wound that smug face of yours.”

“Ooh, scary. But I wouldn’t mind any wound you give me, for it’ll become a bond between me and you.”

Even though it was hard, despite Shique’s chuckling behaviour, to make an accurate judgement on whether he was serious or making a joke, Orba didn’t socialize with him either way. The handsomely Shique had grown out his hair and even used make-up when it came to a gladiatorial battle. And just like that, because it seemed to further his degenerate good looks, he was tremendously popular among the female crowd. Even though the person himself was a self-styled, huge misogynist.

“However, I expected no less from you, Orba. Even without me lending you a hand, you managed to make a truly magnificent performance. Are you, both in name and reality, Tarkas’s top gladiator, I wonder?”

“I wouldn’t say it was magnificent.”

Gowen, the one in charge of training the gladiators, made his appearance. Although Orba showed plain the annoyance in his eyes as he sat down at the same table, he didn’t seem to mind.

“Although you did well, it’s a fact that it was also dangerous. When you broke in, your timing was still too hasty. It’s a bad habit of yours to take risks when you’re driven into a corner, only if even by a bit. You should spend more time putting an effort into ensuring your predominance. Although Verne was a brilliant swordsman, he wasn’t the type to target his opponent’s weak points. But a more observant opponent could easily see through your quick temper, and sweep you off your feet.”

He was a grey-haired man in his mid-fifties, but he still had a stout and tanned body, and the peering glances he gave the sword-slaves were filled with intensity.

“His opponent was that Verne, though. That guy was, curiously enough, in perfectly good shape,” a new voice called out, belonging to Tarkas Gladiatorial Group’s number one giant, Gilliam.

He had been in the same arena as Orba and Shique the day before, carrying a battle-ax on his shoulder, and with that the three strongest sword-slaves were gathered together. With long auburn hair in as much disorder as possible, his face, grinning with clenched teeth, had a look as intimidating as that of a wild lion.

“When I heard you had to go against Verne, I honestly thought you ran out of luck. Well, you don’t have bad skills. But, as usual, you still don’t know what it means to be a gladiator. It’s worthless if you win gracelessly. It won’t satisfy the guests. The way you carelessly kept running from place to place and then suddenly decided the match with one blow was just not entertaining at all. You’ve got to hit them up front.”

For someone like a sword-slave, it wasn’t just about winning the match. You had to be popular, in short, make sure that a lot of visitors come to see that gladiator alone. Plain gladiators, after finally having earned a pile of money, would be thrown before wild animals or dragons on their own, only to satisfy the sadistic tastes of their customers.

That was why the gladiators – every one of them – strove to hone their skills, and also tried to appeal to the audience with flashy personalities in order to survive. Some decorated their body with gaudy armors, some made a show out of dragging out their opponent’s heart after their demise, while others inked their bodies with mysterious tattoos.

As for Shique, he dramatically claimed to be ‘a descendant of an ancient royal dynasty’.

“This time, go against me, Orba. I’ll teach you what it is to fight for real.”

“Not interested.”

“Haha, are you afraid of me?”

“Oh, I am. I’m scared. So, get lost.”

“You bastard!”

As Orba continued eating his meal in his usual stooped behaviour, Gilliam pushed him in the back.

“Stop it!” Gowen commanded.

If there was a disturbance, the soldiers belonging to the gladiatorial group would rush in, so for the time being Gilliam took his leave with a reddened face.

“Come to think of it, some strange newcomers have appeared,” Gowen said, after some time had passed, as if he suddenly remembered. It looked like he was talking about the ones Orba had seen too, trailing behind Tarkas back then.

“Strange? Like, with horns in their hair, and the bulge of a tail in the back of their pants?” a sword slave named Kain interfered.

He was a boy, the same age as Orba, who came to the detention facility a year ago and took after him. He wasn’t that great physically or with a sword, but he excelled in dexterity, especially when handling handguns or rifles.

“Or maybe a survivor from the Ryuujin<ref>Dragon people.</ref> Tribe, doesn’t that sound romantic?”

“Ryuujin, Geblin, or whatever type of person appears now, I probably wouldn’t even be surprised. This is a sword slave company after all, a trading place for all kinds of races.”

“It’s a much simpler story. I heard every last one of those guys hardly have any skill at the sword.”

“What…?”

Kain looked stretched out his arms, seemingly uninterested.

“I mostly can’t believe Tarkas would have bought a bunch of good-for-nothings without a grumpy face. But he seemed in an unusually good mood.”

“Oh?”

“Certainly. For a master like Tarkas, whose eyes are always dazzled by the shine of gold, it sounds really strange, right?”

“Good mood? That guy?” Orba said, remembering the situation with Tarkas during the day.

“I’ve known him longer than you. The only times I’ve seen Tarkas in a good mood was when he got the chance to earn a huge amount of money.”

“Then again, I wonder if it’s nobles who came to visit. About an exhibition match, or something like that. Those newcomers could’ve also been nobles who were asking to be bought. Or maybe they’re political offenders who opposed the Mephius Empire. Could there be a request for them to be gruesomely fed to dragons in public?”

“There’s a strange intensity to your words, because I can’t read your face.”

“Anyway, where’s the new book? It’s been three months since I’ve asked for it.”

Losing interest in the conversation, Orba inquired about something else. The other guys had all started raising different topics among themselves. By tomorrow, they were likely to fight as opponents even if they were gladiators working for the same firm. The idea of deepening a friendship more than necessary had never been in Orba’s mind from the start.

“Ahh, it’s been purchased. It’ll be here tomorrow. However… although it seems a little late to say this, you’re a bit unusual too. Of the guys here, even those that can read and write letters, I doubt they’ve ever read more than a hundred in their life.”

Plucking at a skin of chicken, Gowen glanced over at Orba.

“Sometimes, even I’m almost driven with the impulse to tear off that mask. What’s the true face that lies underneath? There are times I think you’re only a young wild brat, and there are times the cool-headedness of a man who has survived many battlefields peeks through. Yesterday was like that. You took the appropriate actions against a Sozos without flinching.”

“Are you praising me or not?”

“I’m praising you. Other than taking up a sword and fighting for yourself, you calmly consider the circumstances. Although I think you may actually be better suited as a leader, if not for that quick temper of yours. You like books about history and people, get absorbed reading them late into the night, and swallow their knowledge.”

When meeting him for the first time, basically from the time he was bought by the Tarkas company, Orba’s face had been covered by a mask. Ever since then, he hadn’t taken it off even once. Of course, everybody wanted to know why. They wanted to see his face. They wondered about his origins.

In the beginning, it worried Gowen that Orba met fists with them in response to their curiosity and suspicions. But when half a year had passed, he thought of the makeshift excuse that ‘a magician put a curse on it’ and after a year the teasing stopped, and soon nobody asked him about it anymore. Although some newcomers occasionally asked him about it, Orba was able to turn a blind eye.

“What do you gain from reading a book? At least, at the place where I was born and raised, you didn’t gain respect no matter how many books you owned.”

“It sounds like you’ve been raised by ape men or Geblin.”

“Watch your language, Orba. I think I’m especially kind to you considering the circumstances. If it doesn’t matter to you, I too can adopt that same attitude.”

Behaving like a man who couldn’t understand a joke was one of Gowen’s beloved habits. Orba revealed a stifled smile, but the deep-wrinkled sword-slave training official unexpectedly gave a serious look.

“As a sword-slave, normally, you only try your best to survive for the day. Some go back out into this corrupted world, but, because they can’t live without committing yet another crime, there are some people who are content being a sword-slave for the rest of their life, – although, for most, their ‘whole life’ would probably be very short – but, you’re different. You, at least, do not get absorbed in the killing and focus on the future. After that, I always think: Hey, what should I say to such a man? Should I tell him to throw away a future like that? When it’s only hard, even if you hold onto it with such devotion? Or should I tell him to seriously hold on to that hope? Because it will be the strength for him to live this through?”

“Did you secretly drink some alcohol, gramps? You’re talkative.”

“I’m being serious.”

Gowen stubbornly shook his head. Orba decided he had truly gotten drunk. Usually, Gowen wouldn’t have remained silent after being called ‘gramps’.

“Who is it that you fight for? The other sword-slaves, yourself, or do you have some other goal in mind?”

“I don’t know.”

Scuffing his words like a boy, Orba turned away his face. He didn’t want his inner feelings to be seen, where he was trembling like a child.

Finishing his meal, Orba quickly left the dining hall. Although the sword-slaves could walk about freely, there was nothing but the dining hall and the bedrooms at the detention camp. It was called a bedroom, but it wasn’t much different from a stable to keep livestock. As he lay down in a corner, Orba stared at his own hands.

It had been two years since then. Even today, he could remember it so well. And if he hadn’t confirmed it himself, those ‘two years’ would’ve been no more than a number. For two years, Orba had barely stayed alive, surrounded by the smell of blood, guts, and iron.

However, he killed, survived, did it all over again, and what was the point in all of that?

Orba turned over on the floor. He had already grown accustomed to the feel of his hard mask touching the ground. It was as Tarkas said. Even if he was freed from being a slave, he didn’t know more of how to live the ‘clever’ way of life, but it seemed that Gowen had misunderstood something – he was not waiting with hopes for a future like that. Supposing he did…

Under the thin shadow formed by fangs, Orba tightly gnashed his teeth.

''If I do live through this, then what do I do?''

It was decided. He was tired of doing things over and over in the arena, the massacres, the blood, the fights, killing each other. On the way back, he was never able to think of things like ‘it’s okay’ or ‘it’ll get easier’.

An inexplicable anger was stuck in the glitter of his eyes, on the other side of the mask.

''I’ll get it back. I’ll take it back. And for the ones who took it away from me, even though it is not enough, I will have them fully taste the pain of the agonizing cries from all the people I’ve killed these past two years.''

=== Part 3 ===

“So you were here, Orba.”

Roan suddenly showed his face.

Orba, who had been looking up at the night sky, rudely averted his eyes. As a punishment for neglecting to take care of the animals and play instead, his mother had taken away his supper, and now he was just outside the barn, sulking on his own. His face, as well as both knees he buried his face in, were full of scratches.

“Did you have another fight?”

“Not really.”

The quick-tempered Orba often quarreled with the other children in the neighborhood. Swinging around a wooden sword, he even went as far as the neighboring village to pick fights. The villagers that caught sight of his figure, almost falling forward as he raced through the fields, half-jokingly said,

“Oh, Orba’s doing his best again,” as they waved their hands and watched over him.
Of course, after having his fights, his mother scolded him to no end.

“Why don’t you follow your brother’s example,” was what she would always say.

His older brother was able to do anything. In the old days, he looked through a single book their father brought back when coming from the city for several times, and from that alone he was able to memorize reading and writing letters by himself. He also learned how to do basic math at a very young age. Around the time he turned ten, after begging a merchant from the city to take him in as an assistant, he was also supporting his poor family’s living expenses.

Orba on the other hand, although he’d learned reading and writing letters from his older brother, was terrible at math, and above all, he didn’t know what to do with his boiling hot blood.

Almost every night, he spent sleepless hours staring at the ceiling. His blood was always screaming in the dark. After fist fights and such, the prickling pain of his injuries seemed to overflow with the hotter, more painful black blood from deeper inside, as if it would simply jump out into the open.

At those times, he’d jump to his feet and go outside. And he’d pick up his wooden sword that was leaning against the barn. No matter how many times it had been confiscated by his mother, he always made a new one from scratch. It wasn’t uncommon, either, for him to swing around his sword until the break of dawn.

“It’s okay if you get into fights,” Roan said, sitting down next to Orba. “But you have to help mother out properly. Working as a single woman is very hard. You know that too, right?”

Along the southern border of the Mephius Empire, was a place commonly known as Drought Valley. While a valley where the river had dried up was quite common terrain in Mephius, this poor village in barren lands, whose name was not even written down on any maps, was where Orba had grown up.

Orba didn’t have many memories of his father. He passed away when he was two or three. While he’d been engaged in additional construction work for the Apta Fortress that protected the border south of the village, his father had unluckily fallen victim to a cave-in while he’d been digging through the cliff. Cutting through the valley’s steep cliffs instead of creating houses or buildings was often the case in Mephius, and his father had been such a construction worker.

“Father was a man born only to dig a dark hole in the ground.”

He remembered that, one day, his mother had said those words in a tone that was neither complaining nor at grief. With that said, his mother too, was a person who had no pleasure in always working hard from morning till evening, every day. She ploughed the barren fields, sold native clothes and towels she made at the City of Apta once every month, and made the nearly tasteless stew for the young brothers every day without ever getting tired of it.

Orba too, also passed through life without change or color, with his only pleasure being when his brother came back home for a break, two or three times a month, and brought along many different books.

Books written about the Old World where humankind once left its nest, books about Magic King Zodias, and, above all, historical novels with colorful illustrations or heroic stories, got Orba fully absorbed into them. Brave heroes swinging their swords to rescue a country full of dangers, beautiful maidens in thin clothes that were imprisoned in tall towers, vicious dragons revived from ancient ruins — things he’d never experience in a lifetime and the many dazzling adventures in those worlds made Orba engrossed, and whenever he closed a book, being back in that small, miserable reality surrounding him only made him despair.

He longed for the olden days, like the age where long sword-wielding barbarians were once kings. But the truth was, from the moment he was born, it was decided Orba would live his life sipping muddy waters, and if he wanted to do more in the future, it would be be much more difficult than bringing the dead back to life.

“You know, aniki<ref>Familiar/honorific way of saying ‘older brother’.</ref>,” Orba said, burying his head between his arm-wrapped knees. “I feel like doing something more.”

“You’re not even ten years old, are you? Worrying about such things doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m being serious. Look at all the adults here. Even I’ll become like that within another few years. Day after day, you work and work, but life won’t get any easier. I’ll marry someone sooner or later, a child gets born, and if the child’s an ‘unruly boy’ like me, one day he’ll surely say he wants to go to the city, be a soldier for Mephius, or ride a Garberan airship, and I’ll say something like, ‘Oh, in the old days, your father also held onto dreams like that’, and then I’ll probably laugh along with the other adults while drinking my tea.”

“Everyone’s like that,” Roan laughed, bathing in the pale moonlight.

Around this time, you could always hear singing voices coming from the house on the other side of the road. Listening to the cheerful voices of men who got drunk, although he wasn’t really paying attention, he said,

“Nobody knows what kind of person he’ll be. There are people who can’t live without working hard every day, people who sail over violent waves by boat, old philosophers who’ve buried themselves in thousand-year-old books, priests of Badyne who will preach their truth to numerous believers, many renowned generals who soar through the skies in dragonstone ships, and even country leaders who’ve subdued many territories at their feet. What they do in a day may be surprisingly different, whether they soak their swords with blood, drown in the letters of the alphabet, or even chant the name of God, but I think even they can’t provide you with an answer.”

“They don’t ever think about our living conditions. Even the king, who’s surrounded by luxuries I wouldn’t have the money for within a lifetime, and stuffing his stomach with delicious food every night. He sometimes takes a large army on a campaign, or gets shocked by betrayal, but every day he’s alive. I can’t even think of living such a life. I’ll never be able to. Neither the king nor the nobles, can even imagine what’s inside our dreams. Those people… Yes, take this night for example, they don’t even consider themselves to be looking up at the same moon as I am.”

“I wonder. It could be that, exactly because the king spends every day like that, he may sometimes feel a yearning to spending his life out in town. Maybe, to get away from the constraining life in the imperial court, he wants to go out to a sour-smelling bar sometimes and drown in cheap wine, listening to ridiculous stories, disgusted that, every day, he cannot relax his guard, not even for blood relatives. And he’ll probably think, ‘Ahh, wouldn’t it be easy to just go through life breaking a sweat', with no more worries about being targeted?’”


“That’s just a delusion. You mean he’s yearning for a life like ours? Just because he doesn’t know the difficulties and insecurities of such a life, he’ll only think of it on a whim.”

“Exactly. Isn’t that what I said? There isn’t a human being anywhere who understands everything, knows what he really wants, or knows who he truly is. I think everybody longs for what they don’t know, what they have not experienced, and they’re also looking for wherever there their true course may lie. In this sense, they’re no different from us.”

“I don’t know. Then, you mean even the king, even the great priest, is someone who’s not completely satisfied?”

But when his brother was about to answer,

“Why are you talking about such difficult things?”

Suddenly Alice appeared, swaying her dark brown hair slightly. It was then that they noticed the singing voices from the house across had completely stopped. It looked like the girl had finally come to put them to sleep.

While she seemed to have overheard just a little, Alice showed a dimpled smile,

“In the end, it’s nothing but pointless stuff. In this world, no matter where you’re from, first of all, Orba, you have to start by taking care of your mother and work earnestly, so that you can get to eat tomorrow.”

“Hear that, aniki? When they’re not interested in the conversation, women immediately find it difficult, insignificant, or have more important things to do.”

“That, too, is the truth,” Roan laughed merrily.

Alice was two years younger than his brother and three years older than Orba. And when Orba was even younger, they played as if Alice was a sister among the three.

Soon after, they enjoyed talking about memories of those days. When, by Alice’s suggestion, they went fishing at the river, and that same Alice nearly drowned as she slipped on the rocks. Or the time they went to see the caravan’s horses as it arrived at their village, and Orba got into trouble secretly trying to mount one, causing it to go berserk. Or when, because a boy from the nearby village said he ‘saw a wild dragon’, the three went to the rumoured place and got completely lost on the canyon’s intricate path. Although they finally did come home late, all three had to suffer though a good scolding…

“Anyway, wasn’t it because Doug from that village deceived us? Ever since that time, you’ve had a bad relationship, right? Even your opponent from today’s fight……”

“Shut it.”

The nail hitting him right on the head, Orba turned away his face. Although the reason he picked a fight with Doug was all because of Alice, he never spoke of it.

However, as they laughed and reminisced together like that for the entire evening, it was the last time he spoke with his brother in peace.

In those days, the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius and the Kingdom of Garbera were already at war with each other. It was said the Garberan cavalry recently crossed their border, although the two countries had a history of repeated conflict for some time, concerning the very definition of that border. The southern Apta Fortress, which was close to Orba’s village, had also suffered from attacks by Garbera’s mounted troops on many occasions.

Eventually, Garbera temporarily gave up on capturing Apta Fortress, and aimed for striking them by another route. And that was by setting up a trap. Targeting them when the majority of the troops stationed in Apta had been pulled back to the imperial capital, they immediately drove them into a siege.

Naturally, Apta Fortress was forced to a desperate, defensive battle. As it soon turned into holding out until the reinforcements came from the imperial capital, the Mephian army forcibly commandeered soldiers from the surrounding villages. And Orba’s older brother Roan was also one of them.

Of course, his mother screamed, crying. If there was only one hope his mother worked for within her nearly colorless life, it was probably his brother. Although she clung onto the soldier that tried to take away his brother, Roan gently placed a hand on her shoulder and said,

“It’s okay. Help will come from the imperial capital soon enough, so be patient until then.”

Besides, the pay was much better than that of a merchant’s assistant, he added with a laugh.

Orba, standing next to Alice, was seeing him off, watching the backs of several of the village’s youths crossing over the layers of rock.

''If I were just a little bigger'', Orba thought. ''I could go to the fortress instead of my brother. Then, mother would not have to be so sad either, and I may even receive a distinguished service among the soldiers.''

After his brother disappeared, his mother, who had always been so devoted to work, spent almost entire days in prayer, as if something inside her completely snapped. Although she sometimes remembered to stand in the kitchen and prepare a meal, when it came to the menu, she acted as if his brother Roan was about to return from the city, making only his favorite food. But when she recalled that he wouldn’t be at the dining table after all, his mother threw it all away in the backyard.

Meanwhile, Orba ploughed the neglected fields, and also took care of their few animals on his own. During the evenings, Orba would climb up a narrow road carved into the cliffs and always stare at the direction of the imperial capital, looking for rows of gorgeous armors, vast dust clouds from military dragons during their march, and the majestic figures of dragonstone battleships – but he never saw the sight he was hoping for.

And, when about three weeks had passed since his brother left, residents from a village beyond the valley, which was closer to the fortress than theirs, were bounding in, out of breath.

“The fortress has fallen!”

They came with the worst news.

Apta Fortress had fallen before the approaching Garbera forces. They said the commanders and main staff who guarded the fortress had started on the escape, leaving their soldiers behind. There were no reinforcements from the imperial capital at Apta, for they’d been sent to the natural stronghold of Birac, next to the ravine further to the north. So it seemed the imperial capital had already decided that that would be heart of the southern border’s line of defense. Apta had only been used to buy time.

And, concerning the land in between, the Garberan forces that were camped at the fortress, started ravaging the surrounding villages. There were acts of plunder and assault – raiding, so to speak.

The people of the village were in a hurry to gather their few belongings, although there was hardly any food with the harvest being near and they were limited to holding their own crops, and left the village in a rush. Those who had acquaintances in the vicinity hurried over there, while the people who did not, took a temporary refuge in the valley, until the Garberan soldiers left their village.

Obviously, Orba followed them, but in the midst of his escape, he noticed that his mother wasn’t around.

Startled out of his wits, Orba turned back to the village. Beyond the rocks towering over the area like hills, he could see the complete panorama of his village sinking behind the evening mists. Surely, she was still there. She was waiting for his brother to come back. For his brother, who may possibly never come back again.

“Orba, where are you going? Orba!”

As Alice’s voice called out behind him, he pushed the crowd aside and headed back in a hurry.

And when he managed to arrive at his destination, there wasn’t a single soul, the village had become as silent as death. Because he was familiar with the scenery, there was an eeriness as if he had wandered into another dimension instead.

From the other side of the valley, he could see a group of men and horses approaching, and Orba ran towards his house in a hurry. When he opened the back door, his mother was there. She was trying to prepare a meal as usual.

“Roan?” his mother said, turning around, but when her eyes fixed on Orba’s sweaty figure, she, miraculously, shrugged her shoulders. “Were you still playing, Orba? Just help me out a little, your brother will be coming home soon.”

Outside, sounds could slightly be heard of the voices of soldiers, chasing the animals that were left behind. Afraid of the smoke rising up, he hurriedly tried to stop his mother. However,

“What’s this, there’s nothing!”

“What a measly village. Even though those guys at Gascon had it better. It seemed they slept with all of the girls.”

“Isn’t there at least any alcohol? Go and look!”

As soon as he thought he heard those voices coming closer, the door was violently kicked down.

Three soldiers came in noisily, each of them equipped with a simple chain mail, lance, and sword. On their faces, blackened by dust clouds, only the eyes casted a unique white light.

“Oh, there’s a woman!”

“What, isn’t she too old? Besides, isn’t there any alcohol? Or something to eat?”

After staring at his mother, who was protectively holding the crouched Orba in her hands, they started vandalizing the house, doing as they pleased. Orba was crouching down completely, concealing his breath like a herbivore trying not to attract the attention of wild beasts.

When the Garberan soldiers smashed through the door, his eyes had caught sight of the wooden sword, which had been resting against it, rolling over the floor. But in the end, it was nothing more than a child’s toy. He hated being told that more than anything, and was more than eager to stare back at those kind of people, but now he understood it painfully.

Then, as the soldiers were ransacking through to the shelves, they grabbed the crude ceramic tableware from inside and carelessly tossed them aside. Making a loud sound, the broken pieces scattered over the floor. It took Orba by surprise, as they were the things his brother Roan used, and his mother, who had been submissive until now, rose up with such force that Orba got pushed aside. From there, she started clinging onto one of the soldiers’ back.

“Hey, what? What?”

“It looks like she wants to play with me!”

A red-faced soldier unwrapped his mother, turned her around, and pushed her down in place. He placed his hand in front of her mouth when she tried to raise a piercing cry, then took out a pointed knife hidden inside his chain mail, and thrust it before his mother’s pale face.

“Stop it, you’d take any woman, wouldn’t you?”

“The taste of a young lass is nice, but an old flower like her ain’t bad either.”

As he spoke his red face showed a vulgar smile, and the thread holding Orba’s tensed up feelings snapped. Raising an awkward cry, he charged in. It was a desperate assault, however, and he was easily blown back by a single arm.

Knocking the back of his head against the shelves, although stunned for a moment, Orba gnashed his teeth and immediately faced forward again. And, from the top of the shelf, there was something that fell down with a loud crash. It was something long and narrow wrapped in a bundle and, with the front part of it torn, it was emitting a silver shine before Orba’s eyes.

''This is…''

Hiding it by reflex, Orba hurriedly tore apart the bundle. As he’d expected, it was a shortsword about sixty centimeters long. The round pommel had Mephian-made characteristics. Matching its slender blade, the handle was also a little thin, fitting nicely into a child’s hand.

As he took a hold of it, several letters carved into the blade jumped into his eyes.

''O, R, B, A...''

It was only for an instant – with his mother’s screams, the sound of the red-faced soldier disorderly throwing off his chain mail, and the noise of the soldiers laying waste to the house. Although the frightening surge of black blood boiled in his body, he drove it far away and, in that instant, the thoughts squeezed together guided him to an explanation.

The blade was engraved only with ‘Orba’. Of course, he hadn’t known such a thing was in his house. He didn’t think his mother or other acquaintances would’ve especially prepared it for him. For all he knew, couldn’t this be nothing but a present from his brother Roan?

But Roan should’ve handed over the money he got for his services to his mother. Besides, a blade like this could not be purchased in ordinary towns. Most likely, after going to Apta Fortress, he got provided with weapons as a soldier, and he’d asked the blacksmith stationed at the fort to engrave his name.

And then, he left it with the caravan that went circled the fortress and the towns. But when it arrived at his house, his mother must have accepted it. Thinking, afterwards, that it shouldn’t be crossed over into Orba’s hands, she most likely intended to keep it from her son’s sight. She probably thought that it was too dangerous for Orba, or maybe she was afraid that Orba would go away like Roan if he had a sword in hand.

At any rate…

“Hey, what’s that you’re holding?” a soldier called out from Orba’s crouched back. “It looks like you’re holding something valuable. Hey, why don’t you show me?”

“This is mine!”

“That’s not for you decide, but for me. Now, give it here.”

The soldier ridiculing Orba put a hand on his shoulder trying to get him out of the way with force. It was more than enough.

''That’s right, Orba'', he responded to his own inner voice.

“I said, show me — gyahh!”

Turning around, Orba swung his sword downward. With blood spraying from the man’s shoulder, Orba slipped under the staggered soldier’s arm and raced towards the man who was bent over his mother.

The red-faced man tore his eyes away from his mother and jumped back. Quickly picking up his hand-axe, he then received Orba’s blow that was coming at him. Orba stood firm on both his legs and somehow tried to get his sword through, but still, the blade was short, and a child’s strength couldn’t push a hand-axe aside like that. However, instead of easily getting over matched, Orba made himself fall to the side.

“That brat…”

He swung down another blow with murderous intent. Orba rolled over to the side. After doing one rotation, the axe’s edge bit down there, right in front of his eyes. In that very instant, his blood froze up,

“Stop!”

His mother was clinging onto the red-faced man’s feet. Flying into a rage, the man kicked at her hands, turned around, and raised his axe even higher. When Orba saw it, the tension of his black blood – the anxiety, irritation, rage and other various emotions that had simmering in the boy’s body for such a long time – was about to be released from one single point, as if it had only now taken its final shape.

He stood up. Holding his sword with both hands, he forced it under his arm and slammed it, along with the rest of his body, into the soldier’s defenseless back.

The man’s back, as he’d taken off his armor, first received the blade considerably easy. Then there was a little firm resistance, but it also went through smoothly as Orba’s pushed it through with both hands, until, in the blink of an eye, the point of his sword finally pierced through the man’s chest.

Because Orba was also being dragged while the red-faced man staggered, he hurriedly let go of the sword. The man clashed with his back against the wall. After turning around to face the triumphant Orba, he made his mouth flap open and close, probably trying to say some sort of grudge, and threw up a huge amount of blood as he sank to the floor, until his bright red tongue drooped out and he no longer moved.

“You bastard!” the soldier who had his shoulder cut shouted, grimacing in pain.

“You killed Douga. You lowly brat.”

The other also shouted in a loud voice, and came rushing over at Orba. No longer holding a sword, Orba received a full body blow and rolled over on the floor again. He got kicked in the stomach, and stepped on his back.

“Mother and child both, I’ll hang your heads under the eaves.”

Crawling on all fours, the tip of the sword was thrust before the nape of Orba’s neck. His mother too, was lifted up, twisted by the hand, and placed in the same position next to Orba. No matter how much he wrested his body with all his strength, he couldn’t get rid of the weight of the man standing on his back.

“Let me go!”

“Ahh, right away. After you’ve turned into a corpse, that is!”

Orba, raising a bestial cry, was suddenly hovering in the moment that came between life and death. With a whishing sound of wind being cut as it was brought straight down. Finally, he shouted out his brother Roan’s name, when,

“What’s going on?”

Suddenly, the wind-cutting sound ceased. Orba, scrambled thoughts mulling in his head, realized it wasn’t his brother who’d appeared though.

The one who had newly come inside the house, was a Garberan soldier after all. However, unlike the soldiers that had broken in, he was armed all over his body, with not a single part untouched, and his armor too was shining in silver. He still had a young face.

For a short time the soldiers could be seen flinching from the intruder, but then,

“It is as you can see, Knight Apprentice Sir.”

“We’ve come to receive our fair reward after winning the battle. Just because you stood in distinguished service for a while, you’re clad as a knight after all, surely you haven’t come to stop such unrefined things like these, right?” the two explained grimly.

Feigning a courteous manner, there was clearly an air that they were making light of the man.

“Besides, look. Our comrade was killed. There’s no way soldiers with Garberan pride can let this go by without getting vengeance, right?”

The soldier who spoke tipped Orba’s body over at his foot, and established the sword’s aim with his other hand. What Orba’s eyes saw as he looked up at the ceiling, was the point of the sword, but then a single string of light came flashing from the side.

“What are you doing!”

“How pitiable. Vengeance, is it? You mean to say there’s any pride in that against a child?”

The armored youth had drawn his sword. It seemed like the man had felled that one soldier, for Orba realized the sword that should’ve pierced through his heart had somehow been repelled the to the side. The other roared something in a hoarse voice nearby. It sounded like he’d called out the armored man’s name, but Orba didn’t catch it at the time.

“Y-Your comrade… how dare you, bastard!”

“I don’t want to be called a comrade or such by inferior people like you.”

As he thrust out the blooded tip of his sword, the soldier stepped back.

“Inferior, you say? Even though you’ve got the same history. Just because you were blessed with the opportunity to make a distinguished service, you get carried away. Always chanting, knight, knight as if it’s your favorite word, but did you become a real knight? You don’t share a bloodline with the Garberan royal family, you’ll be an ‘apprentice’ your whole life. Know your place!”

Soon, the solider who seemed to be stepping back, quickly pulled something out from behind his back and brought it in front of him. It was a crossbow, fixed with a long and slender pedestal, and he released the trigger.

That instant, the armored youth nimbly turned aside. Making a single spin, as if dancing, he narrowly avoided the arrow and decapitated the soldier’s head. There wasn’t the slightest hesitation. The decapitated head whirled through the air, struck the house’s wall and rolled over the floor.

“Garbera is a country of knights. Instead of further defiling its name, receive the honor of being killed in action.”

His handsome looks, his way of fighting, and those words he murmured – it was all as if a hero had emerged from the books Orba read all the time.

“Commander, what’s the commotion!?”

A voice was raised from the outside, but he replied with “It’s nothing,” as he wiped the blood from his sword.

“You’re a child of Mephius?”

Orba didn’t immediately know what was a good answer to the question raised. It was not that he was especially conscious of the name of the country called Mephius, either. The people of Orba’s village, generally living in a world of only about ten kilometers surrounding the village, weren’t very interested in the country or its territorial disputes.

The man gave Orba a thin smile when he gave no answer, and glanced over at the soldier who’d sunk in a puddle of blood. Orba, his body suddenly freezing up, tightly held onto his mother’s shoulders. He started looking if there was any weapon within reach, when,

“Hurry and get away from here,” the young man said. “It was to protect your mother – right? You truly hold the spirit of a knight inside of you. Much more than the people of Garbera, who seem to have forgotten all about the knight’s way. Now, you may get out of here. I’ll try to stop the plunder and assaults as much as possible, but I can’t catch a hold on all of them.”

Those eyes, for some reason, resembled those of his brother Roan. Supporting the shoulder of his sobbing mother, Orba slowly faced the back door, then, pulling his mother by the hand, he ran away at full speed. A wintry wind blowing through the streets after sunset, struck his cheeks. Urging his mother, who kept muttering ‘Roan, Roan’, sometimes even shouting at her, they finally united with Alice and the village people after an hour.

After that, they followed behind Alice’s father and headed for a village that was fifteen kilometers upriver to the north.

Orba didn’t know if the young armored man had been true to his words, but at least from there on the random plundering was no longer carried out around Apta, which later became the territory of Garbera.

However, the flames were still approaching the village that Orba and the rest had succeeded in running away to earlier.

There were hardly any signs. Suddenly, ‘they’ came at them in full force and immediately started plundering. They were men who were completely harnessed in black. Provisions, clothes, and of course money and goods, all the things of possible value were taken by force. The people, too, were no exception. As soon as they arrived at the village they took the women, and impaled any man who tried to resist with spears from atop their horses, decapitated their heads with swords, and exposed them to gunfire.

Amidst all of the confusion, Orba lost sight of his mother. Just when he stumbled forward with impatience and fright,

“Alice!”

He spotted Alice getting bound by a soldier with her arms behind her back. Even though she was about to be dragged away, Alice was still screaming at him to run away. Completely losing himself, Orba leapt forward. The feeling of killing that one person still remained in his hands. And now he’d decided to do the same thing. He reached out his hand for the sword the soldier was carrying.

But, the moment he took a hold of the handle, he received a strong blow to the back of his head. The sight flickered before his eyes, and his consciousness was soon about to fade. Just before it did, he had a feeling he heard Alice’s voice calling out his name.

When he came to, Orba was lying on his back, spread-eagled, on the ground. His head was throbbing painfully. His consciousness was still a little dim, and he wasn’t even sure if he was dreaming or not.

“General Oubary , what do you want to do?”

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard that voice. Amongst the screams of men and women nearby, and firing in the distance, Orba secretly peeked through half-opened eyes at the one who had been called out to earlier.

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 069.jpg|thumb]]
It was a man atop a horse, holding a bottle of liquor which he’d most likely stolen. He was lightly and stylishly dressed in armor, bald, and had the majestic air of a giant. Even though he had such an serious appearance, there was violet lipstick on his thin lips, giving the elevated, sneering figure a strange kind of look.

“If all the valuables are gone, set fire to the lot. Leave not a single grain of wheat behind for Garbera.”

Saying those words, the man called general threw away his bottle of wine. It splashed against Orba’s cheeks.

“Very well, this village was burned by Garbera. Let the soldiers be thorough. They can have the women, but kill them when they’re done with them. Don’t even sell them off. You will supervise.”

Shortly after that, the screams and shouts died out. Instead, a hot wind roasted his skin, and an acrid stench started filling the air. When he finally managed to stand up, his surroundings had turned into a sea of flames.

There wasn’t a single person left alive. Orba roamed about the village, calling his mother and Alice’s name in a loud voice, while brushing away sparks of fire at his hands. But the only things that came into his sight were the slaughtered bodies of the village people. The bodies of the elderly, women, and children.

''That Oubary…''

With the place scorched all over, Orba’s whole body had become dark red with the blood and soot falling from overhead.

''Isn’t that Oubary… Apta Fortress’s…''

He remembered hearing about it. When the fortress had urgently been recruiting soldiers, he was sure the military men that appeared in the village had spoken the name. He was the veteran general who had been entrusted with the protection of the fort.

So that meant this had been the Mephian army. After the fortress fell, the troops including Oubary went north, ahead of Garbera’s pursuing troops, and burned down the village where Orba and the others had escaped to earlier. And they’d taken all spoils of wars before going back to the capital, so that Garbera couldn’t make use of it.

''I’ll kill them'', Orba vowed.

Mustering up the strength from somewhere in his body, although there had not even been one drop left behind earlier, the power that kept him going forward, it came from his unrelenting vow with the intent to kill.

Although he had no clear answers on whether to kill Oubary, the Garberan soldiers, or the Emperor, and on how to achieve those ends, for now, he just kept on walking.

<noinclude>

===References and Translation Notes===
<references/>
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|-
| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter1

2018-01-21T16:44:03Z

MondSemmel: minor grammar error

==Chapter 1: Iron and Blood==

=== Part 1 ===

The outcome was decided.

The amphitheatre of Ba Roux shook. The many spectators that were crowded together unanimously shouted out the victor’s name and stamped their feet, creating a racket that sounded much like a tidal wave.

While the winner was being bathed in the passionate and boisterous cheers, the one who had received the opposite fate lay motionless besides his feet. Eventually, the loser’s headless body was struck with a hook and dragged away by the hands of two slaves.

The sun was still glaring even though it was near evening. The spectators’ faces were covered with sweat and glittering brightly, as if someone smeared them with oil, and their eyes, too, were sparkling with bloodlust, as they anticipated the next fight to be yet another battle to the death. Whoever just won or lost didn’t stay on their minds for long. It was only the heat of battle that left an everlasting taste, stood in the air, and kept whirling around the arena.

“Go, go!”

“Do it, kill!”

Today was another success. Because the more virtuous people living in the city, for whom the admission fees were no more than about a child’s weekly allowance, were able to watch the games, over a thousand spectators were gathered.

The next match was a cavalry battle. Both men were armed with spears, emerging from the east and west gates, and crossed each other at a great speed. At the second charge, one of the men got flung off of his mount and, as he scrambled to get up again, the other swiftly jumped off his own horse to give the finishing blow.

Up next were two barely clothed men, who started to grapple each other with their bare hands.

They were sword-slaves, or so-called gladiators. In compensation for doing these public, life-threatening battles, these people were granted a few days of their lives and the minimum amount of food required to get by. Some of them were already born as slaves, some had been thrown into the arena for committing crimes, and there were even those who had personally applied to cast themselves into this living hell.

But if gladiators got well-known enough to become veterans, they received a different kind of popularity from the crowd. One of them, named Shique, was a handsome gladiator who was popular among women and had just won the brawling match. He was strangely pretentious, bowing in a way much like a nobleman would, and notably, shrill voices rose from the crowd.

“Did you see that, brother? Shique just won!”
<ref> She actually calls him お義兄様 ‘ogikei-sama’, which, in this case, means he’s her step-brother. However, she pronounces it as ‘onii-sama’.</ref>

It was the voice of a girl yet in the more tender years of age, who was sitting in one of the grandstands among the front row seats. High pillars, which rose from the corners in the left and right, supported a roof that covered the stand. Only those who were able to pay a large sum of money were able to view the match from these special seats.

From the looks of it, the young man resting his chin on his hands next to her, whom she called ‘brother’, seemed to be dissatisfied. With a long cloth wrapped around his head, the ends dangling from both the left and right just like a believer of Badyne, it looked like he was concealing his face from the glances of people around him.

“Ahh, it is as you say,” he said. “The gladiator you had your eye on won. Now, isn’t that enough? Can we hurry and get something to eat? This place is giving me a headache.”

"But it is only beginning, is it not? Did the smell of blood sicken you? You, the successor of the lands of Mephius?"

“Watch your mouth.”

Not at all worried about the youth’s clear jumpiness, the girl gave a fickle laugh.

The next fight had already started, so the young man was forced to stay after all and rested his cheeks on his hands again with a bitter look on his face. How much blood had to be splattered around, and how many sweaty muscles did she have to see before getting tired of it?

He occasionally stole a sidelong glance at the young girl’s white skin and beautiful face. She had an innocence that matched her age, but a strange sensual and mature beauty as well – it was a view much more charming than that of the savage fight below.

Then, after about two battles, a new stage was being set in the arena. One huge stake got established in the centre, and a single woman was fastened to the top. She was a beautiful woman. Purposely made to wear torn clothes, each time she writhed in pain, her breasts and thighs swayed about while whistles came from the heated male audience.

However, the woman was in no position to be bothered with their obscene looks, for at the same time the stake got put up, a big cage with approximately the same height was carried in.

Inside was a raging beast that was roughly seven or eight metres long. Its slimy, green scales were flickering in the sunlight. It was a large dragon. Bred through repeated selective breeding by humans, it was of a variety called ‘Sozos’ that Mephius also used in wars.

Its clenched, humongous teeth, and each of its claws extending from six legs, were just like sharp swords. Probably because it was drugged, it seemed to have a somewhat repressed ferociousness and dulled instincts, but being hit by that bulk would nevertheless cause serious injuries, and it looked like it could blow away the steel cage like a toy.

“Now then! Gathered ladies and gentlemen!”

Suddenly an orator standing on an elevation began to speak over a loudspeaker, eager to finish his speech before the beast broke out.

“Next, is the start of our programme. The great dragons once roamed the earth and have likely established our culture, now they are no more than this bloodthirsty, simple beast we look down on. There is no need to fear. We are the brave souls, the purest of minds, that took over from an era of space voyage. Not even by the dragon’s tusks and claws – not to mention its fearsome, terrible breath! – will we be outdone. Please, take a look at the evidence. Behold the figures of these brave men who challenge this dragon of old, this beast of a terrifying false god!”

From the eastern gate, a single gladiator stepped forward. In the man’s hands, who sported a muscular body, was an iron ball connected to a chain.

“Ballchain Verne!”

The audience’s cheers became even louder, for he was a gladiator who could pride himself in being one of the most famous fighters in Ba Roux. The man was about in his mid-thirties with dark skin, and he responded by waving a hand to the ladies and gentlemen in the audience. Then,

“It’s the Tiger!”

“Look, Iron Tiger Orba!”

A swordsman, also alone, walked out, but from the western gate.

"How eccentric," the young man commented on the steel blue mask that was covering the gladiator’s face. As if imitating a tiger, small fangs protruded up from the lips, leaving only a small space for the mouth of this man named Orba underneath. Cut out into two splits were openings where the tiger’s eyes would’ve been, but naturally it was only Orba’s eyes peeking through. And, despite a tiger normally having rounded ears, the mask had pointed ends at both sides instead – it was almost as if horns were coming out from the corners.

However, that was all; he had no other outstanding character features. In comparison with Verne, he had an almost feeble body build, and he only held a simple, common longsword in his hand.

The spectators started ridiculing him, saying,

“Look at his thin body. Just one hit of the ballchain will completely smash him up!”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 022.jpg|thumb]]

“They say he took off Meier the Baron’s head at the Arena of Tidan after only two strikes. Let’s see him do the same to our Verne. Go on then!”

“This Iron Tiger Orba,” the girl said, as her cheeks blushed with excitement. “Isn’t this his first appearance in Ba Roux? But he seems to be famous. Do you know of him, brother?”

“How should I know?”

“My, what a cold reply. Fine, if you’re so bored with being here, why don’t we have a little bet on this game? Maybe it’ll end up getting you a little interested.”

“A wager, is it? For what, and how?”

“Simple. Of those two about to fight, who do you expect to win?”

“That’s stupid. How’s that even a bet? Even I know the name of that Verne guy. And his physique is way better. Even an amateur can see that. You're just trying to rip me off, betting on the clear victor yourself, aren't you?”

“My, you’re a difficult customer! But that’s fine. You can just sulk away like that as long as you like. And I even thought of bringing you along so you could have a little distraction. But I got it, I understand – you hate spending time with Ineli. If that’s the case, I will never invite you again, don’t worry!”

The girl stiffly turned away her face, as the young man panickingly stopped resting his chin on his hands.

“W-Wait. I was wrong,” he said. “I’ll bet on that masked swordsman. That’s what you want, right?”

“No. Ineli decided to bet on that swordsman first. You can take Ballchain Verne, brother.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I like him.”

''Even though you can't see his face?'' – was what the young man was about to say, but he stopped himself in time. He couldn’t afford to displease her even more.

“Now then,” the orator said, raising his voice again. “Will Orba or will Verne take up the role of the hero and set that woman free? Or will these rivals be fighting in vain, as the cage breaks and this poor, beautiful lady ends up in the dragon’s stomach?”

From there on, the two swordsmen would battle, and the winner would rescue the woman – or, as the orator stated, ‘a certain princess from a ruined country’ – from the dragon’s clutches, and also earn a night of love-making. Or so the scene was set out to be.

The two men both stepped forward at the same time. As they approached each other, the lack in Orba’s physique became all the more apparent. Verne spoke in a voice that could be heard by those in the front row seats.

“So, you call yourself a tiger, huh? I’ve heard your name. But, there’s nothing more unreliable than a rumour. You can try to hide your face, but I can see the skin underneath. You’re still young, just a kid.”

Ballchain Verne’s thick lips, in proportion to the rest of him, bent into a smile.

“I’m sure the mask is just a bluff so people won’t make fun of you. You’re not a tiger, you’re just a mangy cur! I’ll teach you what a real man’s battle truly is all about!”

Facing Verne, who was loudly laughing at his shoulders, Orba didn’t reply. Probably assuming his nerves were blown away, Verne gave a sneering look, took up a defensive stance, and slung the ballchain over his shoulder.


“Start!”

There was a pointed signalling voice, but it halfway disappeared into the further increasing sound of the audience’s cheers. In an instant, Verne made his move.

He wielded the iron ballchain with all his strength. At first, the masked swordsman was about to rush in, but, as if panicked by his sheer force, he quickly stepped back. There was a small spark as the iron ball chafed against the mask. It was enough for Verne to take pursuit of the stumbling Orba. The huge iron ball, which was much larger than a human head, approached with the howling of the wind, and Orba continued to avoid it by stepping back.

He rolled over the ground, excessively jumped aside, and finally bustled about by making an evasive gesture – which invited laughter from the spectators.

“Look at that, it seems the swordsman you like can’t get out of a tight spot,” the same young man said. “Or could it be that this fight isn't so fair and square?”

“You think?” the girl said, looking straight ahead as she put a finger to her plump and florid lips. “If that’s so, then why hasn’t the match ended yet?”

“That’s because his opponent keeps pitifully running from place to place.”

“I wonder why Verne can’t corner an opponent who so clumsily keeps running away.”

The young man wanted to say something in return but kept his mouth shut. As he watched, he noticed that Orba wasn’t outright retreating, but kept circling around his opponent while maintaining a fixed distance. And it looked like Verne was no longer able to attack and pursue his opponent so hastily either.

Probably because he lost his temper, Verne put all of his strength into tossing another blow. The iron ball flew past Orba’s shoulder and – although it seemed obvious to the bystanders that this was like a golden opportunity – he only returned a slight thrust with his sword, while once again taking his distance.

“Get serious!”

“Stop messing around!”

The audience stopped laughing and started jeering down at the arena. Not only at Orba, but also at Verne who didn’t seem able to take down his constantly fleeing opponent.

“You bastard!” Verne howled.

When he tried to rush at Orba diagonally, the girl suddenly raised her voice, “Ah!”, in surprise.

Orba, who had until now only retreated backwards, suddenly started to pitch forward. Stopping in his tracks, Verne, too, took the opportunity to strike another blow.

Orba tilted his body wide to the right, avoiding the iron ball and, as he rotated on his left toe, flashed his sword in a diagonal uppercut. The moment the chain got cut apart, a strange, clear sound echoed throughout the arena, then Orba twisted his body again and swung his sword downward with the force of a thunderbolt.

Verne’s cranium was split in two and the giant collapsed soon after.

“M-Magnificent!” the orator cried.

However, because it had happened so swiftly and came with such an unexpected conclusion, the audience was looking rather flabbergasted. Although the awkward silence wrapped around the arena, the victor didn’t seem to care either way and headed up to the stake, and, borrowing the hands of a number of slaves to lift it from the ground, used his sword to cut the ropes that kept the woman bound.

With a shout of delight, she joyfully clung onto his neck, only to be pushed away with a confused look on her face as Orba immediately started to return to his gate.

The girl in the special seat – she had also been staring agape at the sudden fall of the curtain – slowly began to form her lips into a smile. That gladiator named Orba didn’t seem aware of the audience at all. As if stating the only reason he was here today was to fight, and to kill as he was told.

“He… took out Verne.”

“With one blow.”

After that moment of silence, voices praising Orba began to raise little by little. Now that the mood had grown uneasy for the visitors, slowly the clapping of hands, the awkward stamping of feet, and cheers appropriate for a victor started to fill the stands. Then, almost at the instant the arena had returned to the state it was supposed to be in, the air shook heavily.

It was the roar of the Sozos Dragon.

It might have been the drug wearing off, or an instinctive reaction to the smell of blood, but all of a sudden it started swaying its enormous body from right to left, shattering a portion of its cage. One of the slaves who’d been in the process of towing everything away, was caught and raised from the head by the dragon’s claw. Before he could resist, his torso disappeared into the Sozos’s mouth.

There was the sound of breaking bones. And at the same time as the awful sound of salivated chewing could be heard, the arena grounds were suddenly filled with screams. In the midst of all the fear and panic that rapidly swept over the area, the Sozos rather calmly stretched out its limbs further and emerged from the broken cage.

Being pulled along into the crowd that strived to be the first to escape, the young man from earlier almost fell to the floor. But then, he was pulled along by a hand from the side.

“This way. Hurry!”

It was one of the soldiers who’d been guarding the special seats. As he rattled around with a sword and gun, he tried to bring the young man back inside.

“W-Wait. Ineli’s…”

Although he tried to resist, he couldn’t move freely as he kept being jostled by the crowd of people trying to escape. Then, he heard a suspiciously familiar, high-pitched scream. Right in front of the Sozos’s forepaws beyond the dividing wall, was a figure that belonged to no one other than Ineli. The girl had turned a pale colour as she had tumbled over from the gallery, and it looked like she was about to lose consciousness any minute.

The dragon’s long snout opened from top to bottom. As the rows of tusks, similar to sharp pointed swords, opened up, they formed long threads of slaver. The young man was about to involuntarily avert his eyes, when a thin streak of blood spouted from the Sozos’s neck. The gladiator arena’s employed guards had rushed in with guns. However, because they were close to the seats, they could only shoot at point-blank range, and from the way they stood, they hardly had the nerve. While they were conflicted at what to do while it approached, the Sozos turned around quickly and hit them with a single blow of its tail, fully sending several people flying.

The girl had sank down to the floor, her eyes opened wide looking at her surroundings.

Then, from those eyes, she saw.

There was a shadow that ran past the Sozos’s flank like a gust of wind. Just before it came up against the brick wall that divided the seats from the ring, the shadow kicked against it and soared up into the air. A man with a tiger-imitating iron mask jumped into the girl’s sight, the figure of Orba the gladiator landing on top of the Sozos’s head.

Even though she had just witnessed him running up to the Sozos from behind while the dragon was distracted by bullets, she couldn’t suddenly believe it.

Despite Orba’s slim body, his joints and muscles seemed to fortify his arms like steel as he grabbed a firm hold of the dragon’s neck. While further sandwiching its neck between his legs, he held on tight with one arm and, with his other, brought his sword down into the head.

It swung its long tail around and rocked the ground by stamping its feet, but the dragon still struggled, not able to shake off the gladiator. It shook off a second strike. But the third tore through its scales, as tough as iron armour, and pieces of flesh and blood got splattered about. However, the sword broke when it came to the fourth strike, but at that time the other gladiators rushed in.

“Orba!”

Receiving a thrown sword from a brown-skinned swordsman, Orba once again raised it for a fifth attack, following the exact same process as earlier, until he fully caved the middle of the blade into the crown of the dragon’s head.

Its golden eyes goggled longingly at the skies. Just before its huge body sunk from the neck, the swordsman had swooped down next to the guest seats.

The girl, still kneeling on the floor, was looking up at him. It was almost as if he came from a tale, for she felt like a princess caught by an evil wizard, and although she fixed her eyes on him with a throbbing heart, of all things, the would-be-hero gladiator continued his walk, completely ignoring her, and nimbly jumped off the dividing wall and back into the ring.

There was still a cloud of chaotic fear hanging over the arena as he showed her his back and took his leave, but rather than drifting the air of a victor, he looked more like a solitary figure that could hardly endure the stares on him.

“A-Are you okay?”

She turned her eyes to the young man she had brought with her, who came running up to her with bated breath, and suddenly got an odd sensation. She had only seen it with a passing glance earlier, but the eyes underneath that swordsman’s mask seemed to closely resemble those of the young man.

And there was yet another man who focused a long look at Orba’s back, surprised for another reason.

“No way, he is alive.”

He wiped the sweat from his slightly slacking chin with the back of his hand. Standing behind the young man’s back - he was also one of the men who’d been at the special seats - he was speaking to himself in wonder as the unique smell of blood drifted about.

“Orba was his name? Two years... Two entire years, huh.”

=== Part 2 ===

“Two years.”

The gladiator, Orba, staring up at the darkness surrounding him, suddenly murmured those words in his mouth.
Although only ‘two years’ into this line of work, it had been full of hardships, blood, and corpses. How many times had he struggled for his life, only to have both his feet chained at the end, spend the night in the slave pens, where his only pastime was to train all morning in order to keep living as a sword-slave? And then there would be another fight.

No one, except Orba himself, expected him to be able to live through more than five battles. Two years ago, when Orba first set foot in the arena, he’d still been fourteen years old. His body had been even thinner than it was now, and he’d hardly been able to handle the weapons.

However, at the moment of truth, he’d survived. He brandished the weapon held in his hands, chosen from one of the few weapons he was able to wield, to the limits of his power. He only knew how to fight by recklessly charging in. As he gained experience, his skill, the thickness of each of his muscle fibres, the mastery of new weapons, as well as the opponent’s corpses he stepped over, increased every time he emerged from another fight.

And so, two years passed. Orba didn’t know whether that was a long or a short time. Sometimes, he thought he was a considerably old person, but he also felt like a youngster at times who still didn’t know anything at all about battles.

Anyway, maybe it simply had to do with the fact, that he had not been blessed with the opportunity to see his own face. Lying face up, he was still wearing the same iron mask he wore in the battle ring. Because it had never been removed those two years, the other sword-slaves belonging to the same Tarkas Gladiatorial Group had no way of knowing his true face.

“Get up, slaves! You hate wakin’ up? Then get ready for your worst day yet!”

When morning came, another day for the slaves began. The one in charge of training the sword-slaves, and the slaves’ main supervisor, was Gowen, who drove everyone from their bedrooms and made them start cleaning the accommodations.

When that was finished, taking care of the lions, serpents, boars, tigers and the like – the animals that were used in the arena – was waiting. In particular, taking care of the dragons was hard work. Even taking care of the small- and medium-sized dragons was too much for a single person to handle, but taking care of the large-sized Sozos dragons was far worse. While it was expected for slaves to die by the sword, many had also been crushed underfoot by these dragons that were purposefully trained not to grow accustomed to humans.

Orba set foot in the vast dragon’s abode, which was much larger than the slaves’ dwellings – far from it – and resembled a castle courtyard, but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed the back of a woman.

She was Hou Ran. Of all the other slaves ordered to feed the dragons, she was the only one who directly touched the dragons’ scales. Of course, the dragons’ legs and necks were wrapped in chains, as it was not necessary to carry out yesterday’s example, but that was by no means an absolute guarantee. At a distance that would even cause a gladiator to hesitate, greeting each dragon one by one, she gently touched their scales with her fingers.

“Orba.”

Calling out his name, she quickly turned around.

“So I’ve been found out.”

“I’ve been told by the ‘voice’ of the dragons.”

Ran smiled. She seemed truly unsuitable in an all-men, not to mention savage, sword-slave detention camp, and Orba still hadn’t gotten used to her defenceless smile.

Her skin like polished ebony, combined with hair that seemed to have turned pale, gave off a mysterious charm. Originating from the Dragon God worshipping nomads that roamed in the western mountains of Mephius, unlike her primarily reclusive kin, Ran had exceptionally been brimming with curiosity, secretly boarded one of her tribe’s caravan wagons and came over to the outside world. Because she never told him exactly what had happened after that, he did not know when Tarkas hired her, and how she could take care of the dragons single-handedly like this.

“Do these guys know my name?”

“Their ‘voices’ come like images into my head. They all know your face, Orba. You’re liked by the dragons.”

While it appeared idiotic, in fact, it seemed like her pupils, clearly giving the impression of being deep under the sea, held some kind of intelligence lost to civilized men. From the other side of the fence, the small-type dragons were poking out their snouts and snapping at him.

“It doesn’t look that way,” Orba said with a thin smile.

At the time Orba turned up two years ago, Hou Ran was already at the detention camp. Back then, although she didn’t make direct eye contact with the others employed by Tarkas, she didn’t even open her mouth to him. Whether they would see Orba’s face or hear Ran’s voice first, soon became the target of bets among the sword slaves short of entertainment.

But, one time, Ran was about to be roughed up by several new sword-slaves who’d recently come into the camp. Orba just happened to pass by and had beaten them up, and ever since then Ran had at least been able to speak to him a bit.

“I heard you were attacked by a Sozos at Ba Roux.”

“''I'' was the one who attacked the Sozos,” he emphasized. “It suddenly started getting violent.”

“Even with drugs, it’s useless to imprison its heart by force. If I had been the one supervising it, such a thing would have never happened.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 035.jpg|thumb]]

She bit her lips, but it was not because she was concerned about Orba or the visitors. With the figure of a girl patting the nape of a medium-sized Baian dragon in the corner of his eye, Orba finished his own work and left the dragon’s abode behind him.

After feeding the animals and cleaning was done, it was time to tend to their weapons. Because they left their own lives in their care, they carefully did them one by one. Whenever they handled weapons, about ten guards in full armour acted as supervisors. Naturally, they were there to make sure none of the sword-slaves tried to revolt.

Then, after finishing a meal with a sorry amount of bread and soup – the survivors of yesterday’s gladiator matches were treated meat and fruit as a reward – they each began their training at the start of noon. Just like when they’d been tending the weapons, there were armed soldiers on the lookout, but this time, the chains that connected both feet were taken off.

Sword-slaves that lasted over two years like Orba were extremely rare. Lives were lost one after another, and new faces always appeared again on the next day. Gowen tirelessly taught them the step work of how to hold a sword or how to handle a gun, and trained them thoroughly until they were fully prepared.

Orba also had some of the newcomers as opponents. Sometimes they clashed swords, just like in an actual fight, and it wasn’t uncommon for someone to part with a limb or lose his life in the midst of training..

Today, there weren’t any casualties. But that did not have to mean they were lucky. The next day may hold an even more miserable fate, and grislier deaths may be awaiting for these gladiators.

When all the faces of the sword-slaves had turned dark, their skin wet with sweat and covered in dust, Orba moved to the fence separating the training grounds from an aisle on the other side and caught sight of Tarkas’s figure.

Saying “At ease!” at the newcomer, Orba rushed up towards him.

Also noticing the masked man, Tarkas stopped in his tracks. There was a feeling of distrust slipping through his sagged cheeks.

“What is it, Iron Tiger? Ahh… good job yesterday.” He had a look on his face as if he just now remembered he forgot to feed his pet dog. “Verne was quickly becoming a well-known gladiator. The other gladiator troupe started talking about wanting to pit him against you. ‘Can’t we earn back all the money we invested in Verne that way?’ – don’t try that sarcastic bullshit on me. Well, I suppose I feel a bit grateful as well. And killing that Sozos—”

“Tarkas, how much longer do I have to continue winning?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s been two years already. I’ve kept winning all the time. How many times do I have to be the ‘main event’ like yesterday. Isn’t it about time you take these chains off of my feet?”

Sword-slaves, all of them, were each exchanged on a contract when bought by a merchant. Although Tarkas seemed to handle it quite vaguely.

“Don’t think I can’t read. Even a slave should have the right to look into my contract. I’ve been waiting here, Tarkas. I should’ve been allowed to leave a long time ago.”

As Orba spoke right in front of him, Tarkas sharply put a squinting look in his eyes.

“So, where do you plan to go? Surely you can be released from my hands, but you’ll still be a criminal. You don’t have the money to pay off your remaining prison term. Or maybe you want to work in the Tsaga Mines along the western border? Poisonous gases, wild man-eating beasts, human-hunting Geblin tribes, and – of course – extremely miserable and rigorous labour. If it’s the same hell, or if you think you may have it better off here, hurry up and get back to your training. And don’t ever speak to me like an equal, until you’ve become a full-fledged swordsman that earns his pay.”

Thrusting his thick finger in Orba’s face, Tarkas quickly took his leave, heading for his office. Behind him, unfamiliar faces followed suit. Considering this was a place where legs were tied up in chains, they were probably newly procured slaves.

Orba was silent. His eyes were teeming with rage however, but Tarkas’s words weren’t lies either. Concerning Mephian law, you can basically either sell your life or go to prison. Like the Mines of Tsaga that Tarkas spoke of – should he apply for the country’s public service, accompanied by dangers, and sell himself off as a slave there?

Grasping the fence tightly in his hands, he lost all sense of feeling in his fingers before he knew it, Orba remained there standing in place.

“What are you doing, Orba!? Get back here!”

After finally being rebuked by Gowen, he went back to practice. As always.

A few hours after that, after washing their bodies with a cupful of water, it was time for their second meal of the day. Orba, rounding up his body like a hunchback in the corner of the dining hall, was almost grasping at his food. As a habit, he couldn’t go through a meal without reading a book.

Then,

“Orba, good job yesterday.”

Another sword-slave, the one named Shique, nestled onto his back, and Orba roughly shook him off with his hand.

“That ballchain Verne chap. When the match was decided, I didn’t know what to do. If you seemed to get into a huge disadvantage, I considered shooting him down from the outside.”

“Go away. Unless you want me to wound that smug face of yours.”

“Ooh, scary. But I wouldn’t mind any wound you give me, for it’ll become a bond between me and you.”

Even though it was hard, despite Shique’s chuckling behaviour, to make an accurate judgement on whether he was serious or making a joke, Orba didn’t socialize with him either way. The handsomely Shique had grown out his hair and even used make-up when it came to a gladiatorial battle. And just like that, because it seemed to further his degenerate good looks, he was tremendously popular among the female crowd. Even though the person himself was a self-styled, huge misogynist.

“However, I expected no less from you, Orba. Even without me lending you a hand, you managed to make a truly magnificent performance. Are you, both in name and reality, Tarkas’s top gladiator, I wonder?”

“I wouldn’t say it was magnificent.”

Gowen, the one in charge of training the gladiators, made his appearance. Although Orba showed plain the annoyance in his eyes as he sat down at the same table, he didn’t seem to mind.

“Although you did well, it’s a fact that it was also dangerous. When you broke in, your timing was still too hasty. It’s a bad habit of yours to take risks when you’re driven into a corner, only if even by a bit. You should spend more time putting an effort into ensuring your predominance. Although Verne was a brilliant swordsman, he wasn’t the type to target his opponent’s weak points. But a more observant opponent could easily see through your quick temper, and sweep you off your feet.”

He was a grey-haired man in his mid-fifties, but he still had a stout and tanned body, and the peering glances he gave the sword-slaves were filled with intensity.

“His opponent was that Verne, though. That guy was, curiously enough, in perfectly good shape,” a new voice called out, belonging to Tarkas Gladiatorial Group’s number one giant, Gilliam.

He had been in the same arena as Orba and Shique the day before, carrying a battle-ax on his shoulder, and with that the three strongest sword-slaves were gathered together. With long auburn hair in as much disorder as possible, his face, grinning with clenched teeth, had a look as intimidating as that of a wild lion.

“When I heard you had to go against Verne, I honestly thought you ran out of luck. Well, you don’t have bad skills. But, as usual, you still don’t know what it means to be a gladiator. It’s worthless if you win gracelessly. It won’t satisfy the guests. The way you carelessly kept running from place to place and then suddenly decided the match with one blow was just not entertaining at all. You’ve got to hit them up front.”

For someone like a sword-slave, it wasn’t just about winning the match. You had to be popular, in short, make sure that a lot of visitors come to see that gladiator alone. Plain gladiators, after finally having earned a pile of money, would be thrown before wild animals or dragons on their own, only to satisfy the sadistic tastes of their customers.

That was why the gladiators – every one of them – strove to hone their skills, and also tried to appeal to the audience with flashy personalities in order to survive. Some decorated their body with gaudy armors, some made a show out of dragging out their opponent’s heart after their demise, while others inked their bodies with mysterious tattoos.

As for Shique, he dramatically claimed to be ‘a descendant of an ancient royal dynasty’.

“This time, go against me, Orba. I’ll teach you what it is to fight for real.”

“Not interested.”

“Haha, are you afraid of me?”

“Oh, I am. I’m scared. So, get lost.”

“You bastard!”

As Orba continued eating his meal in his usual stooped behaviour, Gilliam pushed him in the back.

“Stop it!” Gowen commanded.

If there was a disturbance, the soldiers belonging to the gladiatorial group would rush in, so for the time being Gilliam took his leave with a reddened face.

“Come to think of it, some strange newcomers have appeared,” Gowen said, after some time had passed, as if he suddenly remembered. It looked like he was talking about the ones Orba had seen too, trailing behind Tarkas back then.

“Strange? Like, with horns in their hair, and the bulge of a tail in the back of their pants?” a sword slave named Kain interfered.

He was a boy, the same age as Orba, who came to the detention facility a year ago and took after him. He wasn’t that great physically or with a sword, but he excelled in dexterity, especially when handling handguns or rifles.

“Or maybe a survivor from the Ryuujin<ref>Dragon people.</ref> Tribe, doesn’t that sound romantic?”

“Ryuujin, Geblin, or whatever type of person appears now, I probably wouldn’t even be surprised. This is a sword slave company after all, a trading place for all kinds of races.”

“It’s a much simpler story. I heard every last one of those guys hardly have any skill at the sword.”

“What…?”

Kain looked stretched out his arms, seemingly uninterested.

“I mostly can’t believe Tarkas would have bought a bunch of good-for-nothings without a grumpy face. But he seemed in an unusually good mood.”

“Oh?”

“Certainly. For a master like Tarkas, whose eyes are always dazzled by the shine of gold, it sounds really strange, right?”

“Good mood? That guy?” Orba said, remembering the situation with Tarkas during the day.

“I’ve known him longer than you. The only times I’ve seen Tarkas in a good mood was when he got the chance to earn a huge amount of money.”

“Then again, I wonder if it’s nobles who came to visit. About an exhibition match, or something like that. Those newcomers could’ve also been nobles who were asking to be bought. Or maybe they’re political offenders who opposed the Mephius Empire. Could there be a request for them to be gruesomely fed to dragons in public?”

“There’s a strange intensity to your words, because I can’t read your face.”

“Anyway, where’s the new book? It’s been three months since I’ve asked for it.”

Losing interest in the conversation, Orba inquired about something else. The other guys had all started raising different topics among themselves. By tomorrow, they were likely to fight as opponents even if they were gladiators working for the same firm. The idea of deepening a friendship more than necessary had never been in Orba’s mind from the start.

“Ahh, it’s been purchased. It’ll be here tomorrow. However… although it seems a little late to say this, you’re a bit unusual too. Of the guys here, even those that can read and write letters, I doubt they’ve ever read more than a hundred in their life.”

Plucking at a skin of chicken, Gowen glanced over at Orba.

“Sometimes, even I’m almost driven with the impulse to tear off that mask. What’s the true face that lies underneath? There are times I think you’re only a young wild brat, and there are times the cool-headedness of a man who has survived many battlefields peeks through. Yesterday was like that. You took the appropriate actions against a Sozos without flinching.”

“Are you praising me or not?”

“I’m praising you. Other than taking up a sword and fighting for yourself, you calmly consider the circumstances. Although I think you may actually be better suited as a leader, if not for that quick temper of yours. You like books about history and people, get absorbed reading them late into the night, and swallow their knowledge.”

When meeting him for the first time, basically from the time he was bought by the Tarkas company, Orba’s face had been covered by a mask. Ever since then, he hadn’t taken it off even once. Of course, everybody wanted to know why. They wanted to see his face. They wondered about his origins.

In the beginning, it worried Gowen that Orba met fists with them in response to their curiosity and suspicions. But when half a year had passed, he thought of the makeshift excuse that ‘a magician put a curse on it’ and after a year the teasing stopped, and soon nobody asked him about it anymore. Although some newcomers occasionally asked him about it, Orba was able to turn a blind eye.

“What do you gain from reading a book? At least, at the place where I was born and raised, you didn’t gain respect no matter how many books you owned.”

“It sounds like you’ve been raised by ape men or Geblin.”

“Watch your language, Orba. I think I’m especially kind to you considering the circumstances. If it doesn’t matter to you, I too can adopt that same attitude.”

Behaving like a man who couldn’t understand a joke was one of Gowen’s beloved habits. Orba revealed a stifled smile, but the deep-wrinkled sword-slave training official unexpectedly gave a serious look.

“As a sword-slave, normally, you only try your best to survive for the day. Some go back out into this corrupted world, but, because they can’t live without committing yet another crime, there are some people who are content being a sword-slave for the rest of their life, – although, for most, their ‘whole life’ would probably be very short – but, you’re different. You, at least, do not get absorbed in the killing and focus on the future. After that, I always think: Hey, what should I say to such a man? Should I tell him to throw away a future like that? When it’s only hard, even if you hold onto it with such devotion? Or should I tell him to seriously hold on to that hope? Because it will be the strength for him to live this through?”

“Did you secretly drink some alcohol, gramps? You’re talkative.”

“I’m being serious.”

Gowen stubbornly shook his head. Orba decided he had truly gotten drunk. Usually, Gowen wouldn’t have remained silent after being called ‘gramps’.

“Who is it that you fight for? The other sword-slaves, yourself, or do you have some other goal in mind?”

“I don’t know.”

Scuffing his words like a boy, Orba turned away his face. He didn’t want his inner feelings to be seen, where he was trembling like a child.

Finishing his meal, Orba quickly left the dining hall. Although the sword-slaves could walk about freely, there was nothing but the dining hall and the bedrooms at the detention camp. It was called a bedroom, but it wasn’t much different from a stable to keep livestock. As he lay down in a corner, Orba stared at his own hands.

It had been two years since then. Even today, he could remember it so well. And if he hadn’t confirmed it himself, those ‘two years’ would’ve been no more than a number. For two years, Orba had barely stayed alive, surrounded by the smell of blood, guts, and iron.

However, he killed, survived, did it all over again, and what was the point in all of that?

Orba turned over on the floor. He had already grown accustomed to the feel of his hard mask touching the ground. It was as Tarkas said. Even if he was freed from being a slave, he didn’t know more of how to live the ‘clever’ way of life, but it seemed that Gowen had misunderstood something – he was not waiting with hopes for a future like that. Supposing he did…

Under the thin shadow formed by fangs, Orba tightly gnashed his teeth.

''If I do live through this, then what do I do?''

It was decided. He was tired of doing things over and over in the arena, the massacres, the blood, the fights, killing each other. On the way back, he was never able to think of things like ‘it’s okay’ or ‘it’ll get easier’.

An inexplicable anger was stuck in the glitter of his eyes, on the other side of the mask.

''I’ll get it back. I’ll take it back. And for the ones who took it away from me, even though it is not enough, I will have them fully taste the pain of the agonizing cries from all the people I’ve killed these past two years.''

=== Part 3 ===

“So you were here, Orba.”

Roan suddenly showed his face.

Orba, who had been looking up at the night sky, rudely averted his eyes. As a punishment for neglecting to take care of the animals and play instead, his mother had taken away his supper, and now he was just outside the barn, sulking on his own. His face, as well as both knees he buried his face in, were full of scratches.

“Did you have another fight?”

“Not really.”

The quick-tempered Orba often quarreled with the other children in the neighborhood. Swinging around a wooden sword, he even went as far as the neighboring village to pick fights. The villagers that caught sight of his figure, almost falling forward as he raced through the fields, half-jokingly said,

“Oh, Orba’s doing his best again,” as they waved their hands and watched over him.
Of course, after having his fights, his mother scolded him to no end.

“Why don’t you follow your brother’s example,” was what she would always say.

His older brother was able to do anything. In the old days, he looked through a single book their father brought back when coming from the city for several times, and from that alone he was able to memorize reading and writing letters by himself. He also learned how to do basic math at a very young age. Around the time he turned ten, after begging a merchant from the city to take him in as an assistant, he was also supporting his poor family’s living expenses.

Orba on the other hand, although he’d learned reading and writing letters from his older brother, was terrible at math, and above all, he didn’t know what to do with his boiling hot blood.

Almost every night, he spent sleepless hours staring at the ceiling. His blood was always screaming in the dark. After fist fights and such, the prickling pain of his injuries seemed to overflow with the hotter, more painful black blood from deeper inside, as if it would simply jump out into the open.

At those times, he’d jump to his feet and go outside. And he’d pick up his wooden sword that was leaning against the barn. No matter how many times it had been confiscated by his mother, he always made a new one from scratch. It wasn’t uncommon, either, for him to swing around his sword until the break of dawn.

“It’s okay if you get into fights,” Roan said, sitting down next to Orba. “But you have to help mother out properly. Working as a single woman is very hard. You know that too, right?”

Along the southern border of the Mephius Empire, was a place commonly known as Drought Valley. While a valley where the river had dried up was quite common terrain in Mephius, this poor village in barren lands, whose name was not even written down on any maps, was where Orba had grown up.

Orba didn’t have many memories of his father. He passed away when he was two or three. While he’d been engaged in additional construction work for the Apta Fortress that protected the border south of the village, his father had unluckily fallen victim to a cave-in while he’d been digging through the cliff. Cutting through the valley’s steep cliffs instead of creating houses or buildings was often the case in Mephius, and his father had been such a construction worker.

“Father was a man born only to dig a dark hole in the ground.”

He remembered that, one day, his mother had said those words in a tone that was neither complaining nor at grief. With that said, his mother too, was a person who had no pleasure in always working hard from morning till evening, every day. She ploughed the barren fields, sold native clothes and towels she made at the City of Apta once every month, and made the nearly tasteless stew for the young brothers every day without ever getting tired of it.

Orba too, also passed through life without change or color, with his only pleasure being when his brother came back home for a break, two or three times a month, and brought along many different books.

Books written about the Old World where humankind once left its nest, books about Magic King Zodias, and, above all, historical novels with colorful illustrations or heroic stories, got Orba fully absorbed into them. Brave heroes swinging their swords to rescue a country full of dangers, beautiful maidens in thin clothes that were imprisoned in tall towers, vicious dragons revived from ancient ruins — things he’d never experience in a lifetime and the many dazzling adventures in those worlds made Orba engrossed, and whenever he closed a book, being back in that small, miserable reality surrounding him only made him despair.

He longed for the olden days, like the age where long sword-wielding barbarians were once kings. But the truth was, from the moment he was born, it was decided Orba would live his life sipping muddy waters, and if he wanted to do more in the future, it would be be much more difficult than bringing the dead back to life.

“You know, aniki<ref>Familiar/honorific way of saying ‘older brother’.</ref>,” Orba said, burying his head between his arm-wrapped knees. “I feel like doing something more.”

“You’re not even ten years old, are you? Worrying about such things doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m being serious. Look at all the adults here. Even I’ll become like that within another few years. Day after day, you work and work, but life won’t get any easier. I’ll marry someone sooner or later, a child gets born, and if the child’s an ‘unruly boy’ like me, one day he’ll surely say he wants to go to the city, be a soldier for Mephius, or ride a Garberan airship, and I’ll say something like, ‘Oh, in the old days, your father also held onto dreams like that’, and then I’ll probably laugh along with the other adults while drinking my tea.”

“Everyone’s like that,” Roan laughed, bathing in the pale moonlight.

Around this time, you could always hear singing voices coming from the house on the other side of the road. Listening to the cheerful voices of men who got drunk, although he wasn’t really paying attention, he said,

“Nobody knows what kind of person he’ll be. There are people who can’t live without working hard every day, people who sail over violent waves by boat, old philosophers who’ve buried themselves in thousand-year-old books, priests of Badyne who will preach their truth to numerous believers, many renowned generals who soar through the skies in dragonstone ships, and even country leaders who’ve subdued many territories at their feet. What they do in a day may be surprisingly different, whether they soak their swords with blood, drown in the letters of the alphabet, or even chant the name of God, but I think even they can’t provide you with an answer.”

“They don’t ever think about our living conditions. Even the king, who’s surrounded by luxuries I wouldn’t have the money for within a lifetime, and stuffing his stomach with delicious food every night. He sometimes takes a large army on a campaign, or gets shocked by betrayal, but every day he’s alive. I can’t even think of living such a life. I’ll never be able to. Neither the king nor the nobles, can even imagine what’s inside our dreams. Those people… Yes, take this night for example, they don’t even consider themselves to be looking up at the same moon as I am.”

“I wonder. It could be that, exactly because the king spends every day like that, he may sometimes feel a yearning to spending his life out in town. Maybe, to get away from the constraining life in the imperial court, he wants to go out to a sour-smelling bar sometimes and drown in cheap wine, listening to ridiculous stories, disgusted that, every day, he cannot relax his guard, not even for blood relatives. And he’ll probably think, ‘Ahh, wouldn’t it be easy to just go through life breaking a sweat', with no more worries about being targeted?’”


“That’s just a delusion. You mean he’s yearning for a life like ours? Just because he doesn’t know the difficulties and insecurities of such a life, he’ll only think of it on a whim.”

“Exactly. Isn’t that what I said? There isn’t a human being anywhere who understands everything, knows what he really wants, or knows who he truly is. I think everybody longs for what they don’t know, what they have not experienced, and they’re also looking for wherever there their true course may lie. In this sense, they’re no different from us.”

“I don’t know. Then, you mean even the king, even the great priest, is someone who’s not completely satisfied?”

But when his brother was about to answer,

“Why are you talking about such difficult things?”

Suddenly Alice appeared, swaying her dark brown hair slightly. It was then that they noticed the singing voices from the house across had completely stopped. It looked like the girl had finally come to put them to sleep.

While she seemed to have overheard just a little, Alice showed a dimpled smile,

“In the end, it’s nothing but pointless stuff. In this world, no matter where you’re from, first of all, Orba, you have to start by taking care of your mother and work earnestly, so that you can get to eat tomorrow.”

“Hear that, aniki? When they’re not interested in the conversation, women immediately find it difficult, insignificant, or have more important things to do.”

“That, too, is the truth,” Roan laughed merrily.

Alice was two years younger than his brother and three years older than Orba. And when Orba was even younger, they played as if Alice was a sister among the three.

Soon after, they enjoyed talking about memories of those days. When, by Alice’s suggestion, they went fishing at the river, and that same Alice nearly drowned as she slipped on the rocks. Or the time they went to see the caravan’s horses as it arrived at their village, and Orba got into trouble secretly trying to mount one, causing it to go berserk. Or when, because a boy from the nearby village said he ‘saw a wild dragon’, the three went to the rumoured place and got completely lost on the canyon’s intricate path. Although they finally did come home late, all three had to suffer though a good scolding…

“Anyway, wasn’t it because Doug from that village deceived us? Ever since that time, you’ve had a bad relationship, right? Even your opponent from today’s fight……”

“Shut it.”

The nail hitting him right on the head, Orba turned away his face. Although the reason he picked a fight with Doug was all because of Alice, he never spoke of it.

However, as they laughed and reminisced together like that for the entire evening, it was the last time he spoke with his brother in peace.

In those days, the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius and the Kingdom of Garbera were already at war with each other. It was said the Garberan cavalry recently crossed their border, although the two countries had a history of repeated conflict for some time, concerning the very definition of that border. The southern Apta Fortress, which was close to Orba’s village, had also suffered from attacks by Garbera’s mounted troops on many occasions.

Eventually, Garbera temporarily gave up on capturing Apta Fortress, and aimed for striking them by another route. And that was by setting up a trap. Targeting them when the majority of the troops stationed in Apta had been pulled back to the imperial capital, they immediately drove them into a siege.

Naturally, Apta Fortress was forced to a desperate, defensive battle. As it soon turned into holding out until the reinforcements came from the imperial capital, the Mephian army forcibly commandeered soldiers from the surrounding villages. And Orba’s older brother Roan was also one of them.

Of course, his mother screamed, crying. If there was only one hope his mother worked for within her nearly colorless life, it was probably his brother. Although she clung onto the soldier that tried to take away his brother, Roan gently placed a hand on her shoulder and said,

“It’s okay. Help will come from the imperial capital soon enough, so be patient until then.”

Besides, the pay was much better than that of a merchant’s assistant, he added with a laugh.

Orba, standing next to Alice, was seeing him off, watching the backs of several of the village’s youths crossing over the layers of rock.

''If I were just a little bigger'', Orba thought. ''I could go to the fortress instead of my brother. Then, mother would not have to be so sad either, and I may even receive a distinguished service among the soldiers.''

After his brother disappeared, his mother, who had always been so devoted to work, spent almost entire days in prayer, as if something inside her completely snapped. Although she sometimes remembered to stand in the kitchen and prepare a meal, when it came to the menu, she acted as if his brother Roan was about to return from the city, making only his favorite food. But when she recalled that he wouldn’t be at the dining table after all, his mother threw it all away in the backyard.

Meanwhile, Orba ploughed the neglected fields, and also took care of their few animals on his own. During the evenings, Orba would climb up a narrow road carved into the cliffs and always stare at the direction of the imperial capital, looking for rows of gorgeous armors, vast dust clouds from military dragons during their march, and the majestic figures of dragonstone battleships – but he never saw the sight he was hoping for.

And, when about three weeks had passed since his brother left, residents from a village beyond the valley, which was closer to the fortress than theirs, were bounding in, out of breath.

“The fortress has fallen!”

They came with the worst news.

Apta Fortress had fallen before the approaching Garbera forces. They said the commanders and main staff who guarded the fortress had started on the escape, leaving their soldiers behind. There were no reinforcements from the imperial capital at Apta, for they’d been sent to the natural stronghold of Birac, next to the ravine further to the north. So it seemed the imperial capital had already decided that that would be heart of the southern border’s line of defense. Apta had only been used to buy time.

And, concerning the land in between, the Garberan forces that were camped at the fortress, started ravaging the surrounding villages. There were acts of plunder and assault – raiding, so to speak.

The people of the village were in a hurry to gather their few belongings, although there was hardly any food with the harvest being near and they were limited to holding their own crops, and left the village in a rush. Those who had acquaintances in the vicinity hurried over there, while the people who did not, took a temporary refuge in the valley, until the Garberan soldiers left their village.

Obviously, Orba followed them, but in the midst of his escape, he noticed that his mother wasn’t around.

Startled out of his wits, Orba turned back to the village. Beyond the rocks towering over the area like hills, he could see the complete panorama of his village sinking behind the evening mists. Surely, she was still there. She was waiting for his brother to come back. For his brother, who may possibly never come back again.

“Orba, where are you going? Orba!”

As Alice’s voice called out behind him, he pushed the crowd aside and headed back in a hurry.

And when he managed to arrive at his destination, there wasn’t a single soul, the village had become as silent as death. Because he was familiar with the scenery, there was an eeriness as if he had wandered into another dimension instead.

From the other side of the valley, he could see a group of men and horses approaching, and Orba ran towards his house in a hurry. When he opened the back door, his mother was there. She was trying to prepare a meal as usual.

“Roan?” his mother said, turning around, but when her eyes fixed on Orba’s sweaty figure, she, miraculously, shrugged her shoulders. “Were you still playing, Orba? Just help me out a little, your brother will be coming home soon.”

Outside, sounds could slightly be heard of the voices of soldiers, chasing the animals that were left behind. Afraid of the smoke rising up, he hurriedly tried to stop his mother. However,

“What’s this, there’s nothing!”

“What a measly village. Even though those guys at Gascon had it better. It seemed they slept with all of the girls.”

“Isn’t there at least any alcohol? Go and look!”

As soon as he thought he heard those voices coming closer, the door was violently kicked down.

Three soldiers came in noisily, each of them equipped with a simple chain mail, lance, and sword. On their faces, blackened by dust clouds, only the eyes casted a unique white light.

“Oh, there’s a woman!”

“What, isn’t she too old? Besides, isn’t there any alcohol? Or something to eat?”

After staring at his mother, who was protectively holding the crouched Orba in her hands, they started vandalizing the house, doing as they pleased. Orba was crouching down completely, concealing his breath like a herbivore trying not to attract the attention of wild beasts.

When the Garberan soldiers smashed through the door, his eyes had caught sight of the wooden sword, which had been resting against it, rolling over the floor. But in the end, it was nothing more than a child’s toy. He hated being told that more than anything, and was more than eager to stare back at those kind of people, but now he understood it painfully.

Then, as the soldiers were ransacking through to the shelves, they grabbed the crude ceramic tableware from inside and carelessly tossed them aside. Making a loud sound, the broken pieces scattered over the floor. It took Orba by surprise, as they were the things his brother Roan used, and his mother, who had been submissive until now, rose up with such force that Orba got pushed aside. From there, she started clinging onto one of the soldiers’ back.

“Hey, what? What?”

“It looks like she wants to play with me!”

A red-faced soldier unwrapped his mother, turned her around, and pushed her down in place. He placed his hand in front of her mouth when she tried to raise a piercing cry, then took out a pointed knife hidden inside his chain mail, and thrust it before his mother’s pale face.

“Stop it, you’d take any woman, wouldn’t you?”

“The taste of a young lass is nice, but an old flower like her ain’t bad either.”

As he spoke his red face showed a vulgar smile, and the thread holding Orba’s tensed up feelings snapped. Raising an awkward cry, he charged in. It was a desperate assault, however, and he was easily blown back by a single arm.

Knocking the back of his head against the shelves, although stunned for a moment, Orba gnashed his teeth and immediately faced forward again. And, from the top of the shelf, there was something that fell down with a loud crash. It was something long and narrow wrapped in a bundle and, with the front part of it torn, it was emitting a silver shine before Orba’s eyes.

''This is…''

Hiding it by reflex, Orba hurriedly tore apart the bundle. As he’d expected, it was a shortsword about sixty centimeters long. The round pommel had Mephian-made characteristics. Matching its slender blade, the handle was also a little thin, fitting nicely into a child’s hand.

As he took a hold of it, several letters carved into the blade jumped into his eyes.

''O, R, B, A...''

It was only for an instant – with his mother’s screams, the sound of the red-faced soldier disorderly throwing off his chain mail, and the noise of the soldiers laying waste to the house. Although the frightening surge of black blood boiled in his body, he drove it far away and, in that instant, the thoughts squeezed together guided him to an explanation.

The blade was engraved only with ‘Orba’. Of course, he hadn’t known such a thing was in his house. He didn’t think his mother or other acquaintances would’ve especially prepared it for him. For all he knew, couldn’t this be nothing but a present from his brother Roan?

But Roan should’ve handed over the money he got for his services to his mother. Besides, a blade like this could not be purchased in ordinary towns. Most likely, after going to Apta Fortress, he got provided with weapons as a soldier, and he’d asked the blacksmith stationed at the fort to engrave his name.

And then, he left it with the caravan that went circled the fortress and the towns. But when it arrived at his house, his mother must have accepted it. Thinking, afterwards, that it shouldn’t be crossed over into Orba’s hands, she most likely intended to keep it from her son’s sight. She probably thought that it was too dangerous for Orba, or maybe she was afraid that Orba would go away like Roan if he had a sword in hand.

At any rate…

“Hey, what’s that you’re holding?” a soldier called out from Orba’s crouched back. “It looks like you’re holding something valuable. Hey, why don’t you show me?”

“This is mine!”

“That’s not for you decide, but for me. Now, give it here.”

The soldier ridiculing Orba put a hand on his shoulder trying to get him out of the way with force. It was more than enough.

''That’s right, Orba'', he responded to his own inner voice.

“I said, show me — gyahh!”

Turning around, Orba swung his sword downward. With blood spraying from the man’s shoulder, Orba slipped under the staggered soldier’s arm and raced towards the man who was bent over his mother.

The red-faced man tore his eyes away from his mother and jumped back. Quickly picking up his hand-axe, he then received Orba’s blow that was coming at him. Orba stood firm on both his legs and somehow tried to get his sword through, but still, the blade was short, and a child’s strength couldn’t push a hand-axe aside like that. However, instead of easily getting over matched, Orba made himself fall to the side.

“That brat…”

He swung down another blow with murderous intent. Orba rolled over to the side. After doing one rotation, the axe’s edge bit down there, right in front of his eyes. In that very instant, his blood froze up,

“Stop!”

His mother was clinging onto the red-faced man’s feet. Flying into a rage, the man kicked at her hands, turned around, and raised his axe even higher. When Orba saw it, the tension of his black blood – the anxiety, irritation, rage and other various emotions that had simmering in the boy’s body for such a long time – was about to be released from one single point, as if it had only now taken its final shape.

He stood up. Holding his sword with both hands, he forced it under his arm and slammed it, along with the rest of his body, into the soldier’s defenseless back.

The man’s back, as he’d taken off his armor, first received the blade considerably easy. Then there was a little firm resistance, but it also went through smoothly as Orba’s pushed it through with both hands, until, in the blink of an eye, the point of his sword finally pierced through the man’s chest.

Because Orba was also being dragged while the red-faced man staggered, he hurriedly let go of the sword. The man clashed with his back against the wall. After turning around to face the triumphant Orba, he made his mouth flap open and close, probably trying to say some sort of grudge, and threw up a huge amount of blood as he sank to the floor, until his bright red tongue drooped out and he no longer moved.

“You bastard!” the soldier who had his shoulder cut shouted, grimacing in pain.

“You killed Douga. You lowly brat.”

The other also shouted in a loud voice, and came rushing over at Orba. No longer holding a sword, Orba received a full body blow and rolled over on the floor again. He got kicked in the stomach, and stepped on his back.

“Mother and child both, I’ll hang your heads under the eaves.”

Crawling on all fours, the tip of the sword was thrust before the nape of Orba’s neck. His mother too, was lifted up, twisted by the hand, and placed in the same position next to Orba. No matter how much he wrested his body with all his strength, he couldn’t get rid of the weight of the man standing on his back.

“Let me go!”

“Ahh, right away. After you’ve turned into a corpse, that is!”

Orba, raising a bestial cry, was suddenly hovering in the moment that came between life and death. With a whishing sound of wind being cut as it was brought straight down. Finally, he shouted out his brother Roan’s name, when,

“What’s going on?”

Suddenly, the wind-cutting sound ceased. Orba, scrambled thoughts mulling in his head, realized it wasn’t his brother who’d appeared though.

The one who had newly come inside the house, was a Garberan soldier after all. However, unlike the soldiers that had broken in, he was armed all over his body, with not a single part untouched, and his armor too was shining in silver. He still had a young face.

For a short time the soldiers could be seen flinching from the intruder, but then,

“It is as you can see, Knight Apprentice Sir.”

“We’ve come to receive our fair reward after winning the battle. Just because you stood in distinguished service for a while, you’re clad as a knight after all, surely you haven’t come to stop such unrefined things like these, right?” the two explained grimly.

Feigning a courteous manner, there was clearly an air that they were making light of the man.

“Besides, look. Our comrade was killed. There’s no way soldiers with Garberan pride can let this go by without getting vengeance, right?”

The soldier who spoke tipped Orba’s body over at his foot, and established the sword’s aim with his other hand. What Orba’s eyes saw as he looked up at the ceiling, was the point of the sword, but then a single string of light came flashing from the side.

“What are you doing!”

“How pitiable. Vengeance, is it? You mean to say there’s any pride in that against a child?”

The armored youth had drawn his sword. It seemed like the man had felled that one soldier, for Orba realized the sword that should’ve pierced through his heart had somehow been repelled the to the side. The other roared something in a hoarse voice nearby. It sounded like he’d called out the armored man’s name, but Orba didn’t catch it at the time.

“Y-Your comrade… how dare you, bastard!”

“I don’t want to be called a comrade or such by inferior people like you.”

As he thrust out the blooded tip of his sword, the soldier stepped back.

“Inferior, you say? Even though you’ve got the same history. Just because you were blessed with the opportunity to make a distinguished service, you get carried away. Always chanting, knight, knight as if it’s your favorite word, but did you become a real knight? You don’t share a bloodline with the Garberan royal family, you’ll be an ‘apprentice’ your whole life. Know your place!”

Soon, the solider who seemed to be stepping back, quickly pulled something out from behind his back and brought it in front of him. It was a crossbow, fixed with a long and slender pedestal, and he released the trigger.

That instant, the armored youth nimbly turned aside. Making a single spin, as if dancing, he narrowly avoided the arrow and decapitated the soldier’s head. There wasn’t the slightest hesitation. The decapitated head whirled through the air, struck the house’s wall and rolled over the floor.

“Garbera is a country of knights. Instead of further defiling its name, receive the honor of being killed in action.”

His handsome looks, his way of fighting, and those words he murmured – it was all as if a hero had emerged from the books Orba read all the time.

“Commander, what’s the commotion!?”

A voice was raised from the outside, but he replied with “It’s nothing,” as he wiped the blood from his sword.

“You’re a child of Mephius?”

Orba didn’t immediately know what was a good answer to the question raised. It was not that he was especially conscious of the name of the country called Mephius, either. The people of Orba’s village, generally living in a world of only about ten kilometers surrounding the village, weren’t very interested in the country or its territorial disputes.

The man gave Orba a thin smile when he gave no answer, and glanced over at the soldier who’d sunk in a puddle of blood. Orba, his body suddenly freezing up, tightly held onto his mother’s shoulders. He started looking if there was any weapon within reach, when,

“Hurry and get away from here,” the young man said. “It was to protect your mother – right? You truly hold the spirit of a knight inside of you. Much more than the people of Garbera, who seem to have forgotten all about the knight’s way. Now, you may get out of here. I’ll try to stop the plunder and assaults as much as possible, but I can’t catch a hold on all of them.”

Those eyes, for some reason, resembled those of his brother Roan. Supporting the shoulder of his sobbing mother, Orba slowly faced the back door, then, pulling his mother by the hand, he ran away at full speed. A wintry wind blowing through the streets after sunset, struck his cheeks. Urging his mother, who kept muttering ‘Roan, Roan’, sometimes even shouting at her, they finally united with Alice and the village people after an hour.

After that, they followed behind Alice’s father and headed for a village that was fifteen kilometers upriver to the north.

Orba didn’t know if the young armored man had been true to his words, but at least from there on the random plundering was no longer carried out around Apta, which later became the territory of Garbera.

However, the flames were still approaching the village that Orba and the rest had succeeded in running away to earlier.

There were hardly any signs. Suddenly, ‘they’ came at them in full force and immediately started plundering. They were men who were completely harnessed in black. Provisions, clothes, and of course money and goods, all the things of possible value were taken by force. The people, too, were no exception. As soon as they arrived at the village they took the women, and impaled any man who tried to resist with spears from atop their horses, decapitated their heads with swords, and exposed them to gunfire.

Amidst all of the confusion, Orba lost sight of his mother. Just when he stumbled forward with impatience and fright,

“Alice!”

He spotted Alice getting bound by a soldier with her arms behind her back. Even though she was about to be dragged away, Alice was still screaming at him to run away. Completely losing himself, Orba leapt forward. The feeling of killing that one person still remained in his hands. And now he’d decided to do the same thing. He reached out his hand for the sword the soldier was carrying.

But, the moment he took a hold of the handle, he received a strong blow to the back of his head. The sight flickered before his eyes, and his consciousness was soon about to fade. Just before it did, he had a feeling he heard Alice’s voice calling out his name.

When he came to, Orba was lying on his back, spread-eagled, on the ground. His head was throbbing painfully. His consciousness was still a little dim, and he wasn’t even sure if he was dreaming or not.

“General Oubary , what do you want to do?”

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard that voice. Amongst the screams of men and women nearby, and firing in the distance, Orba secretly peeked through half-opened eyes at the one who had been called out to earlier.

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 069.jpg|thumb]]
It was a man atop a horse, holding a bottle of liquor which he’d most likely stolen. He was lightly and stylishly dressed in armor, bald, and had the majestic air of a giant. Even though he had such an serious appearance, there was violet lipstick on his thin lips, giving the elevated, sneering figure a strange kind of look.

“If all the valuables are gone, set fire to the lot. Leave not a single grain of wheat behind for Garbera.”

Saying those words, the man called general threw away his bottle of wine. It splashed against Orba’s cheeks.

“Very well, this village was burned by Garbera. Let the soldiers be thorough. They can have the women, but kill them when they’re done with them. Don’t even sell them off. You will supervise.”

Shortly after that, the screams and shouts died out. Instead, a hot wind roasted his skin, and an acrid stench started filling the air. When he finally managed to stand up, his surroundings had turned into a sea of flames.

There wasn’t a single person left alive. Orba roamed about the village, calling his mother and Alice’s name in a loud voice, while brushing away sparks of fire at his hands. But the only things that came into his sight were the slaughtered bodies of the village people. The bodies of the elderly, women, and children.

''That Oubary…''

With the place scorched all over, Orba’s whole body had become dark red with the blood and soot falling from overhead.

''Isn’t that Oubary… Apta Fortress’s…''

He remembered hearing about it. When the fortress had urgently been recruiting soldiers, he was sure the military men that appeared in the village had spoken the name. He was the veteran general who had been entrusted with the protection of the fort.

So that meant this had been the Mephian army. After the fortress fell, the troops including Oubary went north, ahead of Garbera’s pursuing troops, and burned down the village where Orba and the others had escaped to earlier. And they’d taken all spoils of wars before going back to the capital, so that Garbera couldn’t make use of it.

''I’ll kill them'', Orba vowed.

Mustering up the strength from somewhere in his body, although there had not even been one drop left behind earlier, the power that kept him going forward, it came from his unrelenting vow with the intent to kill.

Although he had no clear answers on whether to kill Oubary, the Garberan soldiers, or the Emperor, and on how to achieve those ends, for now, he just kept on walking.

<noinclude>

===References and Translation Notes===
<references/>
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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Prologue

2018-01-21T16:35:19Z

MondSemmel: fixed minor grammar errors

==Prologue==

“The princess is not there?”

“Indeed,” head maid Theresia explained with as bitter a look as possible. “Until a while ago, she was having tea with us in the central garden. Then she suddenly stated that she wanted to see the castle in the light of the setting sun from the roofs of Shikou Palace.”

“Shikou Palace… come to think of it, isn’t that where the airship departure point is!?” the head of the western palace guard shouted in dismay.

"My!" Theresia made a face as if she just realized it for the first time as well. “What should we do? The princess is among the best pilots in our country. In the last race too, although she admirably became the runner-up, she flew into a rage, as if there was no meaning to it if she didn’t end up in first place. She was about to throw away the trophy of all things, and we were desperate to stop her.”

“Is that so? N-No… we shouldn’t get into that right now.”

While the captain started getting flustered, his subordinates behind him looked at each other apprehensively.

“What might she be up to?”

“I suppose she is planning on making a casual round of the capital on an airship. She must feel reluctant to leave.”

“No, it’s ''that'' princess. I’m sure she suddenly changed her mind about the marriage and decided to get away.”

“Even I don’t like it. It's outrageous that our Vileena, the third daughter of His Royal Highness and princess of Garbera, a country where we take pride in our chivalry, has to consent to a marriage with that monkey from Mephius!”

Some of them snorted through their noses and stamped their feet on the floor,

“No, she is a princess and would not do selfish things like that. We all know how mischievous and incredibly lively Princess Vileena is. But listen to me my friends; she is also someone who loves this country, its people, and its environment more than anybody else. She would not vitiate a contract with Mephius because of her own displeasure.”

While others calmly reproached their comrades.

“This is because we are spineless.”

“Yeah. The Ten Year War with Mephius – what if we could’ve finished it with a victory on our side? If we could’ve raised Garbera’s national flag at Mephius's palace, a thing… a thing like this…”

Shaking their heads in frustration, some ended up being moved to tears and sorrow.

All of this was proof that there must be love for her, or so Theresia thought. Garbera’s third princess is Princess Vileena. Only fourteen years old, and after the coming week, she would be married into the Mephius Empire<ref>The official name of the country is ''The Imperial Dynasty of Mephius'', according to the kanji, but the author uses the reading for 'empire'. So, I'll be mainly using ''Mephius Empire'', and only use the official name when the mood allows it to.</ref> bordering the country in the northwest.

Although Theresia herself would be accompanying the princess in order to look after her surroundings, of course, for many people in Garbera, this would be farewell. Everyone who now met with the princess, although able to congratulate her on her marriage, couldn’t hide the loneliness, the anger, and the sorrow from their faces when they did.

Theresia was standing in a ceilinged corridor facing the garden on her right. On the side of a nearby pillar, a doodle of her, which had been drawn by the princess at a younger age, faintly remained. Theresia softly laid her hand on the drawing that depicted her in a devilish manner; the princess must have drawn it right after being scolded by her.

''This is your last act of selfishness, okay, princess?''

As she clung onto the captain of the guard, asking for an honest, desperate search for the princess, Theresia inwardly voiced her true thoughts.

About twenty kilometres southeast of Garbera Kingdom’s capital city Phozon.

In a range of gentle hills, there was a palace overlooking a vast lake. During the rebellion that took place five years ago, the region had almost become the centre of war. But now it was much like its mild climate, at peace, with a relaxed time flowing by.

However, it was just before the sun was about to set when it suddenly became very lively.

“Third air defence fleet, ascend!” the commander of the air defence force yelled, straddled over his own airship. “The first and second protect all sides of the royal palace. The fourth hasten on to Phozon Capital.”

Just five minutes ago, a flare signal had been raised from the watchtower. It was a signal that meant unidentified air units were approaching. And just now, they had confirmed visual of a single airship.

As the sky began to blend into the same colour as the surface, the air defence force rose into the air.

With a metal base made of dragonstone, steel, silver, brass, and the like, Garbera’s ornithopter-type single-seated airships were modelled after the large sea eagles that inhabit the Mother Earth. From the bill to the tip of the tail, they were approximately three metres long, and the full span of their high-speed flapping wings was about seven metres. The pilots had their seats built where the eagle’s claws would be as they whirled up into the sky.

''I doubt a single unit would attack, though.''

While the commander of the air defence force raised his suspicions, a deep black shape approached from the other side of the slope. It was the type which let the pilot lie with his belly directly on the hull during flight, and it wasn’t an ornithopter, but had a rear propeller and rudder controlling its direction instead while moving forward via propulsion. It was a type of airship mainly built for speed.

''Isn’t that our country’s?''

The chief looked at it through narrowed eyes. Garbera excelled in the art of purifying dragon fossils into a weightless metal – the so-called dragonstone – and the country’s development of small airships was unmatched by other countries. There were also many variations.

“Stop!”

“Don’t go any further!”

Although the men on the air defence ships raised their shouts unanimously, the approaching unit did not show any signs of lowering its speed. It just passed by the airship of the third fleet’s captain at a hair’s distance and, as the airship was about to nearly lose its balance because of the near crash, the area suddenly grew tense.

“We told you to stop!”

“We’ll shoot if you don’t follow our warning!”

One craft blocked the course of the approaching unit that was flying straight ahead, the remainder went up, and took up positions to fire from the left and right. The commander himself was about to place a finger on the trigger that was directly connected to a machine gun, when,

“Thanks for doing your duty.”

Suddenly, a voice called out to him. It was a woman’s voice… or more precisely, a girl’s. He lifted his finger from the trigger.

Their airships were about to pass by each other, and her's left a platinum trail behind. When he realized that it was the pilot’s long hair streaming in the wind,

“Princess!?” the commander couldn’t help but raise his voice.

“Sorry, I’m in a hurry.”

The rapid words that returned came from the same voice, and then she was gone.

Everybody from the third air defence fleet was put off with equally flabbergasted expressions. Before long, gliding wings appeared from the airship near the small boards by the seat, and he just managed to see that she was steadily descending.

“Commander?”

“At ease.”

The commander of the air defence force was already into his mid-forties, and had a daughter who recently became fourteen. The same age as Garbera’s third princess Vileena. Fourteen years.

To him, it seemed like not much time had passed since he’d seen the tottering steps of his baby daughter. But the world already saw her as an adult member of society, and even if she got married and started having children at this age, no one would think of it as strange.

“Call back the fourth air defence fleet. I have to return to my post and write my journal: today, we’ve seen nothing but a peaceful sky.”

He was fixedly staring at the moon outside through the window.

Sitting up in bed, although his features, exposed by the pale light, neared the limits of age, the grace and austerity that he seemed to naturally possess was still going strong.

“I thought it was strangely noisy tonight, but I guess it must have been you.”

He spoke the words as he looked up at the moon.

“Yes, it’s me.”

The answer came from the side.

A shadow came in from the room’s entrance. With every step that was brought forward, the figure was gradually revealed by the moonlight, eventually producing the appearance of a girl.

“My son wouldn’t turn a blind eye if he saw you like this. In a certain sense, he is a man older than me.”

The old man laughed, as he looked at the approaching figure clad in airship riding gear. Although she was still more of a child than a woman, the outfit wound perfectly around her body, and the increasingly dangerous curves seemed to be maturing day by day.

The girl let a smile come onto her face, like a flower in bloom.

“Quite so. That’s why, when I participated in the race, he opposed it until the very end. Although he agreed it was good to humour the people, he said this manner wouldn’t do, and that I should wear clothes more suitable for a member of the Garbera Royal Family, among other things. There was no way I'd do it, with the hem of a long skirt hindering me. That’s why I had to content myself with second place.”

“That wasn’t a bad appearance either,” the previous King of Garbera, Jeorg Owell, said, as he smiled at his pouting granddaughter. “Although, because you ended up one point away from victory, I suffered a heavy loss.”

“Did you put a wager on me?”

Jeorg laughed with mirth upon seeing the girl’s eyes open wide.

“With the secretary of financial affairs, Wallace. That bloke… he wanted my favourite horse for a long time already. But while ''he'' works at the royal palace, I wasn’t informed that you were participating in a skirt. If I’d known, I would’ve have scolded that son of mine relentlessly for letting you race like that in public.”

“So, what is it that grandfather wanted from Secretary Wallace?”

“Haha… well, what was it again?”

“Secretary Wallace is quite famous for his liquor collection, isn’t he?”

“There’s that too. Hm… that guy has an excellent tastes in women too.”

“Oh?”

“Back when we went to visit Wallace’s mansion, the chamberlain’s daughter who worked there – well, although she is his daughter, she’s already back with her parents at the age of thirty. But, she’s quite a beauty. I figured, if I get the lass to work at this detached place of mine, it was likely my life would become a little bit more worth living for.”

“Oh, grandfather.”

Garbera’s third princess, Vileena, puffed up her cheeks, and although she made sure to give her grandfather a scolding glare, the two of them immediately burst into laughter.

The sides of the curtains, filled with the pale moonlight, fluttered slightly in the all but nonexistent wind. Suddenly, Vileena crouched down near the bed and firmly took hold of her grandfather’s hand. She pressed her face against it, her small shoulders shaking.

“Vileena, this… what’s the matter? You’re acting like a child.”

“No. No, no…”

She closed her eyelids firmly, repeating her denial, frantically trying to resist the emotions that were welling up inside from whatever was eating at her mind.

''He’s become so small.''

She thought, as she laid her face into his thin, helpless hand.

Her grandfather was known for his bravery in his younger days. Subduing the stronger local clans one by one, he had pushed this country called Garbera up to the point that it wouldn’t lose to the other major powers. In the past, their territories had been invaded by the older nations of either Ende or Mephius time and time again, and their people had tasted hardship and exile under their rule. Now, everyone praised Jeorg Owell’s bravery, despite his short history, for producing a united country that was no longer inferior to those foreign nations.

Ever since she was young, Vileena had become attached to her grandfather. He still had a strong influence, even after withdrawing from the throne, and although his son, namely Vileena’s father, thought he was a shrewish and troublesome existence that he nonetheless couldn’t help but rely on, to Vileena, he was no one other than a kind grandfather.

So many times had she come to visit him at his estate, going to the river to fish or swim together, and when the days got dark, spending all evening simulating war campaigns at the board table.

Unlike her father, her grandfather did not get angry when Vileena played with a wooden sword and shield, allowed her to scuffle together with children for play, let her ride horses, and cultivated her interest in airships. Rather than scold her, he instructed her carefully about these things in detail.

But above all, during the winter, her grandfather would sit near the hearth, lift her up to his knee, and tell her stories about war, about negotiating with other countries, about the many powerful clans in Garbera, and how to prevent the sparks of dispute in the country from breaking out into a tinderbox of civil war – Vileena became addicted to these stories.

And every evening she heard such a tale, when Vileena set to bed, she would always have a dream.

Dressed in shining armour, standing there on top of an airship, overlooking the valiant knights arrayed before her, giving them her orders. Her young heart was coloured with excitement as she imagined herself standing on the battlefield one day, fighting at her grandfather’s side.

However, ever since the winter, her once robust grandfather’s health deteriorated and he had become bedridden.

Whenever Vileena came to visit, he had a smile on his face that was not different from before, but they were no longer able to ride horses or fly airships together. And then, five years ago, something happened that had given her grandfather the final blow.

“Raise your head.”

Urged by her grandfather’s words, a startled Vileena did as she was told. Trying to fight back the tears, her eyes were brightly sparkling in the moonlight’s glow. Jeorg’s face crumpled.

“I see. I too, am getting old. Aren’t you the springy, tomboyish girl that will be getting married within the week? The same girl that needed so very little time to trample down my garden and destroy my prized flowerbed like some wicked, untamed dragon?”

“G-Grandfather...”

“But I was even more surprised back in the day. I think you must be sick of this story, but word travelled all across the country. Five years ago, when the rebels had usurped this very estate, you did not even put one step back and magnificently tried to fight them off to protect me, while I was lying injured in bed. Everybody here said if only you were a boy. However, I didn’t think so. You are a fine lady – the pride of Garbera. No champion, no dragon, not anything that can be bought with gold can compare to you. You are my pride.”

Jeorg gently held Vileena’s blushing cheeks in both his hands.

“That granddaughter is about to marry. What kind of child will she give birth to, I wonder? I try not to have any regrets in this life of mine, and it is something that I proudly boast of. But if there is one regret, there is only one – that I won’t be able to see the sight of you holding a baby with my own eyes.”

“What are you saying? This evening doesn’t have to be a farewell,” Vileena said, forcing a bright tone and a smile.

However, she already knew the truth. Her grandfather had been bedridden for a long time now, and he no longer left his estate. Within several days, she would leave the country on her own, so she had actually come here to say her final goodbye.

Her smile immediately fell apart, and Vileena brought down her face again. Lowering her eyebrows, anger clouded her beautiful face.

“Grandfather. I don’t want to go and become someone’s wife. I don’t want to leave your side grandfather, I hate it. But even so… Why does it have to be Mephius, of all places!?”

For a moment, the face of the tomboyish princess, who was loved from all over the country, looked like that of an ordinary country lass who was about to marry, with a hint of heartfelt sadness. However,

“That country of barbarians. It is obvious the rebellion that led grandfather to be injured by those traitors was staged by Mephius. If only father had the resolve to let me, on the bridal night, I would readily slice open the sleeping head of my husband to be!”

“Oh, hey now…”

Even the undaunted Jeorg reflexively had a jagged coughing fit. While it also resulted in a personality brusque enough to visit her grandfather like this, she had, somewhere in her way of thinking, been influenced by the out-dated, old-fashioned portion of her grandfather’s upbringing all this time.

“You do not always draw blood during battles. And victory is not only gained over the opponent’s corpse. You have a gentle heart, so you’ve realised this a long time ago. Even the common people wage constant battles in their everyday lives. Although it may seem nothing compared to the majestic days of old, bringing us a time of peace also counts as a victory.”

“……”

“Mephius is an old country – much, much older than your father's – and may seem a bit strict, but if it’s you, it’ll be fine. Because, wherever you are, you are my Vileena.”

“I understand.”

When Vileena raised her head a second time, the tears were already gone. The moon gently lighting the outlines of her smiling face invited her grandfather to smile as well.

“Indeed. This battle is not yet over. Not all soldiers pick up swords and lances. I too, am one such soldier, right?”

His granddaughter’s eyes were sparkling, and he felt the hint of something unpleasant.

“I understand. I will not shed blood, nor will I ask the people of Garbera to do the unreasonable. For this new battle, I – Vileena – will take up the challenge. I’ll probe Mephius’s true state of affairs, find out its weaknesses – I will use any means necessary, so please wait for me to bring us the glad tidings of victory!”

His fourteen-year-old granddaughter stood up in an instant, leaving Jeorg agape.

From a young innocent girl who was soon to be married off, she had suddenly turned into a knight on the battlefield before he realized it. While looking at how she was now boiling with excitement, her cheeks flushed and her blood set afire, he thought that, in a sense, that was truly how he knew his granddaughter.

<noinclude>
===References and Translation Notes===
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| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1_Chapter1|Chapter 1]]
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</noinclude>

Kamisu Reina:Volume 1 Atsushi Kogure

2015-03-18T13:58:44Z

MondSemmel: /* 4 */ Typo

==Chapter 2: Atsushi Kogure==
===1===

My heart explodes and comes bursting out of my mouth.

In the eyes of everyone else in this shopping district by the station, nothing special happened. However, ''I'' have made a horrifying discovery.

Within the crowd of strangers that walk the streets, I have found ''her'' whom I will never forget.

Burst by an unbearable shock, my pieces stick to all my surroundings. The hundreds of shreds that I have spit out scowl at her from all sides. Noticing my gazes, ''she'' finds my main body and looks at it.

And—smiles.

Her smile leaves me so thunderstruck that I can't even break down—I just freeze. It's like her smile made away with the very concept of time, let alone my feelings that completely vanished at the sight of her.

The girl before my eyes stands aloof from the world. At the very least, I know that she has no proper moral values.

I am being devoured by her existence.

Only after she goes away am I able to breathe again. I confirm that my emotional perception is still intact, and finally feel alive again.

Right. I—

I ''detest'' that girl.

She has stolen ''everything'' from me.

No matter how special and transcendental she is, that doesn't make her sins any lighter.

I won't forgive her. I will absolutely not forgive her. I won't ever forgive her, the cold-blooded killer of my family.

I won't forgive Reina Kamisu!

===2===

"You met Reina Kamisu?" my doctor asks in wonderment when I tell him about my encounter with that monster.

"Yes. I ran across her. That killer."

"Reina Kamisu..."

I may have called him doctor, but Doctor Mihara doesn't fit the common image of one. He is a sociable, young psychiatrist and actually still in his twenties.

"Are you sure it was not a dream?"

"It was real! She walked past me before my very eyes! She even noticed me and laughed at me!"

"Hm..." Doctor Mihara folds his arms as he notices that I'm dead serious.

My family was murdered by Reina Kamisu.

To this day it is unknown why she broke into our house and stabbed everyone except me; she didn't steal anything, nor was there a grudge I know of. She hadn't made any threats in advance, either, nor did she seem to enjoy it. In contrary, she seemed to be very intelligent and to have no relation with drugs and the like. In fact, I failed to find a stain in her personality.

But it is for a fact that she killed my family.

Their lives vanished so easily.

I used to think that human lives are special—nothing like the fishes we once dissected at school. The idea of human life and its supposed value used to be huge and boundless in my young mind. In fact, on the assumption that only humans have minds, I still think that our lives are of great value.

However—it's possible to take someone's life with the same knife that you slice open a fish with.

Confronted with that absurd fact as a mere 10-year old boy, I was shattered.

I do have a wound in my chest—due to Reina Kamisu, of course—that is quite grotesque. One of the kind that makes people grimace.

However, the problem with that wound isn't that it scares everyone. The problem is that it is still a wound and not a scar. It's still a gaping wound, and it's going to stay that way. But instead of blood, it's my very own self that is being bled out. "Something" that is needed to live. I'm dwindling. Ever-dwindling.

I'm still breaking bit by bit.

"Atsushi-kun," my doctor addresses me with a serious look.

"Yes?"

"We're out of time for today, but can I ask you to tell me more about this in our next meeting?"

"Yes, of course."

I was planning to do so anyway.

Besides, the only way to fix me is to go against Reina Kamisu; to learn the truth about her; to—understand her.

Can I win against that monster? The odds are against me, I'm afraid. I'm going to lose. I'm going to keep dwindling.

Just like a black hole, there are times when uncalled-for feelings absorb the obvious and make you blind. Therefore, if I want to oppose her, I must seal my emotions—which consist mostly of hatred—away. Thinking back at the outburst of emotions that I experienced when I ran across her the other day, I can imagine how hard that is.

However, no matter how hard the fight against that monster turns out to be, there is no risk for me. I've sunken to the lowest point already. While it is hard to fight my way up, I can't fall any lower.

Therefore, I won't waver to fight.

"I won't lose!"

"Against whom...?" Doctor Mihara asks, still serious.

"Against me, of course, and against Reina Kamisu."

He maintains a pensive look and seems to be groping for words. In the end, he just mutters, "I see..."

The following day, I headed to school like always despite my decision to fight against Reina Kamisu. Truth be told, I would rather look around for her than attend my classes, but added to the fact that I have no clues except for spotting her in town, I don't want to bother my aunt.

Unlike my uncle, she is treating me really well. I suppose the fact that they don't have any own children adds to this, but she is looking after me like I were her real son... maybe even more so ''because'' I'm not her real son. There's no discontent. There's no discontent... but there is pressure. I feel that I absolutely mustn't and can't sadden my aunt, since she is obliged to look after me as well.

I arrive at school and notice that our classroom is remarkably noisy.

Puzzled, I catch Yuuji Kato, who happened to stand nearby and is on comparatively good terms with me. I ask, "What's the matter?"

"Suicide's the matter, dude! Suicide!"

"What? But that was, like, last week, no? Did we learn something new about Saito's suicide?" I ask as I toss my bag onto my desk.

Since she was a person who we would see every day at school, Saito's death came quite as a shock for us. While she didn't have any friends—she was even suspected to have stolen from a classmate—there were still students who mourned for her. Surprisingly though, it wasn't until she died that a few guys came our of their shells and confessed with teary eyes that they had actually been fond of her because she had a "modest" personality unlike most girls nowadays. Saito must have quite mixed feelings up there in heaven, since that personality of hers is what drove her to suicide.

"Are you still making a fuss about that story? Why don't you leave her alone already? I'm sure that she... wouldn't like being the center of attention," I mention to him.

"You're completely off the mark, man."

"What do you mean?"

"This is not about Saito, you know?"

"Then who committed suicide?"

Yuuji looks at a certain desk and says, "Kimura."

Before classes started, all students of our school were summoned to the gym for an emergency speech, where the school director bored us with a lengthy speech on "the value of life."

While listening with half an ear to what he has to say, I start making my own thoughts about the incident.

It seems like Saito, Mizuhara, and the other people concerned didn't know, but anyone who was either somewhat familiar with Kimura or has enough brains, like me, was aware that Kimura was really the culprit of the stolen wallet incident.

It was a well-known fact among us guys that Kimura had a crush on Mizuhara, and that he was turned down when he confessed to her. She told him that she had no plans of dating anyone in the near future. A few days later, however, she and Ashizawa became a couple.

Needless to say, she only used that phrase to turn Kimura down because she wanted to avoid being too direct, and he must have been aware of that. Nonetheless, Kimura's feelings were hurt. Thoroughly. He must have thought that he was inferior to Ashizawa—a complete drop-out—in Mizuhara's eyes. Starting from then, everything he said and everything he did was underlined with a subtle tone of self-deprecation.

I can see why he would want to damage the present Ashizawa gave to Mizuhara. In fact, I think a little payback like that is very much tolerable. However, he knew that he would be the obvious culprit if he executed that resentful plan of his.

Therefore, he was in need of a suspect other than himself. And he found one in Saito, who just happened to be made a fool of by Mizuhara.

At a glance, Kimura did his job well; at the very least, he managed to trick his main targets—Mizuhara and her group—into believing his lie.

However, in effect he failed horribly.

He didn't take into consideration how much his actions would hurt Saito's feelings because he was too focused on how to force the blame onto her. But his greatest mistake was not to take into consideration how much his own feelings would be hurt by hurting Saito's.

His revenge inflicted a lethal wound on Saito. Maybe that's not entirely accurate. Maybe he only touched a sore point of Saito's that was already lethal anyway. Nevertheless, Kimura considered himself responsible for her death.

Kimura hurt Saito, and that fact hurt himself. Both of those wounds were lethal, and both of those wounds ended in death. Like... like my own wound.

At last, the school director ends his speech after more than a full hour. I do understand his concern, but that doesn't make it any more worthwhile.

Seriously... he doesn't get that a sermon is not going to achieve anything. We all know perfectly well that one must not commit suicide. And yet there are times when the world we live in becomes so tough on us that we play with the thought. Therefore, it's useless to appeal to ethics; he ought to go with a more practical and concrete approach. If I were to stop suicide, I would do it like this: "Dying means falling into an eternal state of nothingness, a perfect void that can't be conceived by anything that is alive. Just think about it: your brain goes away. You do not have any thought anymore. Surely, you've heard of the phrase 'I think, thus I am,' no? Give it some careful thought. Nothing exists. Do you get this? Nothing exists. How many seconds could you endure being in a world without sound, without light, and without any kind of sensation? A world where you don't even get hungry. Where you have no desires at all. Can you follow me? But death is a perfect void, so it exceeds even such a sensation-less world. There is no future. Heaven is just a construct people who fear death made up. You should know why there will always be people who believe in a world after death despite the advent of science; it's because they are scared. Scared of what waits beyond death. So, don't think ending your own life will save you! It simply ends. It E-N-D-S. Suicide is the act of killing yourself, and dying without comprehending the meaning of death is but escaping from reality. Although the result is the same in both cases. All right, come on. Try to kill yourself if you can; try to kill yourself now that you've learned the truth."

At the very least, I couldn't kill myself.

After all, the only reason why I'm here now is because I'm more afraid of death than most.

Ah, right, there was a nice little twist to this story:

"Actually, I heard Kimura left behind a suicide note," Yuuji tells me.

"A suicide note? Did he apologize to Saito or something?"

"Exactly."

"Well, that should cheer her up a little, I guess?"

"No, I think it'll have quite the opposite effect."

"Hm...? Well, sure, I wouldn't want anyone to commit suicide because of me either."

"That's not the problem," he objects.

"What do you mean?"

"Kimura got her name wrong."

Oh.

After school ended (classes did take place, but everyone was somewhat absent in mind) I headed to the shopping district where I had come across Reina Kamisu.

There's no guarantee that I will find her again just because I saw her once, but that's the only clue I have. I originally thought I would be able to get my hands on some data since I'm the victim of the incident, but it's not that simple. Especially for juvenile crimes.

Should Reina Kamisu walk past me, I won't miss her. That's not only because I've carved her appearance into my memory over and over: She is special in anyone's eyes. She is absurdly beautiful.

"..."

However, an event-less hour passed. Having stood all the while because there was no place to sit, my legs got a bit tired. I decided to tolerate moving away from this place a bit and went to the next McDonalds, grabbed myself two burgers (everything else is too expensive for the purse of a middle school student) and sat down by the window.

While munching at my burger, I start thinking about Reina Kamisu.

Reina Kamisu. Back when the incident happened, she was 16 years old (meaning that she was only one year older than I am now), so her present age should be 21. Did she get a job? Maybe she's enrolled in a university. She probably couldn't graduate from high school because of everything she did, but she should be smart enough to make it through the entrance exams of an university. Even though she killed my entire family, she was hardly punished at all because her completely incomprehensible motive got her diagnosed "mentally unstable". I bet now she's worshiped like an idol at her workplace or at university. The murderous idol. Haha, what a catchphrase!

"Tch...!"

The wound in my chest starts to pain. According to Dr. Mihara, this pain is just a product of my mind since the wound has already healed.

Dammit! You think this is only mental? An illusion? Don't mess with me, Doc! This pain isn't fake; no way it is!

The wound ''is'' bleeding. I may be the only one who can see the blood, but it's definitely blood—and I'm the liquid (or something similar to a liquid).

Ah, damn, I know! I'm not making sense. I'm just digging a hole for myself.

But as a matter of fact—the wound hasn't healed.

And it still hurts.

===3===

The perceptive faculties of a human have a certain capacity; our brains are like computers and can only process up to a certain amount of data. When there is an overflow of information, they stop working correctly and start churning out error messages.

The sight before my eyes deprives me of any emotional impulse.

There is a corpse; my mom's corpse. There is a corpse; my dad's corpse. There is a corpse; my sister's corpse. The floor is covered by a pool of blood. Whoa, how am I supposed to walk on a floor that's so drenched? No, that's not the problem here, is it? Whoa-whoa, they're dead, no? You gotta be kidding me. This isn't some TV drama. Such brutal deaths do not happen around me. That being said, this looks pretty real. Haha, hey, this is getting out of hand. I can't believe it. And what's with that girl there? Who the fuck is that incredibly pretty girl? What's with that knife—that blood-drenched knife—she's carrying? Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa! It was YOU? Despite that pretty face of yours? Hold on a sec! Don't mess with me! Who allowed you to kill my family? Who are you, anyway? Who are you?! Who the fuck are you?!

"As I thought..."

What's ''as you thought''?! You're strange! You're nuts!

"People die when you stab them."

Of course they do. Every child knows that. Everyone knows that, although no one actually verifies it.

Right. My family died.

Died?

Yeah, they died...right?

They died. Yeah, they died. D-I-E-D.

"A...ah..." I finally start to moan.

They're lying on the floor. My mom, my dad, my sister, they're all lying on the floor, inanimate. I was watching TV until a few moments ago. I went upstairs because they got angry with me because I'd kicked my sister. Has that become a scene of the past? Has that girl stolen it from me? Is that even possible? Can she even do that?

"Do you want to die, too?"

She can. That girl can do it.

"Uh...UWAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!"

Help me help me help me! HELP ME, mom! Ah, she's dead! Anyone! Anyone help me!

I fall on my rear and crawl backward, literally wetting my pants. Of course I can't escape like this, but I can't stand up either.

She draws closer.

"S-Stop it..."

However, my words fall on deaf ears. Aiming the knife at me, she draws closer.

And then she wields it.

"Stop it! STOOOOOOOP!"

And then I wake up like always.

I let out a sigh as I sip my miso soup.

"My, Atsuhi, why are you sighing when the day has only started?" my aunt reproaches me lightly with a smile and puts a plate with a fried egg before me.

"I had that dream again..." I answer as I put some soy sauce on the egg.

"I see. They've become frequent lately."

"Yeah."

"Oh dear...why does that girl have a grudge against you?"

A grudge. Had her motive been so simple and reasonable, I wouldn't be as broken as I am now.

"Maybe you're a little antsy because your admission exams are just around the corner?" she says in an unusual worried tone. She's worried; in other words, I'm worrying her.

This is bad. I mustn't worry her even more when she's already worried about my being under mental treatment.

"Ahaha, but I haven't even started studying?" I laugh as I hold my chest.

"You haven't? I think that's pretty problematic, too!"

When my aunt said so, I could read the words "thank god my fears were groundless" from her face.

Groundless fears. Right, her fears should have been groundless.

However, it is a fact that the dream has unsettled me more than it would usually do.

I started having that nightmare after that incident happened. During the first month, I was tormented by it every night, and every time I was, I was so unsettled that I could not eat anything.

But you get used to any nightmare with time: lately, I would only think of it as a "bad dream."

However, today it's different. Not only did she wound me in my dream, she also wounded me in reality again.

I hold my chest.

My nightmare has leaked into reality and is attacking me from there. That's all because I've run across Reina Kamisu the other day. That nightmare isn't just a nightmare; it's my past that keeps tormenting me.

By coming across Reina Kamisu, my nightmare has acquired reality. She is using it as a portal to attack me.

Again and again, she will attack me.

Now, how long will my heart be able to endure it?

I enter the classroom, just to get surprised almost as much as yesterday.

Ashizawa had his head shaved, abandoning his long, brown hair.

I doubt that one of the teachers in charge of common decency forced him to do that; they wouldn't go that far. It must have been his own will.

Ashizawa has been in low spirits lately, which is, needless to say, because he is blaming himself for Saito's death. Back when the wallet he gave to Mizuhara was damaged, he got so angry with Saito that he pushed her into a corner and intimidated her.

I was there when it happened and observed them, planning to step in if he were to get rough...no, I don't know if I really intended to intervene. Perhaps, I only pretended to be worried about her. Anyway, I observed them without doing anything.

Only after looking at Ashizawa's shaved head, my conscience starts to prickle me.

I don't know how much that incident took part in Saito's death, but I'm sure that it did have an effect. It's another aspect that drove her into suicide.

But what if there'd been someone who tried to help Saito when she was surrounded by Ashizawa and his pals? What if she'd had a comrade who didn't care about the pressure Ashizawa applied? Wouldn't the outcome have been different? Aren't we, who hesitated to stand up for Saito, the real sinners?

That "comrade" could have been me.

Ashizawa has inflicted an evident punishment upon himself like a real delinquent. As thoughtless and pointless as that punishment may be, he did produce proof of his remorse.

And what about us? We're denying any responsibility and try to discount the matter with some pity. It's not Ashizawa or Kimura or Mizuhara who cornered Saito, but us who tried to stay away from her to the bitter end.

Suddenly, a question crosses my mind.

Come to think of it—

Didn't Saito call someone's name for help?

Even the lunch break was occupied with the subject of Saito and Kimura because Ashizawa's shaved head was so eye-catching. Because of the great sympathy for Saito that fills the air (they all seem to feel guilty), Takatsuki and her colleagues are in an awkward position, being the ones who blamed Saito.

I have eaten up my boxed lunch and am observing my class, my elbow rested on my desk.

Ashizawa looks like a monk, and Takatsuki's group are looking like cats in an unfamiliar house. Wondering how Mizuhara herself is doing, I look at her.

Her fairly pretty face looks even more exhausted than before. She must be aware of the central part she has played in both Saito's and Kimura's suicide.

As I make this observation, she turns to me and our eyes meet.

I quickly avert my gaze to feign ignorance, but her gaze remains fixed on me. "Never mind me!" I shout in my mind as I confirm that I'm still being watched.

However, my silent shout remained unheard; she stands up and walks toward my seat.

"Kogure-kun."

Now she called my name. Looks like it wasn't a coincidence or because she noticed my gaze that she looked at me.

"So...What's the matter, Mizuhara?" I ask as I raise my head, visibly annoyed.

"You're smart, aren't you? I mean, you're always the number one in this class and you are among the best in our school year, right?"

"You're talking about my grades, but there's a difference between being smart and having good grades."

Mizuhara is dumbstruck for a moment, but eventually picks up again, "...But you're the only one I can think of to talk about this. Can you spare me a moment, please?"

"I think there are enough other people who could give you better advice."

"Mmm...I'm not exactly looking for advice. Let's not talk about it here—come this way."

Mizuhara pulls me by my sleeve. Looks like she insists on talking with me.

"Whoa, hold your horses, now. Ashizawa's going to get angry when he sees us together."

"He won't."

"Oh, really? He must be quite forgiving then."

"No, we've...split up."

Surprised, I freeze for an instant.

"Ah...I see," I say in a deliberately disinterested voice, but my expression just now has given me away.

But now that I think about it, there's nothing to be so surprised about. While the love experienced in middle school might be blind and grand, it's also transitory. Their bonds weren't strong enough to withstand the obstacles brought upon them—that's all.

And those bonds ruined Kimura.

Oh well.

Mizuhara led me to the stairway landing before the door to the roof. These stairs are hardly used, so there probably won't be any uninvited visitors. She must have used this place to secretly meet up with Ashizawa.

"We came here from time to time. Toshiki and I."

There you have it.

"You...you know about the fake love letter I teased Saito-san with, right?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Did you ever wonder why I did that?"

"Nope, not at all? I assumed that you simply couldn't stand Saito, and I don't think there's a deeper reason to find there."

"Perhaps...that's true...but I, I also wanted to help—"

"I don't care. Spare me that story."

That's just an excuse she made up.

"No, hear me out! To tell the truth...we once saw her when we met up here."

"Really...? What kind of business did Saito have here?"

"That's the problem...she was mumbling things to herself."

"To herself?"

"Yes, to herself, but as if talking with someone. I tried following her glance a few times, but there was no one there."

That's not ''that'' noteworthy; Saito had no one to talk with, so it makes sense that she would vent her desire to talk when she was alone.

"And you found that to be creepy, so you teased her?" I conclude.

"I did think it was creepy, that's true..."

I see. I can understand that Mizuhara would want to intervene after coming across such a scene.

"So? That's not why you brought me here, is it?"

"No..." She hesitates for a moment. "Kogure-kun...do you believe in ghosts?"

The conversation takes a sudden turn.

"Ghosts? No idea. Well, I do think they might exist, since so many people claim that they do..."

"How about evil spirits?"

"Bullshit."

Wait, wait, why does Mizuhara ask things like that? What's the meaning behind those absurd questions?

—Whoa-whoa, is she implying that Saito was talking with a ghost? Time to come down to earth, no?

I barely manage to hold my thoughts in.

...No, don't jump to conclusions. Mizuhara said she was put off by the sight of Saito talking to herself. She wouldn't have felt disgust if that ghost-story was her first impression, but something like fear or maybe even envy, right?

Does that mean that there is something that made her come to the conclusion that Saito was talking with a ghost?

"You're implying that Saito was talking to a ghost?"

Mizuhara nods.

"How did you arrive at that thought?"

Mizuhara lapses into silence. It seems like she fears that by putting her thoughts into words, she will make them definite.

However, she opens her mouth at last.

"Because...," she mutters something, "...died..."

"Because Saito died? How does that explain anything?"

"No!" Mizuhara objects.

"What? She talked with a ghost and that's why she died? That makes no—"

"That's not it! Not because Saito-san died!"

"But who—"

I think. No, there's no need to think. There's only one other person that comes into question.

"Not Saito-san, but because Kimura-kun died."

I have to admit that I'm a little confused.

This doesn't make sense. Not only does she suggest the existence of something unscientific like ghosts, she is also talking back and forth incoherently.

I carefully sort everything in my head, thinking every point through logically, and arrive at the conclusion surprisingly fast.

"So...you saw him, right?"

She nods slowly.

"You saw Saito talking with that something, which by itself would have simply made her an oddball. But you also saw Kimura do the same thing."

Mizuhara nods.

I pause and take a look around. Should ghosts really exist, then I wouldn’t be surprised to find one here. That thought sends a cold shiver down my spine, but of course that’s just my imagination playing tricks on me.

However, as a matter of fact, someone died on the other side of this door.

"Do you...do you think such a coincidence is possible?" Mizuhara asks reluctantly.

"What do you refer to when you say 'coincidence'...?"

"Like I said... Saito-san and Kimura-kun, they both talked to a ghost, they both saw a ghost, and they both committed suicide. Do you think that such a coincidence is possible?"

Coincidence.

She's right; this would be a strange coincidence. However, not only did they have a proper reason for suicide, there's also no doubt that they ended their lives of their own free will.

To begin with, there is causal relation between their deaths: Kimura wouldn't have died if not for Saito's death. Their deaths aren't caused by a coincidence.

Hold on...

There is no place for a coincidence there. In other words, it's the absence of a coincidence that makes that whatever suspicious.

"You have doubts, too, don’t you, Kogure-kun?" Mizuhara points out. I quickly hide my expression. "Know what I think?" she asks, "I think that neither of them actually committed suicide."

Her face is as pale as clay. At last, I realize that it's not feelings of guilt that have exhausted her so much.

Mizuhara is scared.

The fear of whatever drove the other two into death is wearing her down.

"They were killed," she says with fearful conviction, "A ghost cursed them to death."

Like yesterday, I began looking out for Reina Kamisu while drinking a discounted milkshake at a McDonalds.

However, while my eyes were directed at the window, nearly all of my internal wires were used up for thought.

I had since been recalling that discussion with Mizuhara several times, trying to draw my own conclusions.

I have no means of knowing what that ''whatever'' she was calling a "ghost" is, but granted that that "phenomenon" is capable of communication, it can get into contact with others and thus affect their lives to a certain degree.

That effect killed those two?

''Cursed to death.''

Well, perhaps you can call that a "curse" of sorts.

But is it so easy to lead someone to death? No way. No matter how light you make of life and death, everyone knows that death is final and unrecoverable. People's words do not kill you; it's your own voice within that leads you there. Or an abrupt impulse. At any rate, people don't die that easily.

Or does it, ''whatever it is'', have the power to manipulate these mechanisms with ease?

On the other hand...they both had a valid reason for suicide. While words are useless against your average Joe, it might well be possible to give someone with suicidal tendencies the final push.

However, I shake my head.

I'm losing touch with reality; I should think it through more rationally.

Rational thinking. R-a-t-i-o-n-a-l. Got that down? ...Yeah.

Right... first of all, I should consider the possibility that everything Mizuhara told me was just a product of her imagination. In my personal view, she is an opinionated girl.

She knows that she shares the guilt for Saito and Kimura's death. Perhaps, she was unable to take the blame and therefore tried to escape by reading a reason into Kimura's talking with air, which in turn she made up either from scratch or by misinterpreting a normal conversation to her own convenience.

In other words, that ''being'' does not exist to begin with.

How's that? Doesn't that make much more sense?

...Tch. What a pathetic attempt to push reason into this affair.

Unconvinced by my own reasoning, I try to focus on the other side of the window and end up scaring a few pedestrians with a piercing glare.

"What are you looking at so hard?" someone asks from behind me.

I am about to kindly explain that I am looking for someone—

—But my words get stuck in my throat and are pushed back down until they evaporate entirely.

My skin crawls.

Something drips down from my finger tips as my mouth turns into a desert and my eyeballs are exposed to the air.

"—Ah."

I know...

I know that voice.

Even though I have only heard it a few times, it has burnt itself deep into my brain and won't leave me ever since.

"What's wrong? Won't you tell me what you're looking at?"

It pains.

The wound in my chest pains.

Fully opened again, it overflows with a liquid resembling blood —as if to react to its creator.

I mustn't, lose.

I hold my chest and turn around to the visitor with an iron will.

Something pierces through my eyes as I recognize her face, making me fight against the urge to close my eyes, to avert my eyes.

However, I have been waiting for this very moment.

I must stand my ground now.

"I was looking for ''you'', Reina Kamisu, for you!"

I scowl at Reina Kamisu. The more I sharpen my gaze, the weaker the pain in my chest gets.

"Oh really?" she smiles at me with a smile so beautiful that it looks fake. "And what are you going to do now? Take revenge?"

''Revenge'', says Reina Kamisu with indifference.

"I do want to do that, yeah," I reply as calmly as I can, while suppressing the boiling rage.

"So there's another goal if you phrase it like that?"

"Yes."

"I'm listening?"

"Maybe you think that incident is just water under the bridge. But not for me. I'm still suffering the consequences everyday. You're still messing with my life!"

"Well, I suppose nobody who fell victim to such an incident could come to terms with it so easily," Reina Kamisu says in an indifferent voice, giving me the urge to charge at her and strangle her to death. However, I must keep from doing so; without her I will never get the answer I seek.

"And? What do you want from me?"

Reina Kamisu shows no signs of guilt. Is she really that blunt or is she acting like that on purpose? I can't quite decide between the two possibilities.

Before it's too late, I erase my anger, which is on the verge of bursting; yes, I don't suppress it, I erase it. I wouldn't last for much longer otherwise. I try to shut out every impression I have of Reina Kamisu.

"—I want to learn the truth," I squeeze out.

"The truth?"

"Yes. The reason why you killed my family."

Finding that reason is the number one priority for me.

I want to move on from my current state of mind. But in order to fight off those ever-lasting feelings of sorrow, fear, despair, and anger, I have to break through a wall.

The wall of questions.

Once ignited, hatred doesn't just go away; there is a need to go out of one's way and erase it. In the process of doing so, however, questions left unanswered constitute a great obstacle. I might be able to stomach this matter somehow given a reason or something to satisfy myself, but as a matter of fact, I don't even have enough data to make up one myself. My questions have so far been left unanswered.

Because of that, I have no means of digesting these various dark feelings within.

However, unable to understand my circumstances, Reina Kamisu inclines her head:

"Is there a point in learning about that?"

"There is. That's why I'm asking."

"You think so...? I can't seem to see one."

"I don't give a fuck about your opinion! I'm asking you a question here! Do you even have the faintest idea how much of 'myself' you already extracted from me?! You owe me some goddamn cooperation!" I yell unwittingly. Crap, I failed to stifle my anger. Even the smallest opening in my guard won't go unnoticed by my anger.

Hold it back, hold it back, hold it back.

"You changed your attitude," she notes with unchanged indifference. "Listen, I'm not trying to tease you. I would love to give you an answer, I really do. But as much as I would like to do so, I can't."

"—Why?!"

"Because there is no answer that could satisfy you."

"Well...that might be true. My family won't come back, and I won't be happy no matter what you say. But...that's not why I'm asking. I'm perfectly aware of that!"

"No, that's not what I meant."

"Then what is it that you mean...?!"

"You want me to tell you the reason why I did what I did, correct?"

"Correct."

"Hm..."

"Believe it or not, I do understand that you have an entirely different way of thinking than me. It can't be helped if your reason doesn't make sense to me. I don't care. Anything's better than knowing nothing."

For the first time, Reina Kamisu listened closely to my words.

She gazes at me, trying to understand my circumstances, trying to understand the meaning behind my words.

I breathe out in relief. Reina Kamisu isn't stupid, nor does she hold a grudge against me. Therefore, it doesn't come as a surprise that I expect her to give me the answer I was waiting for.

However—

"And still..." she sighs for some reason.

"...What?"

"I still don't have the answer you're looking for."

My eyes widen.

"C-Cut it out already! Don't give me that you had no reason to kill! There must have been some kind of motive, no matter how mad!"

"A reason? Yes, maybe there was one upon closer examination."

"...Upon closer examination?"

"But I never really got it."

She... didn't get it?

"You're not going to find a nice explanation for everything in the world, and the same goes for the murder I committed; or was that already enough to satisfy you?"

"O-Of course not!"

"I should have known."

"You don't know the reason yourself? Don't give me that! Or do you mean that you killed people just like... like drinking water?!"

"Of course not. And just so you know: It's not like I don't remember how I felt back then. I felt... an impulse. I had to kill someone. I had to confirm if people could really die through my hands. I had no other choice but to do so.

I don't know, however, where that impulse came from. I do think there would be a reason upon further examination, but I didn't find one in the end. Why do we drink water? Because we become thirsty; because we would die otherwise. But...why were we designed to die unless we drink water in the first place? I don't know. Why did I get the urge to kill? I don't know."

In other words... my attempt to understand Reina Kamisu and her reasons for killing my family can't possibly succeed—because she doesn't understand herself, either.

I'm not going to find the answer I'm looking for anywhere in the world.

"It breaks my heart to say this, but as I said earlier..."

"There is no point in learning the truth."

My wound opens.

No, a wound that hasn't healed in the first place doesn't "open."

"One more thing," she says.

It hurts.

"You mentioned that you don't consider that incident a matter of the past, right?"

Damn, it hurts.

"I think I know why that is."

It hurts, damn, it hurts!

"You seem to think that I only killed your family, but that's wrong."

Ah, I see.

That's why my wound isn't healing; because she has destroyed my ability to regenerate.

"I must have also killed you!"

Right—I am already dead.

===4===
I mustn't worry my aunt. And yet...I have been skipping school for the past few days, unable to move a muscle.

I'm dead.

Needless to say, that's a figure of speech; from a biological perspective, I'm perfectly alive and capable of thought.

However—there is a wound in my chest that is linked to the past. As long as I have this wound, I will keep being taken back to that day and being harmed by Reina Kamisu.

Reina Kamisu will keep carving up everything I have—my happiness, sadness, qualms, dreams—tread on it, nullify it.

The only thing that remains to me are the feelings of that incident. Feelings that will give me no rest wherever I go and however long I wait.

Therefore, I'm chained to one place, forbidden to move toward the future.

Therefore, my life has come to a halt.

Therefore, you can say that I am "dead."

...Fuck.

I completely lost to Reina Kamisu.

How am I supposed to live on now? What am I supposed to do? Do I have to continue to live for year after year together with that pain in my chest?

How could I answer that?

No...not quite.

How could I decide over that?

I'm in the midst of a vortex of worthless thought that, even though it's worthless, tries to suck me in. Suddenly, however:

"Atsushi? I'm coming in!" a voice says and drags me back into reality.

"Okay..."

After hearing my reply, my aunt enters the room carrying a tray with a bowl of rice porridge on it.

My guilt pangs get stronger. I'm pretending to be ill and hiding the real reason for my absence; I don't want to worry my aunt by telling her that it's really a mental problem.

"Does your head still hurt?" she asks after she puts the tray on my desk.

"Yeah..."

My conscience pricks me; I'm lying to her.

...I have no other choice. I'm sorry, but I have no other choice.

"Do you really think you're okay? It's already been 3 days and counting. Do you want me to take you to the hospital?"

"I'm fine."

She gazes silently at my face for a few moments, and finally nods with a gentle smile.

Her smile sparks a faint assumption within me: Maybe she has long since seen through my lie, and is just turning a blind eye on me because she's powerless?

"Atsushi? It's Wednesday today, do you remember?"

"Mm...ah."

"Do you want to cancel this week's appointment with your doctor? I can contact him if you want."

Normally, it's these times when one should look for mental counseling, but since I'm pretending to be ill, I mustn't get caught.

"Yes, please. Can I ask you to contact him, mom?"

Just before I finish speaking, her eyes widen. Surprised by her reaction, I recall my own words.

Ah... I just called my aunt "mom."

Unsure how to deal with this awkward situation, I wordlessly gaze at her. Her surprised face slowly turns back into the familiar gentle smile.

"You finally said it," she smiles with a hint of joy.

"That was...that was just a mistake."

"I don't mind, Atsushi. In that case, I will just take it that you like me so much that you mistook me for your mother for an instant."

Is that so...?

Sure, I'm grateful of her—I really am—but isn't that itself proof that we're not a real family? If I were her real son, I wouldn't probably be that grateful. I would consider the love she'd give me a perfectly natural thing. I would just take her love and do nothing in return.

However, if I told my aunt that now, I would only sadden her.

Keeping my opinion to myself, I ask her something else instead.

"Can I call you ''mom'' from now on, then?"

"Of course you can! You're our son, Atsushi! My husband may seem cold to you, but he feels really attached to you, too."

"Yeah, I know."

I'm a child. As such, I cost a lot of money. On top of that, I will cost even more once I've completed my compulsory education and enter a high school. Despite all that, my uncle has not made a single complaint.

"There's nothing to worry about. We're even acknowledged as your parents by the law."

"Yeah..."

"Can you...can you call me again?"

"Huh?"

"Quick!"

Fighting off the awkwardness, I say, "Mom."

My aunt nods happily.

Mom.

Yes, I feel averse to calling her that way.

Because I'm used to calling her aunt? Sure, but there is more to the reluctance I'm feeling.

Why is that? Why?

Besides, I've long known that she wanted me to call her mom, that she didn't like the word aunt because it put some distance between us.

I've always been grateful of her, and wanted to make her happy if possible. If I can make her happy with something as simple as changing the way I address her, I would do that anytime without a second thought.

Then why is it that I have kept calling her aunt to this day?

"I have a question, mom."

"Yes?"

"Have you—" I break off in mid-sentence. There's no return once I have said the continuation of these words.

No...I have noticed already, so I can't return anyway.

"—Have you ever heard of Reina Kamisu?"

I'm sitting on the sofa inside Dr. Mihara's office.

As high as hiding my true reason for staying home was in my list of priorities, I don't care much anymore. I need the counseling. More precisely, I need to talk with Dr. Mihara.

"Hello Atsushi-kun," he says to me as he enters the room.

"Hello," I reply.

He sits down in the seat opposite of me.

"So," he cites the usual phrase, "how have you been?"

I have already prepared an answer to that question.

"A lot happened."

"Oh? Would you mind telling me?"

"Sure, that's why I'm here."

"True," he nods. Because he is a psychotherapist, it is very hard to read his true thoughts from his expression, but I can tell that he has noticed that something in me changed.

"Firstly, I had a dream."

"Oh? What kind of dream?"

He often asks me to tell him about my dreams. I guess he's trying to analyze them and search the depths of my consciousness.

"A dream where I get killed by Reina Kamisu."

Dr. Mihara closely observes my face as I speak, while I observe his, trying to take note of every change.

"Which means that it's that dream in which a girl kills you, right? With a kitchen knife?"

"Yes. Also, doctor, her name is Reina Kamisu."

Gazing closely at me, he replies, "I see."

"Doctor."

"Yes?"

"I have had that dream for a while now, right?"

After giving it some thought, he nods, "That's right."

"It's not hard to see why I would have such a dream: because I haven't come to terms with that incident yet. Correct?"

It seems that I have knocked him somewhat out of his stride.

During all the years of coming here, I have noticed that he never gives me answers. He only listens to me. He tries to help me find an answer myself by listening. That's all he really does. There have been times when I was annoyed by that, but I guess that's just how psychotherapy works.

It must be troublesome from his perspective to be urged to state his own thoughts.

"...I think so," he says, however, after coming to the conclusion that there will be no harm in doing so.

"Is that all?" I ask.

"...All?"

"Is that all of your view on that dream?"

He grumbles deeply and averts his eyes from me. After remaining silent like that for a few seconds, he looks at me again and opens his mouth.

"Atsushi-kun. It is true that I have reflected on your dream and formed my own opinion. That is, however, my personal view and in no way perfect. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"The problem is, Atsushi-kun, that by disclosing my opinion, I might affect your own opinion. You might accidentally confuse my answer as yours. Do you understand the problem that I'm pointing out?"

"Yes. That means that there is no problem if I state my own opinion, right?"

"...I suppose so."

"Fine. I think that my dream is the result of my wish to 'escape'."

"..." He remains silent.

"Let me change the topic a little. I would like to tell you something entirely else that happened this week."

"Go ahead."

"I came across Reina Kamisu again."

"...I see. Just to be sure: we are not talking about that dream here anymore, is that correct?"

"Yes, of course not. This time we didn't only pass by each other, we also talked."

"..."

"Don't you want to know what we talked about?"

"...Yes, please."

"I felt the need to know the reason she killed my family. And that's what I asked her."

"What...what did she reply?"

"She told me that she had no idea."

"Hm..."

"I'm quite sure that she didn't lie to me. Reina Kamisu had a murderous impulse and killed my family. However, there was no deeper reason beside that impulse. At the very least, that's what she seems to think."

Dr. Mihara maintains his silence, unsure how to react.

"I wanted to put an end to that incident by learning about her reasons. I wanted to get a hold of something that could help me come to terms. Yet, my hopes were betrayed. Instead, I will now be forever held captive by my past.

—However, there is something I noticed earlier. Even if, just hypothetically, she had had a proper reason for the murder she committed, I wouldn't have accepted that reason no matter what. I didn't stand a chance against Reina Kamisu from the very start. Because it's plain impossible to pacify the feelings of someone whose family was murdered."

He is still gazing at me. At last, he reluctantly begins to speak. "Say, Atsushi-kun, where did you meet her?"

"At the McDonalds near the station. In real life, of course."

With folded arms, he lapses into silence again. Having said everything I wanted to say, I also keep quiet.

Silence. For a while, only meaningless noises reach my ears, like the noise of traffic and the clicking of a clock.

I shall wait for his next words—whatever they may be.

At last, he unfolds his arms and looks deep into my eyes.

"Atsushi-kun... may I ask you a question?" Dr. Mihara asks.

"Sure."

"Earlier, you mentioned that you see your wish to escape in that dream, right?"

"Right."

"Furthermore, you continually emphasized that you met her in real life, right?"

"Right."

"You already know the real answer, don't you, Atsushi-kun? Despite that, you asked me that, is that right?"

"..."

"Okay, Atsushi-kun. Let me confirm this once again."

"...Confirm what?"

"It was a coldblooded murderer who killed your family. What's her name again? Rehna Kamizu?"

"Right. Reina Kamisu. Reina Kamisu slaughtered my family!" I utter agitatedly, confusing the doctor a little.

He remains calm, however, and responds to me, "However—"

"That person does not exist."

While I did expect that answer, it still comes as a shock. My hypothesis proved correct. And as I already knew beforehand, as such it will aggravate my pain.

"That's not true!" I deny. I must.

"Why do you still say that?! You are escaping! That's wrong and you know it!"

"No... that's not true! I know that, I know for a fact that she does exist!"

That's no lie. At least, I don't think it's one.

"Atsushi-kun..."

"Reina Kamisu exists! She's here with us!" I shout.

I have to make sure of it.

Leaving a perplexed Dr. Mihara behind, I turn around and dash out of his office. As I leave the room, I bump into a girl who was waiting for her turn, and tumble over. I jump to my feet, however, and without a word of apology, I head to the place where I can make sure of Reina Kamisu's existence.

While I've never actually been there, I know the address. As I keep running toward that address, I try to regain a cool head. I will need it to confirm the fact I'm seeking, and I should be able to, since I already proved myself by suppressing my anger while talking to Reina Kamisu.

Calm down. First of all, slow down a little. Running your heart out isn't going to change anything; your fate stays all the same.

At last, I manage to regain my composure—just when I arrived at my destination, as chance would have it.

I ring the chime.

"Yes?" someone says after a few moments.

"Urm... my name is Atsushi Kogure. Ah, yes... I'm a classmate of Kyouhei-kun's." As I explain who I am, I look at the nameplate besides the chime.

The plate reads Kimura.

With the meekest expression I can play, I pray at Kimura's altar, since that's what I told his mother I am here for. I must make her believe that we were good buddies. She won't be able to tell unless he previously told her in detail about me.

"It was a... real shock...," I explain to her with a sad face.

I then ramble on about how much I'm supposedly grieved about Kimura's death. It's not that hard: I just have to exaggerate my own feelings, since it's for a fact that I was, as a classmate, shocked by his sudden passing away. His mother nods at my words, a few tears in her eyes. The queasy conscience I get is immediately wiped out in the face of my goal.

"In fact, Mrs. Kimura, I'm here today with a request," I say, finally coming down to business.

"...Yes?"

"I want to know what Kimura-kun thought about in his last hours, what were his worries, and I would like to hear his own, true words. Therefore, may I—"

The odds are for me. For one thing, there have been others who have seen it, otherwise there wouldn't be any rumors, and she doesn't seem to have noticed that I'm deceiving her. I don't see why she would refuse.

"—may I read his suicide note?"

===5===
I started to wander around aimlessly after I had left Kimura's home.

Everything was a lie, the truth, and cruel reality.

The past, the here and now, and the future exist all here simultaneously, and all of them turned out to be tormenting me.

My wound aggravates even more.

It hurts.

But there's no blood to spill anymore—there's not a single drop left.

I've dwindled. Entirely.

I'm dried up like dust, and what little is left of me could easily be wiped away.

As I look up at the colorful, dazzling sky, I recall Kimura's suicide note.

"Mother, father, and all who have known me: please forgive me for leaving so soon.

Now that I hold my pen, I don't know what to write anymore. Even though I pondered quite a while about it before.

For starters, let me write why I killed myself.

It was not until I troubled a certain girl and drove her into suicide that I decided in the real sense to commit suicide myself.

I will not write the details of what I did to her. Every time I call back the memories, my heart feels like a rag being squeezed out.

While that event was the last straw, however, I had been thinking of suicide before.

There is no meaning in my life.

No one needs me and no one ever will, although I'm sure you will all deny it.

But in the end, I still think that it all boils down to the fact that I'm worthless. It may be a bad simile, but I think I'm somewhat like your favorite pencil: it hurts a bit if it goes lost, but you can easily buy a new one in the supermarket around the corner.

That's why I think that the only way I can atone for driving someone into suicide is to end my own worthless life as well.

You were kind-hearted. We talked, even though you were already dead. Maybe I was just having an illusion, but you forgave me.

And that's exactly why I have to punish myself.

I have to atone for the sin of tormenting someone as kind and forgiving as you.

Let me apologize once more for what I did.

I am awfully sorry,—                "

I reread these words over and over, but they didn't change no matter how many times and from what angle I read them.

"I am awfully sorry, Reina Kamisu-san.                "

I recall what Mizuhara said to me.

"A ghost cursed them to death."

And then I finally recall whose name Saito called for help.

At last, I found myself at the place where I'd first seen her—the shopping district by the station. As I lean against the wall, I decide to wait for her.

There's no guarantee that she will appear, but I have a hunch that she will if I keep waiting.

I search my pockets and take out the envelope I have stuffed in there before I dashed out of my home.

Why didn't I call my aunt mom?

In fact, there is no problem with that in itself. The problem is that I would consequently have to call my uncle dad as well, since I can't just change one side and leave the other as is. Needless to say, the reason why I don't want to call him that way is not because I don't like him as much as I like my aunt.

I look at the envelope.

It's addressed at "Atsushi Kogure," while the sender is written to be "Takashi Kogure" on the backside. Right, that's the name of my dad.

And the postmark's date is the tenth of last month.

"Were you looking for me again?"

I raise my head and couldn't contain a smile. I am looking at a smile that is as absurdly beautiful as ever.

"Exactly!" I reply.

"What do you want?"

"I want to confirm something. And I have a request."

"Okay, ask away and make sure of whatever that is."

I stuff the envelope in my pocket again and ask, "It was you who killed my family, right?"

"That's right."

"It was also you who killed my father, right?"

"Obviously."

"Which means that it can't have been my father who killed my family, right?"

Reina Kamisu's eyes widen in surprise. And with absolute certainty, she replies:

"Of course it wasn't him."

I look closely at her. Naturally, there's no sign of deception to be found in her face.

"Would you mind... listening to my silly musings for a moment?" I ask her.

"Go ahead."

"Let's pretend for a moment that not you but my father killed my family," I start.

"Now that's a bizarre thought."

"His motive for attacking us wouldn't be something as incomprehensible as yours, I'm sure, but something clear. Something clichéd like, for example, financial difficulties that made him attempt to commit family suicide."

"It's a shame that it wasn't him."

"Huh?"

"I mean, you wanted a reason, didn't you? You'd have one in that case, no?"

Indeed, I wanted one. However—

"I don't care."

I don't care. I don't think I would want to know the reason if it were such a cheap one. I wouldn't want to learn that our family was destroyed by a foolish thing like that.

If that hypothesis were true, I'd certainly wish—

—that that reason didn't exist in the first place.

I would certainly try to ignore the truth right before my eyes, and seek refuge in my dreams. I would make one up where someone else murders my family. Someone who's a monster and doesn't have a proper reason to kill.

Someone like—the beautiful girl here.

However, no matter how fake the culprit is—

"—I don't care. The fact that my family was killed won't change, no matter who was the culprit. After all, it's impossible to pacify the feelings of someone whose family was murdered, and my wound will never heal up. Right?"

Reina Kamisu gazes closely at me.

"Perhaps," she finally answers.

"You said it. Then what is it that I would seek? Let me tell you: a resting place, where I wouldn't be wounded, where I wouldn't have to suffer anymore. I would definitely seek a place to rest like that," I say and look into her eyes.

"—So?"

"Hm?"

"You're done confirming, aren't you? So what's the other thing you wanted; what's your request?" she asks and I reply with a natural smile.

Ah, she acts just like I wanted.

What I needed was a culprit with no reason to kill. But that's not all. That's not enough to give me peace of mind.

What I really need is—a coldblooded murderer.

A murderer like Reina Kamisu.

Therefore, I ask from her:

"—Please, kill me."

That moment, my wound turned into a scar.

The pain went away and the blood stopped. What remains is a plain scar that looks a bit repulsive until you've gotten used to it.

But that's just an illusion; I can't exist without that pain. I have to drag along my past and live with it and the pain. As soon as I stop fantasizing about being killed by Reina Kamisu, the scar will turn back into a fresh wound.

"Why do you ask me? Just die by yourself."

"That's out of question. I can't commit suicide. My fear of death is barely strong enough to keep me from doing that."

"Hmm...? Barely strong enough, hm?" she emphasizes part of what I said.

Right, I can't end my own life because I'm able to see how horrifying it is to die.

But what if—what if someone killed me?

If I were to be killed forcibly, I would not have the time to mull over about death. At most, I would realize the fact that I would disappear from this world. Or perhaps, the pain wouldn't grant me any thought at all. The prominent kind of feeling I would have at that moment would be—relief.

I've always been wishing from the bottom of my heart for someone to erase me.

"Just in case," I say to her.

"Hm?"

"You have no qualms about taking my life, do you?"

With an absurdly beautiful smile, Reina Kamisu replies:

"—Of course not. Why should I have any qualms?"

"Tell me," she continues, surprising me, "why are you smiling so happily?"

Only now do I realize that a smile has been glued to my face. Without a thought, I cover my mouth, but as I do so, I peek into her eyes and return the favor.

"So are you," I point out, causing her to cover her mouth as well. Amused by the fact that we showed the exact same reaction, we both start to laugh.

The fact that nothing about this peaceful moment is real only adds to it.

"Okay—" she mutters as she extends her soft hands to me. Her long, slender fingers fold around my neck. I can't help but feel that this situation is perverted and even slightly sexual.

Her fingers strangulate me.

Her hands are as cold as those of a dead person. It feels like that coldness is absorbing everything from me.

Ah—I am vanishing for good.

Bit by bit, the sensation of being split is getting stronger. Slowly but surely, I am leaving my body. The mangled remains of myself are assembling into one piece again and leaving my body. Never before have I felt such an overwhelming feeling of anguish and pleasure.

And as I have predicted, I feel relieved.

In my last moments, I look at her while she is choking me.

Suddenly, I wonder: who is she, anyway?

I quickly dismiss that thought. Partially because my ability to think has dwindled, but mostly because it seemed like a meaningless thought once I saw her absurdly beautiful smile.

Instead, I say to her in my mind:

"Thank you."

And then—

Atsushi Kogure died.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Kamisu Reina:Volume 1 Fumi Saito|Chapter 1]]
| Return to [[Kamisu Reina Series|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Kamisu Reina:Volume 1 Shizuka Wakui|Chapter 3]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Kamisu Reina:Volume 1 Atsushi Kogure

2015-03-18T13:29:46Z

MondSemmel: /* 2 */

==Chapter 2: Atsushi Kogure==
===1===

My heart explodes and comes bursting out of my mouth.

In the eyes of everyone else in this shopping district by the station, nothing special happened. However, ''I'' have made a horrifying discovery.

Within the crowd of strangers that walk the streets, I have found ''her'' whom I will never forget.

Burst by an unbearable shock, my pieces stick to all my surroundings. The hundreds of shreds that I have spit out scowl at her from all sides. Noticing my gazes, ''she'' finds my main body and looks at it.

And—smiles.

Her smile leaves me so thunderstruck that I can't even break down—I just freeze. It's like her smile made away with the very concept of time, let alone my feelings that completely vanished at the sight of her.

The girl before my eyes stands aloof from the world. At the very least, I know that she has no proper moral values.

I am being devoured by her existence.

Only after she goes away am I able to breathe again. I confirm that my emotional perception is still intact, and finally feel alive again.

Right. I—

I ''detest'' that girl.

She has stolen ''everything'' from me.

No matter how special and transcendental she is, that doesn't make her sins any lighter.

I won't forgive her. I will absolutely not forgive her. I won't ever forgive her, the cold-blooded killer of my family.

I won't forgive Reina Kamisu!

===2===

"You met Reina Kamisu?" my doctor asks in wonderment when I tell him about my encounter with that monster.

"Yes. I ran across her. That killer."

"Reina Kamisu..."

I may have called him doctor, but Doctor Mihara doesn't fit the common image of one. He is a sociable, young psychiatrist and actually still in his twenties.

"Are you sure it was not a dream?"

"It was real! She walked past me before my very eyes! She even noticed me and laughed at me!"

"Hm..." Doctor Mihara folds his arms as he notices that I'm dead serious.

My family was murdered by Reina Kamisu.

To this day it is unknown why she broke into our house and stabbed everyone except me; she didn't steal anything, nor was there a grudge I know of. She hadn't made any threats in advance, either, nor did she seem to enjoy it. In contrary, she seemed to be very intelligent and to have no relation with drugs and the like. In fact, I failed to find a stain in her personality.

But it is for a fact that she killed my family.

Their lives vanished so easily.

I used to think that human lives are special—nothing like the fishes we once dissected at school. The idea of human life and its supposed value used to be huge and boundless in my young mind. In fact, on the assumption that only humans have minds, I still think that our lives are of great value.

However—it's possible to take someone's life with the same knife that you slice open a fish with.

Confronted with that absurd fact as a mere 10-year old boy, I was shattered.

I do have a wound in my chest—due to Reina Kamisu, of course—that is quite grotesque. One of the kind that makes people grimace.

However, the problem with that wound isn't that it scares everyone. The problem is that it is still a wound and not a scar. It's still a gaping wound, and it's going to stay that way. But instead of blood, it's my very own self that is being bled out. "Something" that is needed to live. I'm dwindling. Ever-dwindling.

I'm still breaking bit by bit.

"Atsushi-kun," my doctor addresses me with a serious look.

"Yes?"

"We're out of time for today, but can I ask you to tell me more about this in our next meeting?"

"Yes, of course."

I was planning to do so anyway.

Besides, the only way to fix me is to go against Reina Kamisu; to learn the truth about her; to—understand her.

Can I win against that monster? The odds are against me, I'm afraid. I'm going to lose. I'm going to keep dwindling.

Just like a black hole, there are times when uncalled-for feelings absorb the obvious and make you blind. Therefore, if I want to oppose her, I must seal my emotions—which consist mostly of hatred—away. Thinking back at the outburst of emotions that I experienced when I ran across her the other day, I can imagine how hard that is.

However, no matter how hard the fight against that monster turns out to be, there is no risk for me. I've sunken to the lowest point already. While it is hard to fight my way up, I can't fall any lower.

Therefore, I won't waver to fight.

"I won't lose!"

"Against whom...?" Doctor Mihara asks, still serious.

"Against me, of course, and against Reina Kamisu."

He maintains a pensive look and seems to be groping for words. In the end, he just mutters, "I see..."

The following day, I headed to school like always despite my decision to fight against Reina Kamisu. Truth be told, I would rather look around for her than attend my classes, but added to the fact that I have no clues except for spotting her in town, I don't want to bother my aunt.

Unlike my uncle, she is treating me really well. I suppose the fact that they don't have any own children adds to this, but she is looking after me like I were her real son... maybe even more so ''because'' I'm not her real son. There's no discontent. There's no discontent... but there is pressure. I feel that I absolutely mustn't and can't sadden my aunt, since she is obliged to look after me as well.

I arrive at school and notice that our classroom is remarkably noisy.

Puzzled, I catch Yuuji Kato, who happened to stand nearby and is on comparatively good terms with me. I ask, "What's the matter?"

"Suicide's the matter, dude! Suicide!"

"What? But that was, like, last week, no? Did we learn something new about Saito's suicide?" I ask as I toss my bag onto my desk.

Since she was a person who we would see every day at school, Saito's death came quite as a shock for us. While she didn't have any friends—she was even suspected to have stolen from a classmate—there were still students who mourned for her. Surprisingly though, it wasn't until she died that a few guys came our of their shells and confessed with teary eyes that they had actually been fond of her because she had a "modest" personality unlike most girls nowadays. Saito must have quite mixed feelings up there in heaven, since that personality of hers is what drove her to suicide.

"Are you still making a fuss about that story? Why don't you leave her alone already? I'm sure that she... wouldn't like being the center of attention," I mention to him.

"You're completely off the mark, man."

"What do you mean?"

"This is not about Saito, you know?"

"Then who committed suicide?"

Yuuji looks at a certain desk and says, "Kimura."

Before classes started, all students of our school were summoned to the gym for an emergency speech, where the school director bored us with a lengthy speech on "the value of life."

While listening with half an ear to what he has to say, I start making my own thoughts about the incident.

It seems like Saito, Mizuhara, and the other people concerned didn't know, but anyone who was either somewhat familiar with Kimura or has enough brains, like me, was aware that Kimura was really the culprit of the stolen wallet incident.

It was a well-known fact among us guys that Kimura had a crush on Mizuhara, and that he was turned down when he confessed to her. She told him that she had no plans of dating anyone in the near future. A few days later, however, she and Ashizawa became a couple.

Needless to say, she only used that phrase to turn Kimura down because she wanted to avoid being too direct, and he must have been aware of that. Nonetheless, Kimura's feelings were hurt. Thoroughly. He must have thought that he was inferior to Ashizawa—a complete drop-out—in Mizuhara's eyes. Starting from then, everything he said and everything he did was underlined with a subtle tone of self-deprecation.

I can see why he would want to damage the present Ashizawa gave to Mizuhara. In fact, I think a little payback like that is very much tolerable. However, he knew that he would be the obvious culprit if he executed that resentful plan of his.

Therefore, he was in need of a suspect other than himself. And he found one in Saito, who just happened to be made a fool of by Mizuhara.

At a glance, Kimura did his job well; at the very least, he managed to trick his main targets—Mizuhara and her group—into believing his lie.

However, in effect he failed horribly.

He didn't take into consideration how much his actions would hurt Saito's feelings because he was too focused on how to force the blame onto her. But his greatest mistake was not to take into consideration how much his own feelings would be hurt by hurting Saito's.

His revenge inflicted a lethal wound on Saito. Maybe that's not entirely accurate. Maybe he only touched a sore point of Saito's that was already lethal anyway. Nevertheless, Kimura considered himself responsible for her death.

Kimura hurt Saito, and that fact hurt himself. Both of those wounds were lethal, and both of those wounds ended in death. Like... like my own wound.

At last, the school director ends his speech after more than a full hour. I do understand his concern, but that doesn't make it any more worthwhile.

Seriously... he doesn't get that a sermon is not going to achieve anything. We all know perfectly well that one must not commit suicide. And yet there are times when the world we live in becomes so tough on us that we play with the thought. Therefore, it's useless to appeal to ethics; he ought to go with a more practical and concrete approach. If I were to stop suicide, I would do it like this: "Dying means falling into an eternal state of nothingness, a perfect void that can't be conceived by anything that is alive. Just think about it: your brain goes away. You do not have any thought anymore. Surely, you've heard of the phrase 'I think, thus I am,' no? Give it some careful thought. Nothing exists. Do you get this? Nothing exists. How many seconds could you endure being in a world without sound, without light, and without any kind of sensation? A world where you don't even get hungry. Where you have no desires at all. Can you follow me? But death is a perfect void, so it exceeds even such a sensation-less world. There is no future. Heaven is just a construct people who fear death made up. You should know why there will always be people who believe in a world after death despite the advent of science; it's because they are scared. Scared of what waits beyond death. So, don't think ending your own life will save you! It simply ends. It E-N-D-S. Suicide is the act of killing yourself, and dying without comprehending the meaning of death is but escaping from reality. Although the result is the same in both cases. All right, come on. Try to kill yourself if you can; try to kill yourself now that you've learned the truth."

At the very least, I couldn't kill myself.

After all, the only reason why I'm here now is because I'm more afraid of death than most.

Ah, right, there was a nice little twist to this story:

"Actually, I heard Kimura left behind a suicide note," Yuuji tells me.

"A suicide note? Did he apologize to Saito or something?"

"Exactly."

"Well, that should cheer her up a little, I guess?"

"No, I think it'll have quite the opposite effect."

"Hm...? Well, sure, I wouldn't want anyone to commit suicide because of me either."

"That's not the problem," he objects.

"What do you mean?"

"Kimura got her name wrong."

Oh.

After school ended (classes did take place, but everyone was somewhat absent in mind) I headed to the shopping district where I had come across Reina Kamisu.

There's no guarantee that I will find her again just because I saw her once, but that's the only clue I have. I originally thought I would be able to get my hands on some data since I'm the victim of the incident, but it's not that simple. Especially for juvenile crimes.

Should Reina Kamisu walk past me, I won't miss her. That's not only because I've carved her appearance into my memory over and over: She is special in anyone's eyes. She is absurdly beautiful.

"..."

However, an event-less hour passed. Having stood all the while because there was no place to sit, my legs got a bit tired. I decided to tolerate moving away from this place a bit and went to the next McDonalds, grabbed myself two burgers (everything else is too expensive for the purse of a middle school student) and sat down by the window.

While munching at my burger, I start thinking about Reina Kamisu.

Reina Kamisu. Back when the incident happened, she was 16 years old (meaning that she was only one year older than I am now), so her present age should be 21. Did she get a job? Maybe she's enrolled in a university. She probably couldn't graduate from high school because of everything she did, but she should be smart enough to make it through the entrance exams of an university. Even though she killed my entire family, she was hardly punished at all because her completely incomprehensible motive got her diagnosed "mentally unstable". I bet now she's worshiped like an idol at her workplace or at university. The murderous idol. Haha, what a catchphrase!

"Tch...!"

The wound in my chest starts to pain. According to Dr. Mihara, this pain is just a product of my mind since the wound has already healed.

Dammit! You think this is only mental? An illusion? Don't mess with me, Doc! This pain isn't fake; no way it is!

The wound ''is'' bleeding. I may be the only one who can see the blood, but it's definitely blood—and I'm the liquid (or something similar to a liquid).

Ah, damn, I know! I'm not making sense. I'm just digging a hole for myself.

But as a matter of fact—the wound hasn't healed.

And it still hurts.

===3===

The perceptive faculties of a human have a certain capacity; our brains are like computers and can only process up to a certain amount of data. When there is an overflow of information, they stop working correctly and start churning out error messages.

The sight before my eyes deprives me of any emotional impulse.

There is a corpse; my mom's corpse. There is a corpse; my dad's corpse. There is a corpse; my sister's corpse. The floor is covered by a pool of blood. Whoa, how am I supposed to walk on a floor that's so drenched? No, that's not the problem here, is it? Whoa-whoa, they're dead, no? You gotta be kidding me. This isn't some TV drama. Such brutal deaths do not happen around me. That being said, this looks pretty real. Haha, hey, this is getting out of hand. I can't believe it. And what's with that girl there? Who the fuck is that incredibly pretty girl? What's with that knife—that blood-drenched knife—she's carrying? Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa! It was YOU? Despite that pretty face of yours? Hold on a sec! Don't mess with me! Who allowed you to kill my family? Who are you, anyway? Who are you?! Who the fuck are you?!

"As I thought..."

What's ''as you thought''?! You're strange! You're nuts!

"People die when you stab them."

Of course they do. Every child knows that. Everyone knows that, although no one actually verifies it.

Right. My family died.

Died?

Yeah, they died...right?

They died. Yeah, they died. D-I-E-D.

"A...ah..." I finally start to moan.

They're lying on the floor. My mom, my dad, my sister, they're all lying on the floor, inanimate. I was watching TV until a few moments ago. I went upstairs because they got angry with me because I'd kicked my sister. Has that become a scene of the past? Has that girl stolen it from me? Is that even possible? Can she even do that?

"Do you want to die, too?"

She can. That girl can do it.

"Uh...UWAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!"

Help me help me help me! HELP ME, mom! Ah, she's dead! Anyone! Anyone help me!

I fall on my rear and crawl backward, literally wetting my pants. Of course I can't escape like this, but I can't stand up either.

She draws closer.

"S-Stop it..."

However, my words fall on deaf ears. Aiming the knife at me, she draws closer.

And then she wields it.

"Stop it! STOOOOOOOP!"

And then I wake up like always.

I let out a sigh as I sip my miso soup.

"My, Atsuhi, why are you sighing when the day has only started?" my aunt reproaches me lightly with a smile and puts a plate with a fried egg before me.

"I had that dream again..." I answer as I put some soy sauce on the egg.

"I see. They've become frequent lately."

"Yeah."

"Oh dear...why does that girl have a grudge against you?"

A grudge. Had her motive been so simple and reasonable, I wouldn't be as broken as I am now.

"Maybe you're a little antsy because your admission exams are just around the corner?" she says in an unusual worried tone. She's worried; in other words, I'm worrying her.

This is bad. I mustn't worry her even more when she's already worried about my being under mental treatment.

"Ahaha, but I haven't even started studying?" I laugh as I hold my chest.

"You haven't? I think that's pretty problematic, too!"

When my aunt said so, I could read the words "thank god my fears were groundless" from her face.

Groundless fears. Right, her fears should have been groundless.

However, it is a fact that the dream has unsettled me more than it would usually do.

I started having that nightmare after that incident happened. During the first month, I was tormented by it every night, and every time I was, I was so unsettled that I could not eat anything.

But you get used to any nightmare with time: lately, I would only think of it as a "bad dream."

However, today it's different. Not only did she wound me in my dream, she also wounded me in reality again.

I hold my chest.

My nightmare has leaked into reality and is attacking me from there. That's all because I've run across Reina Kamisu the other day. That nightmare isn't just a nightmare; it's my past that keeps tormenting me.

By coming across Reina Kamisu, my nightmare has acquired reality. She is using it as a portal to attack me.

Again and again, she will attack me.

Now, how long will my heart be able to endure it?

I enter the classroom, just to get surprised almost as much as yesterday.

Ashizawa had his head shaved, abandoning his long, brown hair.

I doubt that one of the teachers in charge of common decency forced him to do that; they wouldn't go that far. It must have been his own will.

Ashizawa has been in low spirits lately, which is, needless to say, because he is blaming himself for Saito's death. Back when the wallet he gave to Mizuhara was damaged, he got so angry with Saito that he pushed her into a corner and intimidated her.

I was there when it happened and observed them, planning to step in if he were to get rough...no, I don't know if I really intended to intervene. Perhaps, I only pretended to be worried about her. Anyway, I observed them without doing anything.

Only after looking at Ashizawa's shaved head, my conscience starts to prickle me.

I don't know how much that incident took part in Saito's death, but I'm sure that it did have an effect. It's another aspect that drove her into suicide.

But what if there'd been someone who tried to help Saito when she was surrounded by Ashizawa and his pals? What if she'd had a comrade who didn't care about the pressure Ashizawa applied? Wouldn't the outcome have been different? Aren't we, who hesitated to stand up for Saito, the real sinners?

That "comrade" could have been me.

Ashizawa has inflicted an evident punishment upon himself like a real delinquent. As thoughtless and pointless as that punishment may be, he did produce proof of his remorse.

And what about us? We're denying any responsibility and try to discount the matter with some pity. It's not Ashizawa or Kimura or Mizuhara who cornered Saito, but us who tried to stay away from her to the bitter end.

Suddenly, a question crosses my mind.

Come to think of it—

Didn't Saito call someone's name for help?

Even the lunch break was occupied with the subject of Saito and Kimura because Ashizawa's shaved head was so eye-catching. Because of the great sympathy for Saito that fills the air (they all seem to feel guilty), Takatsuki and her colleagues are in an awkward position, being the ones who blamed Saito.

I have eaten up my boxed lunch and am observing my class, my elbow rested on my desk.

Ashizawa looks like a monk, and Takatsuki's group are looking like cats in an unfamiliar house. Wondering how Mizuhara herself is doing, I look at her.

Her fairly pretty face looks even more exhausted than before. She must be aware of the central part she has played in both Saito's and Kimura's suicide.

As I make this observation, she turns to me and our eyes meet.

I quickly avert my gaze to feign ignorance, but her gaze remains fixed on me. "Never mind me!" I shout in my mind as I confirm that I'm still being watched.

However, my silent shout remained unheard; she stands up and walks toward my seat.

"Kogure-kun."

Now she called my name. Looks like it wasn't a coincidence or because she noticed my gaze that she looked at me.

"So...What's the matter, Mizuhara?" I ask as I raise my head, visibly annoyed.

"You're smart, aren't you? I mean, you're always the number one in this class and you are among the best in our school year, right?"

"You're talking about my grades, but there's a difference between being smart and having good grades."

Mizuhara is dumbstruck for a moment, but eventually picks up again, "...But you're the only one I can think of to talk about this. Can you spare me a moment, please?"

"I think there are enough other people who could give you better advice."

"Mmm...I'm not exactly looking for advice. Let's not talk about it here—come this way."

Mizuhara pulls me by my sleeve. Looks like she insists on talking with me.

"Whoa, hold your horses, now. Ashizawa's going to get angry when he sees us together."

"He won't."

"Oh, really? He must be quite forgiving then."

"No, we've...split up."

Surprised, I freeze for an instant.

"Ah...I see," I say in a deliberately disinterested voice, but my expression just now has given me away.

But now that I think about it, there's nothing to be so surprised about. While the love experienced in middle school might be blind and grand, it's also transitory. Their bonds weren't strong enough to withstand the obstacles brought upon them—that's all.

And those bonds ruined Kimura.

Oh well.

Mizuhara led me to the stairway landing before the door to the roof. These stairs are hardly used, so there probably won't be any uninvited visitors. She must have used this place to secretly meet up with Ashizawa.

"We came here from time to time. Toshiki and I."

There you have it.

"You...you know about the fake love letter I teased Saito-san with, right?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Did you ever wonder why I did that?"

"Nope, not at all? I assumed that you simply couldn't stand Saito, and I don't think there's a deeper reason to find there."

"Perhaps...that's true...but I, I also wanted to help—"

"I don't care. Spare me that story."

That's just an excuse she made up.

"No, hear me out! To tell the truth...we once saw her when we met up here."

"Really...? What kind of business did Saito have here?"

"That's the problem...she was mumbling things to herself."

"To herself?"

"Yes, to herself, but as if talking with someone. I tried following her glance a few times, but there was no one there."

That's not ''that'' noteworthy; Saito had no one to talk with, so it makes sense that she would vent her desire to talk when she was alone.

"And you found that to be creepy, so you teased her?" I conclude.

"I did think it was creepy, that's true..."

I see. I can understand that Mizuhara would want to intervene after coming across such a scene.

"So? That's not why you brought me here, is it?"

"No..." She hesitates for a moment. "Kogure-kun...do you believe in ghosts?"

The conversation takes a sudden turn.

"Ghosts? No idea. Well, I do think they might exist, since so many people claim that they do..."

"How about evil spirits?"

"Bullshit."

Wait, wait, why does Mizuhara ask things like that? What's the meaning behind those absurd questions?

—Whoa-whoa, is she implying that Saito was talking with a ghost? Time to come down to earth, no?

I barely manage to hold my thoughts in.

...No, don't jump to conclusions. Mizuhara said she was put off by the sight of Saito talking to herself. She wouldn't have felt disgust if that ghost-story was her first impression, but something like fear or maybe even envy, right?

Does that mean that there is something that made her come to the conclusion that Saito was talking with a ghost?

"You're implying that Saito was talking to a ghost?"

Mizuhara nods.

"How did you arrive at that thought?"

Mizuhara lapses into silence. It seems like she fears that by putting her thoughts into words, she will make them definite.

However, she opens her mouth at last.

"Because...," she mutters something, "...died..."

"Because Saito died? How does that explain anything?"

"No!" Mizuhara objects.

"What? She talked with a ghost and that's why she died? That makes no—"

"That's not it! Not because Saito-san died!"

"But who—"

I think. No, there's no need to think. There's only one other person that comes into question.

"Not Saito-san, but because Kimura-kun died."

I have to admit that I'm a little confused.

This doesn't make sense. Not only does she suggest the existence of something unscientific like ghosts, she is also talking back and forth incoherently.

I carefully sort everything in my head, thinking every point through logically, and arrive at the conclusion surprisingly fast.

"So...you saw him, right?"

She nods slowly.

"You saw Saito talking with that something, which by itself would have simply made her an oddball. But you also saw Kimura do the same thing."

Mizuhara nods.

I pause and take a look around. Should ghosts really exist, then I wouldn’t be surprised to find one here. That thought sends a cold shiver down my spine, but of course that’s just my imagination playing tricks on me.

However, as a matter of fact, someone died on the other side of this door.

"Do you...do you think such a coincidence is possible?" Mizuhara asks reluctantly.

"What do you refer to when you say 'coincidence'...?"

"Like I said... Saito-san and Kimura-kun, they both talked to a ghost, they both saw a ghost, and they both committed suicide. Do you think that such a coincidence is possible?"

Coincidence.

She's right; this would be a strange coincidence. However, not only did they have a proper reason for suicide, there's also no doubt that they ended their lives of their own free will.

To begin with, there is causal relation between their deaths: Kimura wouldn't have died if not for Saito's death. Their deaths aren't caused by a coincidence.

Hold on...

There is no place for a coincidence there. In other words, it's the absence of a coincidence that makes that whatever suspicious.

"You have doubts, too, don’t you, Kogure-kun?" Mizuhara points out. I quickly hide my expression. "Know what I think?" she asks, "I think that neither of them actually committed suicide."

Her face is as pale as clay. At last, I realize that it's not feelings of guilt that have exhausted her so much.

Mizuhara is scared.

The fear of whatever drove the other two into death is wearing her down.

"They were killed," she says with fearful conviction, "A ghost cursed them to death."

Like yesterday, I began looking out for Reina Kamisu while drinking a discounted milkshake at a McDonalds.

However, while my eyes were directed at the window, nearly all of my internal wires were used up for thought.

I had since been recalling that discussion with Mizuhara several times, trying to draw my own conclusions.

I have no means of knowing what that ''whatever'' she was calling a "ghost" is, but granted that that "phenomenon" is capable of communication, it can get into contact with others and thus affect their lives to a certain degree.

That effect killed those two?

''Cursed to death.''

Well, perhaps you can call that a "curse" of sorts.

But is it so easy to lead someone to death? No way. No matter how light you make of life and death, everyone knows that death is final and unrecoverable. People's words do not kill you; it's your own voice within that leads you there. Or an abrupt impulse. At any rate, people don't die that easily.

Or does it, ''whatever it is'', have the power to manipulate these mechanisms with ease?

On the other hand...they both had a valid reason for suicide. While words are useless against your average Joe, it might well be possible to give someone with suicidal tendencies the final push.

However, I shake my head.

I'm losing touch with reality; I should think it through more rationally.

Rational thinking. R-a-t-i-o-n-a-l. Got that down? ...Yeah.

Right... first of all, I should consider the possibility that everything Mizuhara told me was just a product of her imagination. In my personal view, she is an opinionated girl.

She knows that she shares the guilt for Saito and Kimura's death. Perhaps, she was unable to take the blame and therefore tried to escape by reading a reason into Kimura's talking with air, which in turn she made up either from scratch or by misinterpreting a normal conversation to her own convenience.

In other words, that ''being'' does not exist to begin with.

How's that? Doesn't that make much more sense?

...Tch. What a pathetic attempt to push reason into this affair.

Unconvinced by my own reasoning, I try to focus on the other side of the window and end up scaring a few pedestrians with a piercing glare.

"What are you looking at so hard?" someone asks from behind me.

I am about to kindly explain that I am looking for someone—

—But my words get stuck in my throat and are pushed back down until they evaporate entirely.

My skin crawls.

Something drips down from my finger tips as my mouth turns into a desert and my eyeballs are exposed to the air.

"—Ah."

I know...

I know that voice.

Even though I have only heard it a few times, it has burnt itself deep into my brain and won't leave me ever since.

"What's wrong? Won't you tell me what you're looking at?"

It pains.

The wound in my chest pains.

Fully opened again, it overflows with a liquid resembling blood —as if to react to its creator.

I mustn't, lose.

I hold my chest and turn around to the visitor with an iron will.

Something pierces through my eyes as I recognize her face, making me fight against the urge to close my eyes, to avert my eyes.

However, I have been waiting for this very moment.

I must stand my ground now.

"I was looking for ''you'', Reina Kamisu, for you!"

I scowl at Reina Kamisu. The more I sharpen my gaze, the weaker the pain in my chest gets.

"Oh really?" she smiles at me with a smile so beautiful that it looks fake. "And what are you going to do now? Take revenge?"

''Revenge'', says Reina Kamisu with indifference.

"I do want to do that, yeah," I reply as calmly as I can, while suppressing the boiling rage.

"So there's another goal if you phrase it like that?"

"Yes."

"I'm listening?"

"Maybe you think that incident is just water under the bridge. But not for me. I'm still suffering the consequences everyday. You're still messing with my life!"

"Well, I suppose nobody who fell victim to such an incident could come to terms with it so easily," Reina Kamisu says in an indifferent voice, giving me the urge to charge at her and strangle her to death. However, I must keep from doing so; without her I will never get the answer I seek.

"And? What do you want from me?"

Reina Kamisu shows no signs of guilt. Is she really that blunt or is she acting like that on purpose? I can't quite decide between the two possibilities.

Before it's too late, I erase my anger, which is on the verge of bursting; yes, I don't suppress it, I erase it. I wouldn't last for much longer otherwise. I try to shut out every impression I have of Reina Kamisu.

"—I want to learn the truth," I squeeze out.

"The truth?"

"Yes. The reason why you killed my family."

Finding that reason is the number one priority for me.

I want to move on from my current state of mind. But in order to fight off those ever-lasting feelings of sorrow, fear, despair, and anger, I have to break through a wall.

The wall of questions.

Once ignited, hatred doesn't just go away; there is a need to go out of one's way and erase it. In the process of doing so, however, questions left unanswered constitute a great obstacle. I might be able to stomach this matter somehow given a reason or something to satisfy myself, but as a matter of fact, I don't even have enough data to make up one myself. My questions have so far been left unanswered.

Because of that, I have no means of digesting these various dark feelings within.

However, unable to understand my circumstances, Reina Kamisu inclines her head:

"Is there a point in learning about that?"

"There is. That's why I'm asking."

"You think so...? I can't seem to see one."

"I don't give a fuck about your opinion! I'm asking you a question here! Do you even have the faintest idea how much of 'myself' you already extracted from me?! You owe me some goddamn cooperation!" I yell unwittingly. Crap, I failed to stifle my anger. Even the smallest opening in my guard won't go unnoticed by my anger.

Hold it back, hold it back, hold it back.

"You changed your attitude," she notes with unchanged indifference. "Listen, I'm not trying to tease you. I would love to give you an answer, I really do. But as much as I would like to do so, I can't."

"—Why?!"

"Because there is no answer that could satisfy you."

"Well...that might be true. My family won't come back, and I won't be happy no matter what you say. But...that's not why I'm asking. I'm perfectly aware of that!"

"No, that's not what I meant."

"Then what is it that you mean...?!"

"You want me to tell you the reason why I did what I did, correct?"

"Correct."

"Hm..."

"Believe it or not, I do understand that you have an entirely different way of thinking than me. It can't be helped if your reason doesn't make sense to me. I don't care. Anything's better than knowing nothing."

For the first time, Reina Kamisu listened closely to my words.

She gazes at me, trying to understand my circumstances, trying to understand the meaning behind my words.

I breathe out in relief. Reina Kamisu isn't stupid, nor does she hold a grudge against me. Therefore, it doesn't come as a surprise that I expect her to give me the answer I was waiting for.

However—

"And still..." she sighs for some reason.

"...What?"

"I still don't have the answer you're looking for."

My eyes widen.

"C-Cut it out already! Don't give me that you had no reason to kill! There must have been some kind of motive, no matter how mad!"

"A reason? Yes, maybe there was one upon closer examination."

"...Upon closer examination?"

"But I never really got it."

She... didn't get it?

"You're not going to find a nice explanation for everything in the world, and the same goes for the murder I committed; or was that already enough to satisfy you?"

"O-Of course not!"

"I should have known."

"You don't know the reason yourself? Don't give me that! Or do you mean that you killed people just like... like drinking water?!"

"Of course not. And just so you know: It's not like I don't remember how I felt back then. I felt... an impulse. I had to kill someone. I had to confirm if people could really die through my hands. I had no other choice but to do so.

I don't know, however, where that impulse came from. I do think there would be a reason upon further examination, but I didn't find one in the end. Why do we drink water? Because we become thirsty; because we would die otherwise. But...why were we designed to die unless we drink water in the first place? I don't know. Why did I get the urge to kill? I don't know."

In other words... my attempt to understand Reina Kamisu and her reasons for killing my family can't possibly succeed—because she doesn't understand herself, either.

I'm not going to find the answer I'm looking for anywhere in the world.

"It breaks my heart to say this, but as I said earlier..."

"There is no point in learning the truth."

My wound opens.

No, a wound that hasn't healed in the first place doesn't "open."

"One more thing," she says.

It hurts.

"You mentioned that you don't consider that incident a matter of the past, right?"

Damn, it hurts.

"I think I know why that is."

It hurts, damn, it hurts!

"You seem to think that I only killed your family, but that's wrong."

Ah, I see.

That's why my wound isn't healing; because she has destroyed my ability to regenerate.

"I must have also killed you!"

Right—I am already dead.

===4===
I mustn't worry my aunt. And yet...I have been skipping school for the past few days, unable to move a muscle.

I'm dead.

Needless to say, that's a figure of speech; from a biological perspective, I'm perfectly alive and capable of thought.

However—there is a wound in my chest that is linked to the past. As long as I have this wound, I will keep being taken back to that day and being harmed by Reina Kamisu.

Reina Kamisu will keep carving up everything I have—my happiness, sadness, qualms, dreams—tread on it, nullify it.

The only thing that remains to me are the feelings of that incident. Feelings that will give me no rest wherever I go and however long I wait.

Therefore, I'm chained to one place, forbidden to move toward the future.

Therefore, my life has come to a halt.

Therefore, you can say that I am "dead."

...Fuck.

I completely lost to Reina Kamisu.

How am I supposed to live on now? What am I supposed to do? Do I have to continue to live for year after year together with that pain in my chest?

How could I answer that?

No...not quite.

How could I decide over that?

I'm in the midst of a vortex of worthless thought that, even though it's worthless, tries to suck me in. Suddenly, however:

"Atsushi? I'm coming in!" a voice says and drags me back into reality.

"Okay..."

After hearing my reply, my aunt enters the room carrying a tray with a bowl of rice porridge on it.

My guilt pangs get stronger. I'm pretending to be ill and hiding the real reason for my absence; I don't want to worry my aunt by telling her that it's really a mental problem.

"Does your head still hurt?" she asks after she puts the tray on my desk.

"Yeah..."

My conscience pricks me; I'm lying to her.

...I have no other choice. I'm sorry, but I have no other choice.

"Do you really think you're okay? It's already been 3 days and counting. Do you want me to take you to the hospital?"

"I'm fine."

She gazes silently at my face for a few moments, and finally nods with a gentle smile.

Her smile sparks a faint assumption within me: Maybe she has long since seen through my lie, and is just turning a blind eye on me because she's powerless?

"Atsushi? It's Wednesday today, do you remember?"

"Mm...ah."

"Do you want to cancel this week's appointment with your doctor? I can contact him if you want."

Normally, it's these times when one should look for mental counseling, but since I'm pretending to be ill, I mustn't get caught.

"Yes, please. Can I ask you to contact him, mom?"

Just before I finish speaking, her eyes widen. Surprised by her reaction, I recall my own words.

Ah... I just called my aunt "mom."

Unsure how to deal with this awkward situation, I wordlessly gaze at her. Her surprised face slowly turns back into the familiar gentle smile.

"You finally said it," she smiles with a hint of joy.

"That was...that was just a mistake."

"I don't mind, Atsushi. In that case, I will just take it that you like me so much that you mistook me for your mother for an instant."

Is that so...?

Sure, I'm grateful of her—I really am—but isn't that itself proof that we're not a real family? If I were her real son, I wouldn't probably be that grateful. I would consider the love she'd give me a perfectly natural thing. I would just take her love and do nothing in return.

However, if I told my aunt that now, I would only sadden her.

Keeping my opinion to myself, I ask her something else instead.

"Can I call you ''mom'' from now on, then?"

"Of course you can! You're our son, Atsushi! My husband may seem cold to you, but he feels really attached to you, too."

"Yeah, I know."

I'm a child. As such, I cost a lot of money. On top of that, I will cost even more once I've completed my compulsory education and enter a high school. Despite all that, my uncle has not made a single complaint.

"There's nothing to worry about. We're even acknowledged as your parents by the law."

"Yeah..."

"Can you...can you call me again?"

"Huh?"

"Quick!"

Fighting off the awkwardness, I say, "Mom."

My aunt nods happily.

Mom.

Yes, I feel averse to calling her that way.

Because I'm used to calling her aunt? Sure, but there is more to the reluctance I'm feeling.

Why is that? Why?

Besides, I've long known that she wanted me to call her mom, that she didn't like the word aunt because it put some distance between us.

I've always been grateful of her, and wanted to make her happy if possible. If I can make her happy with something as simple as changing the way I address her, I would do that anytime without a second thought.

Then why is it that I have kept calling her aunt to this day?

"I have a question, mom."

"Yes?"

"Have you—" I break off in mid-sentence. There's no return once I have said the continuation of these words.

No...I have noticed already, so I can't return anyway.

"—Have you ever heard of Reina Kamisu?"

I'm sitting on the sofa inside Dr. Mihara's office.

As high as hiding my true reason for staying home was in my list of priorities, I don't care much anymore. I need the counseling. More precisely, I need to talk with Dr. Mihara.

"Hello Atsushi-kun," he says to me as he enters the room.

"Hello," I reply.

He sits down in the seat opposite of me.

"So," he cites the usual phrase, "how have you been?"

I have already prepared an answer to that question.

"A lot happened."

"Oh? Would you mind telling me?"

"Sure, that's why I'm here."

"True," he nods. Because he is a psychotherapist, it is very hard to read his true thoughts from his expression, but I can tell that he has noticed that something in me changed.

"Firstly, I had a dream."

"Oh? What kind of dream?"

He often asks me to tell him about my dreams. I guess he's trying to analyze them and search the depths of my consciousness.

"A dream where I get killed by Reina Kamisu."

Dr. Mihara closely observes my face as I speak, while I observe his, trying to take note of every change.

"Which means that it's that dream in which a girl kills you, right? With a kitchen knife?"

"Yes. Also, doctor, her name is Reina Kamisu."

Gazing closely at me, he replies, "I see."

"Doctor."

"Yes?"

"I have had that dream for a while now, right?"

After giving it some thought, he nods, "That's right."

"It's not hard to see why I would have such a dream: because I haven't come to terms with that incident yet. Correct?"

It seems that I have knocked him somewhat out of his stride.

During all the years of coming here, I have noticed that he never gives me answers. He only listens to me. He tries to help me find an answer myself by listening. That's all he really does. There have been times when I was annoyed by that, but I guess that's just how psychotherapy works.

It must be troublesome from his perspective to be urged to state his own thoughts.

"...I think so," he says, however, after coming to the conclusion that there will be no harm in doing so.

"Is that all?" I ask.

"...All?"

"Is that all of your view on that dream?"

He grumbles deeply and averts his eyes from me. After remaining silent like that for a few seconds, he looks at me again and opens his mouth.

"Atsushi-kun. It is true that I have reflected on your dream and formed my own opinion. That is, however, my personal view and in no way perfect. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"The problem is, Atsushi-kun, that by disclosing my opinion, I might affect your own opinion. You might accidentally confuse my answer as yours. Do you understand the problem that I'm pointing out?"

"Yes. That means that there is no problem if I state my own opinion, right?"

"...I suppose so."

"Fine. I think that my dream is the result of my wish to 'escape."

"..." He remains silent.

"Let me change the topic a little. I would like to tell you something entirely else that happened this week."

"Go ahead."

"I came across Reina Kamisu again."

"...I see. Just to be sure: we are not talking about that dream here anymore, is that correct?"

"Yes, of course not. This time we didn't only pass by each other, we also talked."

"..."

"Don't you want to know what we talked about?"

"...Yes, please."

"I felt the need to know the reason she killed my family. And that's what I asked her."

"What...what did she reply?"

"She told me that she had no idea."

"Hm..."

"I'm quite sure that she didn't lie to me. Reina Kamisu had a murderous impulse and killed my family. However, there was no deeper reason beside that impulse. At the very least, that's what she seems to think."

Dr. Mihara maintains his silence, unsure how to react.

"I wanted to put an end to that incident by learning about her reasons. I wanted to get a hold of something that could help me come to terms. Yet, my hopes were betrayed. Instead, I will now be forever held captive by my past.

—However, there is something I noticed earlier. Even if, just hypothetically, she had had a proper reason for the murder she committed, I wouldn't have accepted that reason no matter what. I didn't stand a chance against Reina Kamisu from the very start. Because it's plain impossible to pacify the feelings of someone whose family was murdered."

He is still gazing at me. At last, he reluctantly begins to speak. "Say, Atsushi-kun, where did you meet her?"

"At the McDonalds near the station. In real life, of course."

With folded arms, he lapses into silence again. Having said everything I wanted to say, I also keep quiet.

Silence. For a while, only meaningless noises reach my ears, like the noise of traffic and the clicking of a clock.

I shall wait for his next words—whatever they may be.

At last, he unfolds his arms and looks deep into my eyes.

"Atsushi-kun... may I ask you a question?" Dr. Mihara asks.

"Sure."

"Earlier, you mentioned that you see your wish to escape in that dream, right?"

"Right."

"Furthermore, you continually emphasized that you met her in real life, right?"

"Right."

"You already know the real answer, don't you, Atsushi-kun? Despite that, you asked me that, is that right?"

"..."

"Okay, Atsushi-kun. Let me confirm this once again."

"...Confirm what?"

"It was a coldblooded murderer who killed your family. What's her name again? Rehna Kamizu?"

"Right. Reina Kamisu. Reina Kamisu slaughtered my family!" I utter agitatedly, confusing the doctor a little.

He remains calm, however, and responds to me, "However—"

"That person does not exist."

While I did expect that answer, it still comes as a shock. My hypothesis proved correct. And as I already knew beforehand, as such it will aggravate my pain.

"That's not true!" I deny. I must.

"Why do you still say that?! You are escaping! That's wrong and you know it!"

"No... that's not true! I know that, I know for a fact that she does exist!"

That's no lie. At least, I don't think it's one.

"Atsushi-kun..."

"Reina Kamisu exists! She's here with us!" I shout.

I have to make sure of it.

Leaving a perplexed Dr. Mihara behind, I turn around and dash out of his office. As I leave the room, I bump into a girl who was waiting for her turn, and tumble over. I jump to my feet, however, and without a word of apology, I head to the place where I can make sure of Reina Kamisu's existence.

While I've never actually been there, I know the address. As I keep running toward that address, I try to regain a cool head. I will need it to confirm the fact I'm seeking, and I should be able to, since I already proved myself by suppressing my anger while talking to Reina Kamisu.

Calm down. First of all, slow down a little. Running your heart out isn't going to change anything; your fate stays all the same.

At last, I manage to regain my composure—just when I arrived at my destination, as chance would have it.

I ring the chime.

"Yes?" someone says after a few moments.

"Urm... my name is Atsushi Kogure. Ah, yes... I'm a classmate of Kyouhei-kun's." As I explain who I am, I look at the nameplate besides the chime.

The plate reads Kimura.

With the meekest expression I can play, I pray at Kimura's altar, since that's what I told his mother I am here for. I must make her believe that we were good buddies. She won't be able to tell unless he previously told her in detail about me.

"It was a... real shock...," I explain to her with a sad face.

I then ramble on about how much I'm supposedly grieved about Kimura's death. It's not that hard: I just have to exaggerate my own feelings, since it's for a fact that I was, as a classmate, shocked by his sudden passing away. His mother nods at my words, a few tears in her eyes. The queasy conscience I get is immediately wiped out in the face of my goal.

"In fact, Mrs. Kimura, I'm here today with a request," I say, finally coming down to business.

"...Yes?"

"I want to know what Kimura-kun thought about in his last hours, what were his worries, and I would like to hear his own, true words. Therefore, may I—"

The odds are for me. For one thing, there have been others who have seen it, otherwise there wouldn't be any rumors, and she doesn't seem to have noticed that I'm deceiving her. I don't see why she would refuse.

"—may I read his suicide note?"

===5===
I started to wander around aimlessly after I had left Kimura's home.

Everything was a lie, the truth, and cruel reality.

The past, the here and now, and the future exist all here simultaneously, and all of them turned out to be tormenting me.

My wound aggravates even more.

It hurts.

But there's no blood to spill anymore—there's not a single drop left.

I've dwindled. Entirely.

I'm dried up like dust, and what little is left of me could easily be wiped away.

As I look up at the colorful, dazzling sky, I recall Kimura's suicide note.

"Mother, father, and all who have known me: please forgive me for leaving so soon.

Now that I hold my pen, I don't know what to write anymore. Even though I pondered quite a while about it before.

For starters, let me write why I killed myself.

It was not until I troubled a certain girl and drove her into suicide that I decided in the real sense to commit suicide myself.

I will not write the details of what I did to her. Every time I call back the memories, my heart feels like a rag being squeezed out.

While that event was the last straw, however, I had been thinking of suicide before.

There is no meaning in my life.

No one needs me and no one ever will, although I'm sure you will all deny it.

But in the end, I still think that it all boils down to the fact that I'm worthless. It may be a bad simile, but I think I'm somewhat like your favorite pencil: it hurts a bit if it goes lost, but you can easily buy a new one in the supermarket around the corner.

That's why I think that the only way I can atone for driving someone into suicide is to end my own worthless life as well.

You were kind-hearted. We talked, even though you were already dead. Maybe I was just having an illusion, but you forgave me.

And that's exactly why I have to punish myself.

I have to atone for the sin of tormenting someone as kind and forgiving as you.

Let me apologize once more for what I did.

I am awfully sorry,—                "

I reread these words over and over, but they didn't change no matter how many times and from what angle I read them.

"I am awfully sorry, Reina Kamisu-san.                "

I recall what Mizuhara said to me.

"A ghost cursed them to death."

And then I finally recall whose name Saito called for help.

At last, I found myself at the place where I'd first seen her—the shopping district by the station. As I lean against the wall, I decide to wait for her.

There's no guarantee that she will appear, but I have a hunch that she will if I keep waiting.

I search my pockets and take out the envelope I have stuffed in there before I dashed out of my home.

Why didn't I call my aunt mom?

In fact, there is no problem with that in itself. The problem is that I would consequently have to call my uncle dad as well, since I can't just change one side and leave the other as is. Needless to say, the reason why I don't want to call him that way is not because I don't like him as much as I like my aunt.

I look at the envelope.

It's addressed at "Atsushi Kogure," while the sender is written to be "Takashi Kogure" on the backside. Right, that's the name of my dad.

And the postmark's date is the tenth of last month.

"Were you looking for me again?"

I raise my head and couldn't contain a smile. I am looking at a smile that is as absurdly beautiful as ever.

"Exactly!" I reply.

"What do you want?"

"I want to confirm something. And I have a request."

"Okay, ask away and make sure of whatever that is."

I stuff the envelope in my pocket again and ask, "It was you who killed my family, right?"

"That's right."

"It was also you who killed my father, right?"

"Obviously."

"Which means that it can't have been my father who killed my family, right?"

Reina Kamisu's eyes widen in surprise. And with absolute certainty, she replies:

"Of course it wasn't him."

I look closely at her. Naturally, there's no sign of deception to be found in her face.

"Would you mind... listening to my silly musings for a moment?" I ask her.

"Go ahead."

"Let's pretend for a moment that not you but my father killed my family," I start.

"Now that's a bizarre thought."

"His motive for attacking us wouldn't be something as incomprehensible as yours, I'm sure, but something clear. Something clichéd like, for example, financial difficulties that made him attempt to commit family suicide."

"It's a shame that it wasn't him."

"Huh?"

"I mean, you wanted a reason, didn't you? You'd have one in that case, no?"

Indeed, I wanted one. However—

"I don't care."

I don't care. I don't think I would want to know the reason if it were such a cheap one. I wouldn't want to learn that our family was destroyed by a foolish thing like that.

If that hypothesis were true, I'd certainly wish—

—that that reason didn't exist in the first place.

I would certainly try to ignore the truth right before my eyes, and seek refuge in my dreams. I would make one up where someone else murders my family. Someone who's a monster and doesn't have a proper reason to kill.

Someone like—the beautiful girl here.

However, no matter how fake the culprit is—

"—I don't care. The fact that my family was killed won't change, no matter who was the culprit. After all, it's impossible to pacify the feelings of someone whose family was murdered, and my wound will never heal up. Right?"

Reina Kamisu gazes closely at me.

"Perhaps," she finally answers.

"You said it. Then what is it that I would seek? Let me tell you: a resting place, where I wouldn't be wounded, where I wouldn't have to suffer anymore. I would definitely seek a place to rest like that," I say and look into her eyes.

"—So?"

"Hm?"

"You're done confirming, aren't you? So what's the other thing you wanted; what's your request?" she asks and I reply with a natural smile.

Ah, she acts just like I wanted.

What I needed was a culprit with no reason to kill. But that's not all. That's not enough to give me peace of mind.

What I really need is—a coldblooded murderer.

A murderer like Reina Kamisu.

Therefore, I ask from her:

"—Please, kill me."

That moment, my wound turned into a scar.

The pain went away and the blood stopped. What remains is a plain scar that looks a bit repulsive until you've gotten used to it.

But that's just an illusion; I can't exist without that pain. I have to drag along my past and live with it and the pain. As soon as I stop fantasizing about being killed by Reina Kamisu, the scar will turn back into a fresh wound.

"Why do you ask me? Just die by yourself."

"That's out of question. I can't commit suicide. My fear of death is barely strong enough to keep me from doing that."

"Hmm...? Barely strong enough, hm?" she emphasizes part of what I said.

Right, I can't end my own life because I'm able to see how horrifying it is to die.

But what if—what if someone killed me?

If I were to be killed forcibly, I would not have the time to mull over about death. At most, I would realize the fact that I would disappear from this world. Or perhaps, the pain wouldn't grant me any thought at all. The prominent kind of feeling I would have at that moment would be—relief.

I've always been wishing from the bottom of my heart for someone to erase me.

"Just in case," I say to her.

"Hm?"

"You have no qualms about taking my life, do you?"

With an absurdly beautiful smile, Reina Kamisu replies:

"—Of course not. Why should I have any qualms?"

"Tell me," she continues, surprising me, "why are you smiling so happily?"

Only now do I realize that a smile has been glued to my face. Without a thought, I cover my mouth, but as I do so, I peek into her eyes and return the favor.

"So are you," I point out, causing her to cover her mouth as well. Amused by the fact that we showed the exact same reaction, we both start to laugh.

The fact that nothing about this peaceful moment is real only adds to it.

"Okay—" she mutters as she extends her soft hands to me. Her long, slender fingers fold around my neck. I can't help but feel that this situation is perverted and even slightly sexual.

Her fingers strangulate me.

Her hands are as cold as those of a dead person. It feels like that coldness is absorbing everything from me.

Ah—I am vanishing for good.

Bit by bit, the sensation of being split is getting stronger. Slowly but surely, I am leaving my body. The mangled remains of myself are assembling into one piece again and leaving my body. Never before have I felt such an overwhelming feeling of anguish and pleasure.

And as I have predicted, I feel relieved.

In my last moments, I look at her while she is choking me.

Suddenly, I wonder: who is she, anyway?

I quickly dismiss that thought. Partially because my ability to think has dwindled, but mostly because it seemed like a meaningless thought once I saw her absurdly beautiful smile.

Instead, I say to her in my mind:

"Thank you."

And then—

Atsushi Kogure died.

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| Back to [[Kamisu Reina:Volume 1 Fumi Saito|Chapter 1]]
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| Forward to [[Kamisu Reina:Volume 1 Shizuka Wakui|Chapter 3]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Kamisu Reina:Volume 1 Atsushi Kogure

2015-03-18T13:26:01Z

MondSemmel: /* 2 */

==Chapter 2: Atsushi Kogure==
===1===

My heart explodes and comes bursting out of my mouth.

In the eyes of everyone else in this shopping district by the station, nothing special happened. However, ''I'' have made a horrifying discovery.

Within the crowd of strangers that walk the streets, I have found ''her'' whom I will never forget.

Burst by an unbearable shock, my pieces stick to all my surroundings. The hundreds of shreds that I have spit out scowl at her from all sides. Noticing my gazes, ''she'' finds my main body and looks at it.

And—smiles.

Her smile leaves me so thunderstruck that I can't even break down—I just freeze. It's like her smile made away with the very concept of time, let alone my feelings that completely vanished at the sight of her.

The girl before my eyes stands aloof from the world. At the very least, I know that she has no proper moral values.

I am being devoured by her existence.

Only after she goes away am I able to breathe again. I confirm that my emotional perception is still intact, and finally feel alive again.

Right. I—

I ''detest'' that girl.

She has stolen ''everything'' from me.

No matter how special and transcendental she is, that doesn't make her sins any lighter.

I won't forgive her. I will absolutely not forgive her. I won't ever forgive her, the cold-blooded killer of my family.

I won't forgive Reina Kamisu!

===2===

"You met Reina Kamisu?" my doctor asks in wonderment when I tell him about my encounter with that monster.

"Yes. I ran across her. That killer."

"Reina Kamisu..."

I may have called him doctor, but Doctor Mihara doesn't fit the common image of one. He is a sociable, young psychiatrist and actually still in his twenties.

"Are you sure it was not a dream?"

"It was real! She walked past me before my very eyes! She even noticed me and laughed at me!"

"Hm..." Doctor Mihara folds his arms as he notices that I'm dead serious.

My family was murdered by Reina Kamisu.

To this day it is unknown why she broke into our house and stabbed everyone except me; she didn't steal anything, nor was there a grudge I know of. She hadn't made any threats in advance, either, nor did she seem to enjoy it. In contrary, she seemed to be very intelligent and to have no relation with drugs and the like. In fact, I failed to find a stain in her personality.

But it is for a fact that she killed my family.

Their lives vanished so easily.

I used to think that human lives are special—nothing like the fishes we once dissected at school. The idea of human life and its supposed value used to be huge and boundless in my young mind. In fact, on the assumption that only humans have minds, I still think that our lives are of great value.

However—it's possible to take someone's life with the same knife that you slice open a fish with.

Confronted with that absurd fact as a mere 10-year old boy, I was shattered.

I do have a wound in my chest—due to Reina Kamisu, of course—that is quite grotesque. One of the kind that makes people grimace.

However, the problem with that wound isn't that it scares everyone. The problem is that it is still a wound and not a scar. It's still a gaping wound, and it's going to stay that way. But instead of blood, it's my very own self that is being bled out. "Something" that is needed to live. I'm dwindling. Ever-dwindling.

I'm still breaking bit by bit.

"Atsushi-kun," my doctor addresses me with a serious look.

"Yes?"

"We're out of time for today, but can I ask you to tell me more about this in our next meeting?"

"Yes, of course."

I was planning to do so anyway.

Besides, the only way to fix me is to go against Reina Kamisu; to learn the truth about her; to—understand her.

Can I win against that monster? The odds are against me, I'm afraid. I'm going to lose. I'm going to keep dwindling.

Just like a black hole, there are times when uncalled-for feelings absorb the obvious and make you blind. Therefore, if I want to oppose her, I must seal my emotions—which consist mostly of hatred—away. Thinking back at the outburst of emotions that I experienced when I ran across her the other day, I can imagine how hard that is.

However, no matter how hard the fight against that monster turns out to be, there is no risk for me. I've sunken to the lowest point already. While it is hard to fight my way up, I can't fall any lower.

Therefore, I won't waver to fight.

"I won't lose!"

"Against whom...?" Doctor Mihara asks, still serious.

"Against me, of course, and against Reina Kamisu."

He maintains a pensive look and seems to be groping for words. In the end, he just mutters, "I see..."

The following day, I headed to school like always despite my decision to fight against Reina Kamisu. Truth be told, I would rather look around for her than attend my classes, but added to the fact that I have no clues except for spotting her in town, I don't want to bother my aunt.

Unlike my uncle, she is treating me really well. I suppose the fact that they don't have any own children adds to this, but she is looking after me like I were her real son... maybe even more so ''because'' I'm not her real son. There's no discontent. There's no discontent... but there is pressure. I feel that I absolutely mustn't and can't sadden my aunt, since she is obliged to look after me as well.

I arrive at school and notice that our classroom is remarkably noisy.

Puzzled, I catch Yuuji Kato, who happened to stand nearby and is on comparatively good terms with me. I ask, "What's the matter?"

"Suicide's the matter, dude! Suicide!"

"What? But that was, like, last week, no? Did we learn something new about Saito's suicide?" I ask as I toss my bag onto my desk.

Since she was a person who we would see every day at school, Saito's death came quite as a shock for us. While she didn't have any friends—she was even suspected to have stolen from a classmate—there were still students who mourned for her. Surprisingly though, it wasn't until she died that a few guys came our of their shells and confessed with teary eyes that they had actually been fond of her because she had a "modest" personality unlike most girls nowadays. Saito must have quite mixed feelings up there in heaven, since that personality of hers is what drove her to suicide.

"Are you still making a fuss about that story? Why don't you leave her alone already? I'm sure that she... wouldn't like being the center of attention," I mention to him.

"You're completely off the mark, man."

"What do you mean?"

"This is not about Saito, you know?"

"Then who committed suicide?"

Yuuji looks at a certain desk and says, "Kimura."

Before classes started, all students of our school were summoned to the gym for an emergency speech, where the school director bored us with a lengthy speech on "the value of life."

While listening with half an ear to what he has to say, I start making my own thoughts about the incident.

It seems like Saito, Mizuhara, and the other people concerned didn't know, but anyone who was either somewhat familiar with Kimura or has enough brains, like me, was aware that Kimura was really the culprit of the stolen wallet incident.

It was a well-known fact among us guys that Kimura had a crush on Mizuhara, and that he was turned down when he confessed to her. She told him that she had no plans of dating anyone in the near future. A few days later, however, she and Ashizawa became a couple.

Needless to say, she only used that phrase to turn Kimura down because she wanted to avoid being too direct, and he must have been aware of that. Nonetheless, Kimura's feelings were hurt. Thoroughly. He must have thought that he was inferior to Ashizawa—a complete drop-out—in Mizuhara's eyes. Starting from then, everything he said and everything he did was underlined with a subtle tone of self-deprecation.

I can see why he would want to damage the present Ashizawa gave to Mizuhara. In fact, I think a little payback like that is very much tolerable. However, he knew that he would be the obvious culprit if he executed that resentful plan of his.

Therefore, he was in need of a suspect other than himself. And he found one in Saito, who just happened to be made a fool of by Mizuhara.

At a glance, Kimura did his job well; at the very least, he managed to trick his main targets—Mizuhara and her group—into believing his lie.

However, in effect he failed horribly.

He didn't take into consideration how much his actions would hurt Saito's feelings because he was too focused on how to force the blame onto her. But his greatest mistake was not to take into consideration how much his own feelings would be hurt by hurting Saito's.

His revenge inflicted a lethal wound on Saito. Maybe that's not entirely accurate. Maybe he only touched a sore point of Saito's that was already lethal anyway. Nevertheless, Kimura considered himself responsible for her death.

Kimura hurt Saito, and that fact hurt himself. Both of those wounds were lethal, and both of those wounds ended in death. Like... like my own wound.

At last, the school director ends his speech after more than a full hour. I do understand his concern, but that doesn't make it any more worthwhile.

Seriously... he doesn't get that a sermon is not going to achieve anything. We all know perfectly well that one must not commit suicide. And yet there are times when the world we live in becomes so tough on us that we play with the thought. Therefore, it's useless to appeal to ethics; he ought to go with a more practical and concrete approach. If I were to stop suicide, I would do it like this: "Dying means falling into an eternal state of nothingness, a perfect void that can't be conceived by anything that is alive. Just think about it: your brain goes away. You do not have any thought anymore. Surely, you've heard of the phrase 'I think, thus I am,' no? Give it some careful thought. Nothing exists. Do you get this? Nothing exists. How many seconds could you endure being in a world without sound, without light, and without any kind of sensation? A world where you don't even get hungry. Where you have no desires at all. Can you follow me? But death is a perfect void, so it exceeds even such a sensation-less world. There is no future. Heaven is just a construct people who fear death made up. You should know why there will always be people who believe in a world after death despite the advent of science; it's because they are scared. Scared of what waits beyond death. So, don't think ending your own life will save you! It simply ends. It E-N-D-S. Suicide is the act of killing yourself, and dying without comprehending the meaning of death is but escaping from reality. Although the result is the same in both cases. All right, come on. Try to kill yourself if you can; try to kill yourself now that you've learned the truth."

At the very least, I couldn't kill myself.

After all, the only reason why I'm here now is because I'm more afraid of death than most.

Ah, right, there was a nice little twist to this story:

"Actually, I heard Kimura left behind a suicide note," Yuuji tells me.

"A suicide note? Did he apologize to Saito or something?"

"Exactly."

"Well, that should cheer her up a little, I guess?"

"No, I think it'll have quite the opposite effect."

"Hm...? Well, sure, I wouldn't want anyone to commit suicide because of me either."

"That's not the problem," he objects.

"What do you mean?"

"Kimura got her name wrong."

Oh.

After school ended (classes did take place, but everyone was somewhat absent in mind) I headed to the shopping district where I had come across Reina Kamisu.

There's no guarantee that I will find her again just because I saw her once, but that's the only clue I have. I originally thought I would be able to get my hands on some data since I'm the victim of the incident, but it's not that simple. Especially for juvenile crimes.

Should Reina Kamisu walk past me, I won't miss her. That's not only because I've carved her appearance into my memory over and over: She is special in anyone's eyes. She is absurdly beautiful.

"..."

However, an event-less hour passed. Having stood all the while because there was no place to sit, my legs got a bit tired. I decided to tolerate moving away from this place a bit and went to the next McDonalds, grabbed myself two burgers (everything else is too expensive for the purse of a middle school student) and sat down by the window.

While munching at my burger, I start thinking about Reina Kamisu.

Reina Kamisu. Back when the incident happened, she was 16 years old (meaning that she was only one year older than I am now), so her present age should be 21. Did she get a job? Maybe she's enrolled in an university. She probably couldn't graduate from high school because of everything she did, but she should be smart enough to make it through the entrance exams of an university. Even though she killed my entire family, she was hardly punished at all because her completely incomprehensible motive got her diagnosed "mentally unstable". I bet now she's worshiped like an idol at her workplace or at university. The murderous idol. Haha, what a catchphrase!

"Tch...!"

The wound in my chest starts to pain. According to Dr. Mihara, this pain is just a product of my mind since the wound has already healed.

Dammit! You think this is only mental? An illusion? Don't mess with me, Doc! This pain isn't fake; no way it is!

The wound ''is'' bleeding. I may be the only one who can see the blood, but it's definitely blood—and I'm the liquid (or something similar to a liquid).

Ah, damn, I know! I'm not making sense. I'm just digging a hole for myself.

But as a matter of fact—the wound hasn't healed.

And it still hurts.

===3===

The perceptive faculties of a human have a certain capacity; our brains are like computers and can only process up to a certain amount of data. When there is an overflow of information, they stop working correctly and start churning out error messages.

The sight before my eyes deprives me of any emotional impulse.

There is a corpse; my mom's corpse. There is a corpse; my dad's corpse. There is a corpse; my sister's corpse. The floor is covered by a pool of blood. Whoa, how am I supposed to walk on a floor that's so drenched? No, that's not the problem here, is it? Whoa-whoa, they're dead, no? You gotta be kidding me. This isn't some TV drama. Such brutal deaths do not happen around me. That being said, this looks pretty real. Haha, hey, this is getting out of hand. I can't believe it. And what's with that girl there? Who the fuck is that incredibly pretty girl? What's with that knife—that blood-drenched knife—she's carrying? Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa! It was YOU? Despite that pretty face of yours? Hold on a sec! Don't mess with me! Who allowed you to kill my family? Who are you, anyway? Who are you?! Who the fuck are you?!

"As I thought..."

What's ''as you thought''?! You're strange! You're nuts!

"People die when you stab them."

Of course they do. Every child knows that. Everyone knows that, although no one actually verifies it.

Right. My family died.

Died?

Yeah, they died...right?

They died. Yeah, they died. D-I-E-D.

"A...ah..." I finally start to moan.

They're lying on the floor. My mom, my dad, my sister, they're all lying on the floor, inanimate. I was watching TV until a few moments ago. I went upstairs because they got angry with me because I'd kicked my sister. Has that become a scene of the past? Has that girl stolen it from me? Is that even possible? Can she even do that?

"Do you want to die, too?"

She can. That girl can do it.

"Uh...UWAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!"

Help me help me help me! HELP ME, mom! Ah, she's dead! Anyone! Anyone help me!

I fall on my rear and crawl backward, literally wetting my pants. Of course I can't escape like this, but I can't stand up either.

She draws closer.

"S-Stop it..."

However, my words fall on deaf ears. Aiming the knife at me, she draws closer.

And then she wields it.

"Stop it! STOOOOOOOP!"

And then I wake up like always.

I let out a sigh as I sip my miso soup.

"My, Atsuhi, why are you sighing when the day has only started?" my aunt reproaches me lightly with a smile and puts a plate with a fried egg before me.

"I had that dream again..." I answer as I put some soy sauce on the egg.

"I see. They've become frequent lately."

"Yeah."

"Oh dear...why does that girl have a grudge against you?"

A grudge. Had her motive been so simple and reasonable, I wouldn't be as broken as I am now.

"Maybe you're a little antsy because your admission exams are just around the corner?" she says in an unusual worried tone. She's worried; in other words, I'm worrying her.

This is bad. I mustn't worry her even more when she's already worried about my being under mental treatment.

"Ahaha, but I haven't even started studying?" I laugh as I hold my chest.

"You haven't? I think that's pretty problematic, too!"

When my aunt said so, I could read the words "thank god my fears were groundless" from her face.

Groundless fears. Right, her fears should have been groundless.

However, it is a fact that the dream has unsettled me more than it would usually do.

I started having that nightmare after that incident happened. During the first month, I was tormented by it every night, and every time I was, I was so unsettled that I could not eat anything.

But you get used to any nightmare with time: lately, I would only think of it as a "bad dream."

However, today it's different. Not only did she wound me in my dream, she also wounded me in reality again.

I hold my chest.

My nightmare has leaked into reality and is attacking me from there. That's all because I've run across Reina Kamisu the other day. That nightmare isn't just a nightmare; it's my past that keeps tormenting me.

By coming across Reina Kamisu, my nightmare has acquired reality. She is using it as a portal to attack me.

Again and again, she will attack me.

Now, how long will my heart be able to endure it?

I enter the classroom, just to get surprised almost as much as yesterday.

Ashizawa had his head shaved, abandoning his long, brown hair.

I doubt that one of the teachers in charge of common decency forced him to do that; they wouldn't go that far. It must have been his own will.

Ashizawa has been in low spirits lately, which is, needless to say, because he is blaming himself for Saito's death. Back when the wallet he gave to Mizuhara was damaged, he got so angry with Saito that he pushed her into a corner and intimidated her.

I was there when it happened and observed them, planning to step in if he were to get rough...no, I don't know if I really intended to intervene. Perhaps, I only pretended to be worried about her. Anyway, I observed them without doing anything.

Only after looking at Ashizawa's shaved head, my conscience starts to prickle me.

I don't know how much that incident took part in Saito's death, but I'm sure that it did have an effect. It's another aspect that drove her into suicide.

But what if there'd been someone who tried to help Saito when she was surrounded by Ashizawa and his pals? What if she'd had a comrade who didn't care about the pressure Ashizawa applied? Wouldn't the outcome have been different? Aren't we, who hesitated to stand up for Saito, the real sinners?

That "comrade" could have been me.

Ashizawa has inflicted an evident punishment upon himself like a real delinquent. As thoughtless and pointless as that punishment may be, he did produce proof of his remorse.

And what about us? We're denying any responsibility and try to discount the matter with some pity. It's not Ashizawa or Kimura or Mizuhara who cornered Saito, but us who tried to stay away from her to the bitter end.

Suddenly, a question crosses my mind.

Come to think of it—

Didn't Saito call someone's name for help?

Even the lunch break was occupied with the subject of Saito and Kimura because Ashizawa's shaved head was so eye-catching. Because of the great sympathy for Saito that fills the air (they all seem to feel guilty), Takatsuki and her colleagues are in an awkward position, being the ones who blamed Saito.

I have eaten up my boxed lunch and am observing my class, my elbow rested on my desk.

Ashizawa looks like a monk, and Takatsuki's group are looking like cats in an unfamiliar house. Wondering how Mizuhara herself is doing, I look at her.

Her fairly pretty face looks even more exhausted than before. She must be aware of the central part she has played in both Saito's and Kimura's suicide.

As I make this observation, she turns to me and our eyes meet.

I quickly avert my gaze to feign ignorance, but her gaze remains fixed on me. "Never mind me!" I shout in my mind as I confirm that I'm still being watched.

However, my silent shout remained unheard; she stands up and walks toward my seat.

"Kogure-kun."

Now she called my name. Looks like it wasn't a coincidence or because she noticed my gaze that she looked at me.

"So...What's the matter, Mizuhara?" I ask as I raise my head, visibly annoyed.

"You're smart, aren't you? I mean, you're always the number one in this class and you are among the best in our school year, right?"

"You're talking about my grades, but there's a difference between being smart and having good grades."

Mizuhara is dumbstruck for a moment, but eventually picks up again, "...But you're the only one I can think of to talk about this. Can you spare me a moment, please?"

"I think there are enough other people who could give you better advice."

"Mmm...I'm not exactly looking for advice. Let's not talk about it here—come this way."

Mizuhara pulls me by my sleeve. Looks like she insists on talking with me.

"Whoa, hold your horses, now. Ashizawa's going to get angry when he sees us together."

"He won't."

"Oh, really? He must be quite forgiving then."

"No, we've...split up."

Surprised, I freeze for an instant.

"Ah...I see," I say in a deliberately disinterested voice, but my expression just now has given me away.

But now that I think about it, there's nothing to be so surprised about. While the love experienced in middle school might be blind and grand, it's also transitory. Their bonds weren't strong enough to withstand the obstacles brought upon them—that's all.

And those bonds ruined Kimura.

Oh well.

Mizuhara led me to the stairway landing before the door to the roof. These stairs are hardly used, so there probably won't be any uninvited visitors. She must have used this place to secretly meet up with Ashizawa.

"We came here from time to time. Toshiki and I."

There you have it.

"You...you know about the fake love letter I teased Saito-san with, right?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Did you ever wonder why I did that?"

"Nope, not at all? I assumed that you simply couldn't stand Saito, and I don't think there's a deeper reason to find there."

"Perhaps...that's true...but I, I also wanted to help—"

"I don't care. Spare me that story."

That's just an excuse she made up.

"No, hear me out! To tell the truth...we once saw her when we met up here."

"Really...? What kind of business did Saito have here?"

"That's the problem...she was mumbling things to herself."

"To herself?"

"Yes, to herself, but as if talking with someone. I tried following her glance a few times, but there was no one there."

That's not ''that'' noteworthy; Saito had no one to talk with, so it makes sense that she would vent her desire to talk when she was alone.

"And you found that to be creepy, so you teased her?" I conclude.

"I did think it was creepy, that's true..."

I see. I can understand that Mizuhara would want to intervene after coming across such a scene.

"So? That's not why you brought me here, is it?"

"No..." She hesitates for a moment. "Kogure-kun...do you believe in ghosts?"

The conversation takes a sudden turn.

"Ghosts? No idea. Well, I do think they might exist, since so many people claim that they do..."

"How about evil spirits?"

"Bullshit."

Wait, wait, why does Mizuhara ask things like that? What's the meaning behind those absurd questions?

—Whoa-whoa, is she implying that Saito was talking with a ghost? Time to come down to earth, no?

I barely manage to hold my thoughts in.

...No, don't jump to conclusions. Mizuhara said she was put off by the sight of Saito talking to herself. She wouldn't have felt disgust if that ghost-story was her first impression, but something like fear or maybe even envy, right?

Does that mean that there is something that made her come to the conclusion that Saito was talking with a ghost?

"You're implying that Saito was talking to a ghost?"

Mizuhara nods.

"How did you arrive at that thought?"

Mizuhara lapses into silence. It seems like she fears that by putting her thoughts into words, she will make them definite.

However, she opens her mouth at last.

"Because...," she mutters something, "...died..."

"Because Saito died? How does that explain anything?"

"No!" Mizuhara objects.

"What? She talked with a ghost and that's why she died? That makes no—"

"That's not it! Not because Saito-san died!"

"But who—"

I think. No, there's no need to think. There's only one other person that comes into question.

"Not Saito-san, but because Kimura-kun died."

I have to admit that I'm a little confused.

This doesn't make sense. Not only does she suggest the existence of something unscientific like ghosts, she is also talking back and forth incoherently.

I carefully sort everything in my head, thinking every point through logically, and arrive at the conclusion surprisingly fast.

"So...you saw him, right?"

She nods slowly.

"You saw Saito talking with that something, which by itself would have simply made her an oddball. But you also saw Kimura do the same thing."

Mizuhara nods.

I pause and take a look around. Should ghosts really exist, then I wouldn’t be surprised to find one here. That thought sends a cold shiver down my spine, but of course that’s just my imagination playing tricks on me.

However, as a matter of fact, someone died on the other side of this door.

"Do you...do you think such a coincidence is possible?" Mizuhara asks reluctantly.

"What do you refer to when you say 'coincidence'...?"

"Like I said... Saito-san and Kimura-kun, they both talked to a ghost, they both saw a ghost, and they both committed suicide. Do you think that such a coincidence is possible?"

Coincidence.

She's right; this would be a strange coincidence. However, not only did they have a proper reason for suicide, there's also no doubt that they ended their lives of their own free will.

To begin with, there is causal relation between their deaths: Kimura wouldn't have died if not for Saito's death. Their deaths aren't caused by a coincidence.

Hold on...

There is no place for a coincidence there. In other words, it's the absence of a coincidence that makes that whatever suspicious.

"You have doubts, too, don’t you, Kogure-kun?" Mizuhara points out. I quickly hide my expression. "Know what I think?" she asks, "I think that neither of them actually committed suicide."

Her face is as pale as clay. At last, I realize that it's not feelings of guilt that have exhausted her so much.

Mizuhara is scared.

The fear of whatever drove the other two into death is wearing her down.

"They were killed," she says with fearful conviction, "A ghost cursed them to death."

Like yesterday, I began looking out for Reina Kamisu while drinking a discounted milkshake at a McDonalds.

However, while my eyes were directed at the window, nearly all of my internal wires were used up for thought.

I had since been recalling that discussion with Mizuhara several times, trying to draw my own conclusions.

I have no means of knowing what that ''whatever'' she was calling a "ghost" is, but granted that that "phenomenon" is capable of communication, it can get into contact with others and thus affect their lives to a certain degree.

That effect killed those two?

''Cursed to death.''

Well, perhaps you can call that a "curse" of sorts.

But is it so easy to lead someone to death? No way. No matter how light you make of life and death, everyone knows that death is final and unrecoverable. People's words do not kill you; it's your own voice within that leads you there. Or an abrupt impulse. At any rate, people don't die that easily.

Or does it, ''whatever it is'', have the power to manipulate these mechanisms with ease?

On the other hand...they both had a valid reason for suicide. While words are useless against your average Joe, it might well be possible to give someone with suicidal tendencies the final push.

However, I shake my head.

I'm losing touch with reality; I should think it through more rationally.

Rational thinking. R-a-t-i-o-n-a-l. Got that down? ...Yeah.

Right... first of all, I should consider the possibility that everything Mizuhara told me was just a product of her imagination. In my personal view, she is an opinionated girl.

She knows that she shares the guilt for Saito and Kimura's death. Perhaps, she was unable to take the blame and therefore tried to escape by reading a reason into Kimura's talking with air, which in turn she made up either from scratch or by misinterpreting a normal conversation to her own convenience.

In other words, that ''being'' does not exist to begin with.

How's that? Doesn't that make much more sense?

...Tch. What a pathetic attempt to push reason into this affair.

Unconvinced by my own reasoning, I try to focus on the other side of the window and end up scaring a few pedestrians with a piercing glare.

"What are you looking at so hard?" someone asks from behind me.

I am about to kindly explain that I am looking for someone—

—But my words get stuck in my throat and are pushed back down until they evaporate entirely.

My skin crawls.

Something drips down from my finger tips as my mouth turns into a desert and my eyeballs are exposed to the air.

"—Ah."

I know...

I know that voice.

Even though I have only heard it a few times, it has burnt itself deep into my brain and won't leave me ever since.

"What's wrong? Won't you tell me what you're looking at?"

It pains.

The wound in my chest pains.

Fully opened again, it overflows with a liquid resembling blood —as if to react to its creator.

I mustn't, lose.

I hold my chest and turn around to the visitor with an iron will.

Something pierces through my eyes as I recognize her face, making me fight against the urge to close my eyes, to avert my eyes.

However, I have been waiting for this very moment.

I must stand my ground now.

"I was looking for ''you'', Reina Kamisu, for you!"

I scowl at Reina Kamisu. The more I sharpen my gaze, the weaker the pain in my chest gets.

"Oh really?" she smiles at me with a smile so beautiful that it looks fake. "And what are you going to do now? Take revenge?"

''Revenge'', says Reina Kamisu with indifference.

"I do want to do that, yeah," I reply as calmly as I can, while suppressing the boiling rage.

"So there's another goal if you phrase it like that?"

"Yes."

"I'm listening?"

"Maybe you think that incident is just water under the bridge. But not for me. I'm still suffering the consequences everyday. You're still messing with my life!"

"Well, I suppose nobody who fell victim to such an incident could come to terms with it so easily," Reina Kamisu says in an indifferent voice, giving me the urge to charge at her and strangle her to death. However, I must keep from doing so; without her I will never get the answer I seek.

"And? What do you want from me?"

Reina Kamisu shows no signs of guilt. Is she really that blunt or is she acting like that on purpose? I can't quite decide between the two possibilities.

Before it's too late, I erase my anger, which is on the verge of bursting; yes, I don't suppress it, I erase it. I wouldn't last for much longer otherwise. I try to shut out every impression I have of Reina Kamisu.

"—I want to learn the truth," I squeeze out.

"The truth?"

"Yes. The reason why you killed my family."

Finding that reason is the number one priority for me.

I want to move on from my current state of mind. But in order to fight off those ever-lasting feelings of sorrow, fear, despair, and anger, I have to break through a wall.

The wall of questions.

Once ignited, hatred doesn't just go away; there is a need to go out of one's way and erase it. In the process of doing so, however, questions left unanswered constitute a great obstacle. I might be able to stomach this matter somehow given a reason or something to satisfy myself, but as a matter of fact, I don't even have enough data to make up one myself. My questions have so far been left unanswered.

Because of that, I have no means of digesting these various dark feelings within.

However, unable to understand my circumstances, Reina Kamisu inclines her head:

"Is there a point in learning about that?"

"There is. That's why I'm asking."

"You think so...? I can't seem to see one."

"I don't give a fuck about your opinion! I'm asking you a question here! Do you even have the faintest idea how much of 'myself' you already extracted from me?! You owe me some goddamn cooperation!" I yell unwittingly. Crap, I failed to stifle my anger. Even the smallest opening in my guard won't go unnoticed by my anger.

Hold it back, hold it back, hold it back.

"You changed your attitude," she notes with unchanged indifference. "Listen, I'm not trying to tease you. I would love to give you an answer, I really do. But as much as I would like to do so, I can't."

"—Why?!"

"Because there is no answer that could satisfy you."

"Well...that might be true. My family won't come back, and I won't be happy no matter what you say. But...that's not why I'm asking. I'm perfectly aware of that!"

"No, that's not what I meant."

"Then what is it that you mean...?!"

"You want me to tell you the reason why I did what I did, correct?"

"Correct."

"Hm..."

"Believe it or not, I do understand that you have an entirely different way of thinking than me. It can't be helped if your reason doesn't make sense to me. I don't care. Anything's better than knowing nothing."

For the first time, Reina Kamisu listened closely to my words.

She gazes at me, trying to understand my circumstances, trying to understand the meaning behind my words.

I breathe out in relief. Reina Kamisu isn't stupid, nor does she hold a grudge against me. Therefore, it doesn't come as a surprise that I expect her to give me the answer I was waiting for.

However—

"And still..." she sighs for some reason.

"...What?"

"I still don't have the answer you're looking for."

My eyes widen.

"C-Cut it out already! Don't give me that you had no reason to kill! There must have been some kind of motive, no matter how mad!"

"A reason? Yes, maybe there was one upon closer examination."

"...Upon closer examination?"

"But I never really got it."

She... didn't get it?

"You're not going to find a nice explanation for everything in the world, and the same goes for the murder I committed; or was that already enough to satisfy you?"

"O-Of course not!"

"I should have known."

"You don't know the reason yourself? Don't give me that! Or do you mean that you killed people just like... like drinking water?!"

"Of course not. And just so you know: It's not like I don't remember how I felt back then. I felt... an impulse. I had to kill someone. I had to confirm if people could really die through my hands. I had no other choice but to do so.

I don't know, however, where that impulse came from. I do think there would be a reason upon further examination, but I didn't find one in the end. Why do we drink water? Because we become thirsty; because we would die otherwise. But...why were we designed to die unless we drink water in the first place? I don't know. Why did I get the urge to kill? I don't know."

In other words... my attempt to understand Reina Kamisu and her reasons for killing my family can't possibly succeed—because she doesn't understand herself, either.

I'm not going to find the answer I'm looking for anywhere in the world.

"It breaks my heart to say this, but as I said earlier..."

"There is no point in learning the truth."

My wound opens.

No, a wound that hasn't healed in the first place doesn't "open."

"One more thing," she says.

It hurts.

"You mentioned that you don't consider that incident a matter of the past, right?"

Damn, it hurts.

"I think I know why that is."

It hurts, damn, it hurts!

"You seem to think that I only killed your family, but that's wrong."

Ah, I see.

That's why my wound isn't healing; because she has destroyed my ability to regenerate.

"I must have also killed you!"

Right—I am already dead.

===4===
I mustn't worry my aunt. And yet...I have been skipping school for the past few days, unable to move a muscle.

I'm dead.

Needless to say, that's a figure of speech; from a biological perspective, I'm perfectly alive and capable of thought.

However—there is a wound in my chest that is linked to the past. As long as I have this wound, I will keep being taken back to that day and being harmed by Reina Kamisu.

Reina Kamisu will keep carving up everything I have—my happiness, sadness, qualms, dreams—tread on it, nullify it.

The only thing that remains to me are the feelings of that incident. Feelings that will give me no rest wherever I go and however long I wait.

Therefore, I'm chained to one place, forbidden to move toward the future.

Therefore, my life has come to a halt.

Therefore, you can say that I am "dead."

...Fuck.

I completely lost to Reina Kamisu.

How am I supposed to live on now? What am I supposed to do? Do I have to continue to live for year after year together with that pain in my chest?

How could I answer that?

No...not quite.

How could I decide over that?

I'm in the midst of a vortex of worthless thought that, even though it's worthless, tries to suck me in. Suddenly, however:

"Atsushi? I'm coming in!" a voice says and drags me back into reality.

"Okay..."

After hearing my reply, my aunt enters the room carrying a tray with a bowl of rice porridge on it.

My guilt pangs get stronger. I'm pretending to be ill and hiding the real reason for my absence; I don't want to worry my aunt by telling her that it's really a mental problem.

"Does your head still hurt?" she asks after she puts the tray on my desk.

"Yeah..."

My conscience pricks me; I'm lying to her.

...I have no other choice. I'm sorry, but I have no other choice.

"Do you really think you're okay? It's already been 3 days and counting. Do you want me to take you to the hospital?"

"I'm fine."

She gazes silently at my face for a few moments, and finally nods with a gentle smile.

Her smile sparks a faint assumption within me: Maybe she has long since seen through my lie, and is just turning a blind eye on me because she's powerless?

"Atsushi? It's Wednesday today, do you remember?"

"Mm...ah."

"Do you want to cancel this week's appointment with your doctor? I can contact him if you want."

Normally, it's these times when one should look for mental counseling, but since I'm pretending to be ill, I mustn't get caught.

"Yes, please. Can I ask you to contact him, mom?"

Just before I finish speaking, her eyes widen. Surprised by her reaction, I recall my own words.

Ah... I just called my aunt "mom."

Unsure how to deal with this awkward situation, I wordlessly gaze at her. Her surprised face slowly turns back into the familiar gentle smile.

"You finally said it," she smiles with a hint of joy.

"That was...that was just a mistake."

"I don't mind, Atsushi. In that case, I will just take it that you like me so much that you mistook me for your mother for an instant."

Is that so...?

Sure, I'm grateful of her—I really am—but isn't that itself proof that we're not a real family? If I were her real son, I wouldn't probably be that grateful. I would consider the love she'd give me a perfectly natural thing. I would just take her love and do nothing in return.

However, if I told my aunt that now, I would only sadden her.

Keeping my opinion to myself, I ask her something else instead.

"Can I call you ''mom'' from now on, then?"

"Of course you can! You're our son, Atsushi! My husband may seem cold to you, but he feels really attached to you, too."

"Yeah, I know."

I'm a child. As such, I cost a lot of money. On top of that, I will cost even more once I've completed my compulsory education and enter a high school. Despite all that, my uncle has not made a single complaint.

"There's nothing to worry about. We're even acknowledged as your parents by the law."

"Yeah..."

"Can you...can you call me again?"

"Huh?"

"Quick!"

Fighting off the awkwardness, I say, "Mom."

My aunt nods happily.

Mom.

Yes, I feel averse to calling her that way.

Because I'm used to calling her aunt? Sure, but there is more to the reluctance I'm feeling.

Why is that? Why?

Besides, I've long known that she wanted me to call her mom, that she didn't like the word aunt because it put some distance between us.

I've always been grateful of her, and wanted to make her happy if possible. If I can make her happy with something as simple as changing the way I address her, I would do that anytime without a second thought.

Then why is it that I have kept calling her aunt to this day?

"I have a question, mom."

"Yes?"

"Have you—" I break off in mid-sentence. There's no return once I have said the continuation of these words.

No...I have noticed already, so I can't return anyway.

"—Have you ever heard of Reina Kamisu?"

I'm sitting on the sofa inside Dr. Mihara's office.

As high as hiding my true reason for staying home was in my list of priorities, I don't care much anymore. I need the counseling. More precisely, I need to talk with Dr. Mihara.

"Hello Atsushi-kun," he says to me as he enters the room.

"Hello," I reply.

He sits down in the seat opposite of me.

"So," he cites the usual phrase, "how have you been?"

I have already prepared an answer to that question.

"A lot happened."

"Oh? Would you mind telling me?"

"Sure, that's why I'm here."

"True," he nods. Because he is a psychotherapist, it is very hard to read his true thoughts from his expression, but I can tell that he has noticed that something in me changed.

"Firstly, I had a dream."

"Oh? What kind of dream?"

He often asks me to tell him about my dreams. I guess he's trying to analyze them and search the depths of my consciousness.

"A dream where I get killed by Reina Kamisu."

Dr. Mihara closely observes my face as I speak, while I observe his, trying to take note of every change.

"Which means that it's that dream in which a girl kills you, right? With a kitchen knife?"

"Yes. Also, doctor, her name is Reina Kamisu."

Gazing closely at me, he replies, "I see."

"Doctor."

"Yes?"

"I have had that dream for a while now, right?"

After giving it some thought, he nods, "That's right."

"It's not hard to see why I would have such a dream: because I haven't come to terms with that incident yet. Correct?"

It seems that I have knocked him somewhat out of his stride.

During all the years of coming here, I have noticed that he never gives me answers. He only listens to me. He tries to help me find an answer myself by listening. That's all he really does. There have been times when I was annoyed by that, but I guess that's just how psychotherapy works.

It must be troublesome from his perspective to be urged to state his own thoughts.

"...I think so," he says, however, after coming to the conclusion that there will be no harm in doing so.

"Is that all?" I ask.

"...All?"

"Is that all of your view on that dream?"

He grumbles deeply and averts his eyes from me. After remaining silent like that for a few seconds, he looks at me again and opens his mouth.

"Atsushi-kun. It is true that I have reflected on your dream and formed my own opinion. That is, however, my personal view and in no way perfect. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"The problem is, Atsushi-kun, that by disclosing my opinion, I might affect your own opinion. You might accidentally confuse my answer as yours. Do you understand the problem that I'm pointing out?"

"Yes. That means that there is no problem if I state my own opinion, right?"

"...I suppose so."

"Fine. I think that my dream is the result of my wish to 'escape."

"..." He remains silent.

"Let me change the topic a little. I would like to tell you something entirely else that happened this week."

"Go ahead."

"I came across Reina Kamisu again."

"...I see. Just to be sure: we are not talking about that dream here anymore, is that correct?"

"Yes, of course not. This time we didn't only pass by each other, we also talked."

"..."

"Don't you want to know what we talked about?"

"...Yes, please."

"I felt the need to know the reason she killed my family. And that's what I asked her."

"What...what did she reply?"

"She told me that she had no idea."

"Hm..."

"I'm quite sure that she didn't lie to me. Reina Kamisu had a murderous impulse and killed my family. However, there was no deeper reason beside that impulse. At the very least, that's what she seems to think."

Dr. Mihara maintains his silence, unsure how to react.

"I wanted to put an end to that incident by learning about her reasons. I wanted to get a hold of something that could help me come to terms. Yet, my hopes were betrayed. Instead, I will now be forever held captive by my past.

—However, there is something I noticed earlier. Even if, just hypothetically, she had had a proper reason for the murder she committed, I wouldn't have accepted that reason no matter what. I didn't stand a chance against Reina Kamisu from the very start. Because it's plain impossible to pacify the feelings of someone whose family was murdered."

He is still gazing at me. At last, he reluctantly begins to speak. "Say, Atsushi-kun, where did you meet her?"

"At the McDonalds near the station. In real life, of course."

With folded arms, he lapses into silence again. Having said everything I wanted to say, I also keep quiet.

Silence. For a while, only meaningless noises reach my ears, like the noise of traffic and the clicking of a clock.

I shall wait for his next words—whatever they may be.

At last, he unfolds his arms and looks deep into my eyes.

"Atsushi-kun... may I ask you a question?" Dr. Mihara asks.

"Sure."

"Earlier, you mentioned that you see your wish to escape in that dream, right?"

"Right."

"Furthermore, you continually emphasized that you met her in real life, right?"

"Right."

"You already know the real answer, don't you, Atsushi-kun? Despite that, you asked me that, is that right?"

"..."

"Okay, Atsushi-kun. Let me confirm this once again."

"...Confirm what?"

"It was a coldblooded murderer who killed your family. What's her name again? Rehna Kamizu?"

"Right. Reina Kamisu. Reina Kamisu slaughtered my family!" I utter agitatedly, confusing the doctor a little.

He remains calm, however, and responds to me, "However—"

"That person does not exist."

While I did expect that answer, it still comes as a shock. My hypothesis proved correct. And as I already knew beforehand, as such it will aggravate my pain.

"That's not true!" I deny. I must.

"Why do you still say that?! You are escaping! That's wrong and you know it!"

"No... that's not true! I know that, I know for a fact that she does exist!"

That's no lie. At least, I don't think it's one.

"Atsushi-kun..."

"Reina Kamisu exists! She's here with us!" I shout.

I have to make sure of it.

Leaving a perplexed Dr. Mihara behind, I turn around and dash out of his office. As I leave the room, I bump into a girl who was waiting for her turn, and tumble over. I jump to my feet, however, and without a word of apology, I head to the place where I can make sure of Reina Kamisu's existence.

While I've never actually been there, I know the address. As I keep running toward that address, I try to regain a cool head. I will need it to confirm the fact I'm seeking, and I should be able to, since I already proved myself by suppressing my anger while talking to Reina Kamisu.

Calm down. First of all, slow down a little. Running your heart out isn't going to change anything; your fate stays all the same.

At last, I manage to regain my composure—just when I arrived at my destination, as chance would have it.

I ring the chime.

"Yes?" someone says after a few moments.

"Urm... my name is Atsushi Kogure. Ah, yes... I'm a classmate of Kyouhei-kun's." As I explain who I am, I look at the nameplate besides the chime.

The plate reads Kimura.

With the meekest expression I can play, I pray at Kimura's altar, since that's what I told his mother I am here for. I must make her believe that we were good buddies. She won't be able to tell unless he previously told her in detail about me.

"It was a... real shock...," I explain to her with a sad face.

I then ramble on about how much I'm supposedly grieved about Kimura's death. It's not that hard: I just have to exaggerate my own feelings, since it's for a fact that I was, as a classmate, shocked by his sudden passing away. His mother nods at my words, a few tears in her eyes. The queasy conscience I get is immediately wiped out in the face of my goal.

"In fact, Mrs. Kimura, I'm here today with a request," I say, finally coming down to business.

"...Yes?"

"I want to know what Kimura-kun thought about in his last hours, what were his worries, and I would like to hear his own, true words. Therefore, may I—"

The odds are for me. For one thing, there have been others who have seen it, otherwise there wouldn't be any rumors, and she doesn't seem to have noticed that I'm deceiving her. I don't see why she would refuse.

"—may I read his suicide note?"

===5===
I started to wander around aimlessly after I had left Kimura's home.

Everything was a lie, the truth, and cruel reality.

The past, the here and now, and the future exist all here simultaneously, and all of them turned out to be tormenting me.

My wound aggravates even more.

It hurts.

But there's no blood to spill anymore—there's not a single drop left.

I've dwindled. Entirely.

I'm dried up like dust, and what little is left of me could easily be wiped away.

As I look up at the colorful, dazzling sky, I recall Kimura's suicide note.

"Mother, father, and all who have known me: please forgive me for leaving so soon.

Now that I hold my pen, I don't know what to write anymore. Even though I pondered quite a while about it before.

For starters, let me write why I killed myself.

It was not until I troubled a certain girl and drove her into suicide that I decided in the real sense to commit suicide myself.

I will not write the details of what I did to her. Every time I call back the memories, my heart feels like a rag being squeezed out.

While that event was the last straw, however, I had been thinking of suicide before.

There is no meaning in my life.

No one needs me and no one ever will, although I'm sure you will all deny it.

But in the end, I still think that it all boils down to the fact that I'm worthless. It may be a bad simile, but I think I'm somewhat like your favorite pencil: it hurts a bit if it goes lost, but you can easily buy a new one in the supermarket around the corner.

That's why I think that the only way I can atone for driving someone into suicide is to end my own worthless life as well.

You were kind-hearted. We talked, even though you were already dead. Maybe I was just having an illusion, but you forgave me.

And that's exactly why I have to punish myself.

I have to atone for the sin of tormenting someone as kind and forgiving as you.

Let me apologize once more for what I did.

I am awfully sorry,—                "

I reread these words over and over, but they didn't change no matter how many times and from what angle I read them.

"I am awfully sorry, Reina Kamisu-san.                "

I recall what Mizuhara said to me.

"A ghost cursed them to death."

And then I finally recall whose name Saito called for help.

At last, I found myself at the place where I'd first seen her—the shopping district by the station. As I lean against the wall, I decide to wait for her.

There's no guarantee that she will appear, but I have a hunch that she will if I keep waiting.

I search my pockets and take out the envelope I have stuffed in there before I dashed out of my home.

Why didn't I call my aunt mom?

In fact, there is no problem with that in itself. The problem is that I would consequently have to call my uncle dad as well, since I can't just change one side and leave the other as is. Needless to say, the reason why I don't want to call him that way is not because I don't like him as much as I like my aunt.

I look at the envelope.

It's addressed at "Atsushi Kogure," while the sender is written to be "Takashi Kogure" on the backside. Right, that's the name of my dad.

And the postmark's date is the tenth of last month.

"Were you looking for me again?"

I raise my head and couldn't contain a smile. I am looking at a smile that is as absurdly beautiful as ever.

"Exactly!" I reply.

"What do you want?"

"I want to confirm something. And I have a request."

"Okay, ask away and make sure of whatever that is."

I stuff the envelope in my pocket again and ask, "It was you who killed my family, right?"

"That's right."

"It was also you who killed my father, right?"

"Obviously."

"Which means that it can't have been my father who killed my family, right?"

Reina Kamisu's eyes widen in surprise. And with absolute certainty, she replies:

"Of course it wasn't him."

I look closely at her. Naturally, there's no sign of deception to be found in her face.

"Would you mind... listening to my silly musings for a moment?" I ask her.

"Go ahead."

"Let's pretend for a moment that not you but my father killed my family," I start.

"Now that's a bizarre thought."

"His motive for attacking us wouldn't be something as incomprehensible as yours, I'm sure, but something clear. Something clichéd like, for example, financial difficulties that made him attempt to commit family suicide."

"It's a shame that it wasn't him."

"Huh?"

"I mean, you wanted a reason, didn't you? You'd have one in that case, no?"

Indeed, I wanted one. However—

"I don't care."

I don't care. I don't think I would want to know the reason if it were such a cheap one. I wouldn't want to learn that our family was destroyed by a foolish thing like that.

If that hypothesis were true, I'd certainly wish—

—that that reason didn't exist in the first place.

I would certainly try to ignore the truth right before my eyes, and seek refuge in my dreams. I would make one up where someone else murders my family. Someone who's a monster and doesn't have a proper reason to kill.

Someone like—the beautiful girl here.

However, no matter how fake the culprit is—

"—I don't care. The fact that my family was killed won't change, no matter who was the culprit. After all, it's impossible to pacify the feelings of someone whose family was murdered, and my wound will never heal up. Right?"

Reina Kamisu gazes closely at me.

"Perhaps," she finally answers.

"You said it. Then what is it that I would seek? Let me tell you: a resting place, where I wouldn't be wounded, where I wouldn't have to suffer anymore. I would definitely seek a place to rest like that," I say and look into her eyes.

"—So?"

"Hm?"

"You're done confirming, aren't you? So what's the other thing you wanted; what's your request?" she asks and I reply with a natural smile.

Ah, she acts just like I wanted.

What I needed was a culprit with no reason to kill. But that's not all. That's not enough to give me peace of mind.

What I really need is—a coldblooded murderer.

A murderer like Reina Kamisu.

Therefore, I ask from her:

"—Please, kill me."

That moment, my wound turned into a scar.

The pain went away and the blood stopped. What remains is a plain scar that looks a bit repulsive until you've gotten used to it.

But that's just an illusion; I can't exist without that pain. I have to drag along my past and live with it and the pain. As soon as I stop fantasizing about being killed by Reina Kamisu, the scar will turn back into a fresh wound.

"Why do you ask me? Just die by yourself."

"That's out of question. I can't commit suicide. My fear of death is barely strong enough to keep me from doing that."

"Hmm...? Barely strong enough, hm?" she emphasizes part of what I said.

Right, I can't end my own life because I'm able to see how horrifying it is to die.

But what if—what if someone killed me?

If I were to be killed forcibly, I would not have the time to mull over about death. At most, I would realize the fact that I would disappear from this world. Or perhaps, the pain wouldn't grant me any thought at all. The prominent kind of feeling I would have at that moment would be—relief.

I've always been wishing from the bottom of my heart for someone to erase me.

"Just in case," I say to her.

"Hm?"

"You have no qualms about taking my life, do you?"

With an absurdly beautiful smile, Reina Kamisu replies:

"—Of course not. Why should I have any qualms?"

"Tell me," she continues, surprising me, "why are you smiling so happily?"

Only now do I realize that a smile has been glued to my face. Without a thought, I cover my mouth, but as I do so, I peek into her eyes and return the favor.

"So are you," I point out, causing her to cover her mouth as well. Amused by the fact that we showed the exact same reaction, we both start to laugh.

The fact that nothing about this peaceful moment is real only adds to it.

"Okay—" she mutters as she extends her soft hands to me. Her long, slender fingers fold around my neck. I can't help but feel that this situation is perverted and even slightly sexual.

Her fingers strangulate me.

Her hands are as cold as those of a dead person. It feels like that coldness is absorbing everything from me.

Ah—I am vanishing for good.

Bit by bit, the sensation of being split is getting stronger. Slowly but surely, I am leaving my body. The mangled remains of myself are assembling into one piece again and leaving my body. Never before have I felt such an overwhelming feeling of anguish and pleasure.

And as I have predicted, I feel relieved.

In my last moments, I look at her while she is choking me.

Suddenly, I wonder: who is she, anyway?

I quickly dismiss that thought. Partially because my ability to think has dwindled, but mostly because it seemed like a meaningless thought once I saw her absurdly beautiful smile.

Instead, I say to her in my mind:

"Thank you."

And then—

Atsushi Kogure died.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Kamisu Reina:Volume 1 Fumi Saito|Chapter 1]]
| Return to [[Kamisu Reina Series|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Kamisu Reina:Volume 1 Shizuka Wakui|Chapter 3]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Kamisu Reina:Volume 1 Fumi Saito

2015-03-18T12:24:45Z

MondSemmel: /* 4 */ Typo

==Chapter 1: Fumi Saito==
===1===

I don't have any friends.

Not because I hate talking to others, or because I'm mistrustful, or because I'm too lazy to cultivate contacts. It's not like I deliberately want to avoid making friends; put plain and simple, I'm just unable to make any.

My mom always tells me that it's no big deal, since I'm smart and my grades are good, but from my perspective ''that's'' no big deal. She doesn't know how cumbersome school is for people who can't make friends.

Just like right now: Even though it's break time and everyone's engaged in chats, I'm sitting here alone as if I were in another dimension. It gets even worse during the lunch break, when I wordlessly munch away on my lunch while all my classmates put their desks together and eat together—I always feel like a castaway on a desert island surrounded by the vast ocean.

From time to time I wonder if all the other people are just aliens wearing human disguises who are deceiving me, the last living earthling.

Ridiculous. Ridiculous, indeed, but that proves how alone I feel when I'm at school.

Because I have nothing to do between classes, I started reading books in my free time even though I don't really like doing so. Thanks to that, I've become even harder to approach and widened the gap between me and my classmates even further. It's a vicious cycle: I'm mistaken for someone who likes being alone, even though that's downright wrong. I'd love to chitchat, too! I want to chat about who's the coolest guy in our class or who my favorite member in whatever boyband is too! But I'm ignored. I'm only reluctantly approached by others when absolutely necessary.

Why am I unable to make friends? What makes me different from everyone else? Since I have nothing to do anyway, I often mull over this question.

It must be because I'm ugly. I have a lot of pimples, my eyes are small, and my nose is flat, just like my breasts. But do I really look that terrible? I don't think so. It's wrong to blame my looks, at any rate.

It's my communication skills. Right, I'm not good at talking to others. But why is that? Because I'm always cautious? Because I get nervous when I'm talked to? No, that's not all there is to it. That's just another vicious cycle that started because I don't often talk to others.

The root cause must be that... I'm scared of getting hurt. I'm scared of being thought of as an oddball. I'm scared of spoiling the mood by making an inappropriate remark. I'm scared of others' opinions of me.

Before I know it, I'm gazing at Mizuhara-san's group in the second row by the window. Mizuhara-san is sort of the leader of this class, and as such has lots of friends. They seem to be having a lot of fun. They're really enviable.

But even among the members of such a close group, I'm sure that people could name others in the same group who they don't like. Nobody is perfect. Everybody has characteristics that might cause resentment. I, for one, have lots of them.

Therefore, it must be impossible to make friends for me.

But that's okay.

I may have no normal friends, but I do have a best friend.

I have one irreplaceable best friend—

—Reina Kamisu.

"You're too kind, Fumi, that's your problem."

That's what Reina said to me on our way home when I told her about my take on why I can't make any friends.

The smile she flashed while saying that was so stunning that I couldn't help admiring her for a few moments. Her long hair is the purest raven-black and so smooth that it's unthinkable to find any split ends, while her body is curvy like a model's, unlike my immature development.

Reina is truly beautiful. Absurdly beautiful.

"I'm kind...? I don't think so. I just don't want to be hurt."

"But isn't that what makes you kind?"

"Why so?"

"I mean, it's not like everyone else ''wants'' to be hurt, right? They don't want to be hurt, either."

"But they get along with each other."

"Yeah. Then what distinguishes you from them? Let me tell you: You're sensitive to the wounds of others. You are scared of being hurt, Fumi, but you're also scared of hurting someone."

Well, of course I don't want to hurt others randomly.

"That's why you are very kind to everyone."

"Reina..."

I'm really grateful for her words.

But I know that in truth I'm just a coward. Reina has merely put a sugar-sweet coating around the word ''coward'' before handing it to me.

But that thoughtfulness of hers makes me happy.

Aah, Reina sure is peerless. Even though she's only in the third year of middle school like me, she's so different.

"You're so lucky, Reina..."

"Mm? Why?"

"I mean... you're pretty and you're smart... I can't help thinking that God treats us unjustly."

Yeah, God is unjust. If he wasn't, Reina and I wouldn't be living in the same world. I suppose God doesn't get around to balancing out everything that he's created, and passes us around even more carelessly than workers do with products on a conveyor belt.

Everyone knows that. But I'm not mature enough yet to accept that I'm "inferior".

"That's not true! You're cute, Fumi," she responds with a kind smile, reading my mind.

"...I'm not. That sounds a bit like sarcasm if it's you, you know...?"

"Ah, that's totally mean! But Fumi... while some people like you prefer me, there are also some people who would prefer you!"

"No."

"But there are! At least there's one, right here," Reina says as she points at herself and smiles.

"But—"

"If," she interrupts me, "If for argument's sake, there were more people who prefer me over you, why should you care? Numbers don't mean anything. Or do you want to be in the spotlight like an idol?"

"That's not it."

"Then there's nothing to worry about, is there? There's at least one person right here who thinks you are irreplaceable. Or are you not satisfied with that?"

"Mmm! I couldn't wish for more!"

"...I see."

Reina puts on her kind smile again, which makes me kind of ashamed of my behavior.

Aah... I'm still such a child. Silly me. Really. I bet Reina thinks that I'm jealous of her beauty, which is actually true. I'm so filthy. Now she's lost faith in me. I'm sure.

"...Fumi, you're blaming yourself, aren't you?"

"Eh?"

"My... you really ''are'' too kind. Do you think I'd taken offense?"

"But——"

"No buts. You're being a little rude, you know?"

"Eh?"

"Fumi, you are a dear friend of mine. Someone important to me. By acting this way, it almost seems as if you didn't believe me?"

"Ah..."

"Fumi. I'm your best friend, right?"

"Of course!"

I can say this for certain.

"You're an irreplaceable friend, Reina!"

A dear friend who could never be replaced.

If Reina wasn't here, I—

I would long since have—

===2===
Another bad day starts.

The fact that I'm usually alone in the morning only makes it worse; Reina often has to go early to school because of her morning practice in the track and field club. I did once consider leaving the house at the same time as she does, but waiting in the classroom until classes begin is pretty painful as well, and most of all, I don't want to bother her, so I decided against it.

I walk alone to school and head to the shoe lockers to change into my indoor shoes.

"..."

What is this...?

''Morning!'' I hear someone say behind me (of course not to me) and hurriedly close my locker. After waiting for that student to leave, I open it again.

"Oh, eh..."

There is a letter on my indoor shoes.

I reach out, but at a loss what to do, my hand stays there until another student approaches. On the spur of the moment, I cram the letter into my bag.

Oh my, oh my... i-is this a...?

I get uncomfortable. I don't know why that is, but there are too many people here. I feel like all the people around me are watching me. Whenever a glance crosses my eyes (and I know it just crosses them and doesn't actually perceive me) I feel it piercing through me.

Nobody would care about me, I know that, but I can't help feeling that everybody keeps watching my every step.

Unable to bear the gazes any longer, I escape to the restroom, and hurry into a toilet stall, and take the letter out.

Stuffing it into my bag has left the letter slightly crumpled — sorry to the person who put it into my locker.

I unfold the letter.

"Dear Fumi Saito

I am writing this letter to you because there is something that I have been wanting to tell you.

Please wait in your classroom after school."

That's all there is.

"Ah...hah..." I gasp for air, finally noticing that I haven't breathed while reading.

What is this about? What... what is this about?

As short as it is, I can still see that, objectively, it's probably a love letter. However, it's addressed at me. A love letter addressed at me? Really? Is that possible?

"Of course it's possible!" Reina says right off the bat.

We're on break and have come to the landing of the stairs that lead to the roof. Because the roof is inaccessible, the stairs here are virtually never used by anyone, which is why we often use them when we want to discuss something in secret (although it's mostly me who has something to discuss).

"How can you be so sure?! I mean, we're talking about me here...!"

"As I told you the other day, Fumi: you are a charming girl."

I open my mouth to deny what she said, but then I reconsider, thinking back at how we went round in circles last time.

"So, how about it, Fumi?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"What's your response to that love letter?"

"Ah—"

I had completely forgotten about that because I was fixated on the fact that I'd received one. Right, I still have to respond to it.

"R-Reina, I, I don't know what to do!"

"To start with, how do you feel about that boy?"

"That boy...?"

I unfold the love letter and check again.

"Well, Fumi? How do you feel about him? Do you know each other pretty well? Or not at all, maybe?"

"—None."

"Hm?"

"There's no name."

"Let me... let me take a look."

I give Reina the letter. She inspects the piece of paper from all sides, and eventually heaves a sigh.

"You're right. There's no name."

"...You've received love letters before, right, Reina?"

"Yes, I have."

"Were there any without a name?"

"...Hm... maybe there was one, but I think it was a case where the sender was obvious. I always knew who the letter was from."

"I see..."

I reread the letter. ''"Please wait in your classroom after school"'' — a sincere request to me.

"...What are you going to do?" Reina inquires.

"Don't you know pretty well what I'm going to do, Reina?"

"...Right. Well, it's you after all!" she smiles gloomily.

"Don't... don't wait for me today after you're done with your club activities."

"Why not...?"

"..." I remain silent, unable to give her a proper answer. I don't really know why I asked her that, either. Normally, I would want her with me at such times.

Reina gives me a bright smile, "...Hey, Fumi. You've been wanting to go to the aquarium, haven't you?"

"...Yeah. I love dolphins."

"Let's go there one of these days, then!"

Why would she propose that now?

"...Mm! It's a promise!"

I knew why, and that made me happy.

Classes have ended.

I always stay at school even without receiving such a letter, because I wait for Reina's club activities to end.

Today, however, I had Reina go home herself. I'm alone—alone at waiting for the sender of that letter.

As I gaze at an open book, I ponder over who I want the letter to be from. Kado-kun, the boy who is popular in class because he's good at basketball? Mm, I would be happy. The delinquent of our class, Ashizawa-kun? He's a bit scary, but I think I would appreciate it. How about Kogure-kun, although he's a bit strange? I would probably be a bit wary of him, but still happy. And Dojima-kun, who everyone avoids because he's dirty? I wouldn't want to go out with him, but I would be happy.

It's always a nice thing to be thought of favorably.

But how would I respond when it comes to dating someone?

Right now... I have no such plans, because I don't exactly know what would be expected of me. I'm a bit scared, and I don't know how I should treat the other party.

I guess a proper couple has to kiss? But how does that feel? When do you feel like kissing? How should I react when he wants me to kiss? Would he be hurt when I refused to? I can't refuse then... I don't want to be disliked, after all.

Right. Refusal is no option.

Mm, so it doesn't matter who gave me that letter—I have to obey and ''wait in my classroom after school''.

It has become dark outside. The school is going to be closed soon.

Maybe, no one will come. Maybe, it was a joke. If it was—I would feel a bit calmer.

I stow away the book I have hardly read and just gazed at, and prepare myself for taking my leave, when suddenly, the Mizuhara group enters the classroom. They all belong to the tennis club, so I first thought they came to leave their rackets here.

However, their eyes reveal to me that there's more to it.

Mizuhara-san looks at me. "Heh, so you waited."

"Er..."

The girls around her start to giggle as they watch me getting nervous.

"Did we get your hopes up?" Mizuhara-san asks with a grin.

"Eh, um..."

What should I answer...? What answer do they expect from me?

"Probably... I did get hopes..." I answer honestly.

Suddenly, one of them laughs out loud, unable to hold it in any longer, spurring on the giggling.

"Oh come on, that's stupid! No guy would be interested in a sourpuss like you!"

"Kaho! Don't be so mean to her~!"

"But look...!"

"Well, she ''is'' pretty gullible, but that makes it clear how serious her case is, right?"

"Yeah, she's obviously not used to this kind of stuff."

Without giving me a chance to interrupt, Takatsuki-san and Omi-san keep discussing how dumb and strange I am.

I don't know what to do.

Hopes. Right, I had faint hopes that someone might like me. How stupid of me. That's absurd. Completely impossible.

Right now, there is a clear barrier between the rest of the world and me. Transparent, yet tough like tempered glass. Even though they can see me, no one attempts to read what feelings I hold behind my face. Even though they can hear me, no one attempts to understand the meaning of my words.

It's almost like my eyes perceive something entirely different from everyone else. Whenever I reach out my hands, I can only grasp air.

Alone. I'm alone.

Someone likes me? As if. No one is interested in me in the least, except maybe as someone to tease. As a topic to laugh at.

"...uh..."

Ah... I didn't want to cry... but there goes a tear. This will spoil the party. I'm sorry, but I cried, I'm really sorry.

As I expected, they start making uneasy faces.

Desperately trying not to show them my tears, I cover my eyes.

"Aah... we made her cry. Sorry, Saito-san," Mizuhara-san says gently. "But you know? We didn't mean to hurt you. How should I put it... you always avoid talking to people, no?"

No, I simply ''can't'' talk to people!

"I think that's not a good thing, so I thought that doing this, kind of like a shock treatment, might help you. I didn't mean any harm."

I wonder how much truth there is to that? Maybe that was part of the reason, but how is a fake love letter supposed to get me to speak normally? Was there no other way? Isn't that just a pretext to tease me?

"No offense! Really! ...Will you forgive me?"

However, there is something desperate in her voice that makes me nod as I still keep my eyes covered.

"Aah, thanks a lot... I'm really sorry. Okay, see you."

Once I had forgiven them, they quickly left.

...But Mizuhara-san isn't mean. She may have completely missed the mark, but she did care about me. She does take heed of me.

Yeah, she's not mean. She's not.. mean.

"What a mean bunch!"

My inner dialog is being denied. Surprised by that sudden voice, I look up.

"Ah... Kimura-kun..."

Oh no, he saw my tear-stained face. I must look horrible right now...

"Sorry! I allowed myself to overhear your little conversation," he says with an uneasy expression.

"Mmm! I-It's fine..." These words escape my lips because I want to reassure him.

"...They teased you with a fake love letter, right? That's cruel. She... Mizuhara's always like that. You could say that her hobby is to toy with the feelings of others!" Kimura-kun rants, seeming genuinely angry at her.

Is he angry for my sake? For real? If so, why?

Okay, what am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to calm him down?

"It's okay, Kimura-kun... I knew it was just a trick."

"You knew it was a trick?" he asks while raising an eyebrow.

"I knew that... it would end like this."

"...But why didn't you ignore the letter, then?"

"———"

I couldn't give him an answer. I have no idea how to put it into words.

"Well, whatever... anyway, if something like this happens again, be sure to let me know!"

"Eh?!"

"W-What? You don't trust me, or what?"

I shake my head furiously. It's only natural that I would get startled — after all, he doesn't profit in any way from helping me.

"You're quite the strange girl... okay, gotta go!" he says as he puts a hand on my head with a smile, after which he left. Unable to make sense of that, I just watched him baffledly.

While walking home alone, I start reflecting on the reason why I couldn't ignore the letter.

I expected the letter to be fake — because there was no name, because the paper used was not typical for boys, and most of all, because I noticed that the writer had deliberately tried to fake her handwriting.

However, what if, as unlikely as it is, the love letter had been real? In that case, ignoring it would have hurt that person. I would have betrayed that person and his sincere request ''to have me wait''. I couldn't do that. Absolutely not.

Besides, I couldn't have ignored it either way: the person who wanted to make a joke at my expense wished for me to take on the role of a fool. Had I ignored that request, I would have betrayed their expectations. I would have spoiled their fun. I would have fallen into their disfavor.

That's why I was unable to ignore the letter.

Did I make the right choice? No, I'm sure I didn't. If I were right—

—It wouldn't hurt so much.

Reina.

It hurts, Reina!

I don't want to be '''here''', it hurts!

For the first time in a long time, I have to face that thought again. That thought I always held before meeting Reina.

Right, if Reina wasn't here, I—

I would long have—died.

I have thought about dying countless times.

I'm sure there is no such thing like happy times.

Adult people lie when they speak of their supposedly happy youth. If they don't, then nostalgia must have warped their memories, because they couldn't endure the absence of hope in reality otherwise. Thinking that back in the day, everything used to be better, in order to put up with the present.

This leads to my hypothesis:

Life is and will always be hopeless. We live our pitch-dark lives as we cling to shiny shards that appear every now and then, and then we think back at those shards with a nostalgic smile on our faces. Like fools.

However, I don't have a past to take refuge. I don't have a past to romanticize in my mind when I lose hope in reality. I have no other choice but to accept that life is filled with despair from bottom to top.

Therefore, the only place I can escape to is death.

''Don't think of suicide'', people say. But is that statement backed by actual thought? You shall not kill. Of course. You shall not steal. Of course. You shall not commit suicide. Of course. The answer is so obvious that there is no place for doubt. Those statements must be perfectly true. Dazzlingly true.

You have to walk an endless muddy path that has no significance whatsoever, and you are naturally not allowed to break out. What a hopeless system.

What do you want me to do? What the hell am I supposed to do?

Someone save me! Give me hope! No, I won't be so greedy. Please someone, just notice that I'm walking this path and say a few gentle words to me...

"Fumi."

Surprised by the voice that calls out to me at the perfect moment, I raise my head.

"Reina..."

Only after speaking these words do I notice that I have been crying.

"You told me to go home, but you didn't tell me not to come meet you, right?" she smiles gently at me.

"...I can't."

Even though she understands what I mean, she gently embraces me.

"...It was painful, wasn't it?"

I can't... I just can't anymore!

I'll depend on you, Reina! I'll lean against you! I'll entrust my life to you!

"It's okay," she whispers to me. "I won't betray you."

"—!"

I clearly understand now why I had Reina go home earlier.

It's because I knew that she would comfort me. Because I knew that I would depend on her.

What is the consequence of that?

I have long lost my balance to be '''here''', and needed something to take refuge in.

Needless to say, Reina Kamisu has taken on the role of my refuge, of my shelter.

But now, because of her embrace, I have completely become dependent on her. Maybe that has already been the case for a long time, but either way, I can no longer exist without Reina.

In order to prevent that, I have sent her home.

"...Reina...I..."

"It's okay. Don't worry. I'll... take on your burden."

Her words pierce through me.

I feel how my entire body starts to melt into Reina's body. Slowly but surely, I fade into her.

Such bliss.

I realize that this is what it means to be accepted by someone.

"Uh...gh...," I moan as my tears push up. They fall onto Reina, producing small ripples. I always thought my tears would only fall to the ground, but I was wrong — they have reached Reina's heart.

I am part of Reina, and—

—Reina is everything of me.

===3===

I am changing. The liquid "Reina" is continuously being poured into the container "I", while the liquid "I" is overflowing from that container.

The container is still me, but its contents are Reina; Reina has become my essence.

I still hardly speak anything in the classroom (although Kimura-kun, whose desk is behind mine, talks to me from time to time), but I don't feel depressed anymore.

I am not alone.

That belief gives me strength. That thought I have been holding has gone somewhere far away.

I don't care about anything, as long as Reina is with me.

That's what I thought. That's what I believed.

But not in my wildest dreams did I expect that things could still get worse.

"I can't find my wallet!" Mizuhara-san screams agitatedly.

Everyone present at the homeroom after classes, our class teacher Kosugi-sensei included, focuses on her as she desperately searches for her wallet. The member of her group are watching her worriedly. For a few moments, the classroom lapses into silence, until someone checks if their own wallet is still there, and the others follow suit. I don't bring my wallet to school, but I reach into my pocket nonetheless in order not to be the odd one out.

By the time everyone has confirmed that their money is safe, Mizuhara-san is sitting still in her seat, visibly troubled. Kosugi-sensei walks toward her.

"Have you found it?"

"No..."

"Are you sure that it was there?"

"Absolutely."

"Understood," the teacher says with a frown and goes back to the teacher's desk. "All right, as you surely heard, Mizuhara has lost her wallet. Of course, this may be some sort of misunderstanding on her end, but—" he starts and explains in a ridiculously roundabout way that there is a chance that a member of this class might have stolen her wallet.

The likelihood of pickpocketing is high, considering what the missing item is. Not far in the past, there has been a fuss over a stolen mp3-player.

Mizuhara-san, convinced that it was a theft, is visibly angered, and so are the members of her group, influenced by her.

"Does anyone have a clue where her wallet might be?" the teacher asks.

The students just exchange glances. The teacher isn't expecting any answers, either — the culprit or those who know who did it wouldn't speak up right now.

Or so I thought. But I was wrong.

Kimura-kun reluctantly raises his hand.

"Kimura, do you know something?"

"No, not exactly... but there's something that bothers me."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think that it's common to take the wallet when stealing money. Normally, you would just pull out the contents, right? In fact, that's how the theft in class 5 happened."

"...Perhaps."

"Besides, it would make more sense to steal the money of all members of this class instead of only Mizuhara-san's. Yet, she's the only victim."

"What are you getting at?"

"What I want to say is that it's either a misunderstanding or a vicious joke toward Mizuhara-san."

"It's absolutely not a misunderstanding!" Mizuhara-san disagrees loudly. "Someone has played a trick on me!"

"A trick, hm? How much was in your wallet, if I may ask?"

"...1000 yen and change, but so what?" she answers grumpily.

"So it can't be because of the money, then. It looks like the goal of the culprit was teasing Mizuhara-san; and wouldn't that narrow down the list of suspects to a manageable number?" Kimura-kun says, causing everyone to exchange glances again.

That means that the culprit has a grudge against her, or at least doesn't think favorably of her?

Arriving at this thought—

—I notice that eyes are starting to focus on me.

"Huh...?"

A few students who aren't looking at me notice that a few of their classmates are focusing on me, and thus follow suit. On seeing that, yet another person gazes at me. All eyes are pinned on me.

Why? Why would they look at me?

This makes it seem like... like—

Our teacher, too, notices that I'm the center of attention, and looks at me, only to move his gaze on to Mizuhara-san. I follow his glance.

For some reason, she makes a face of realization.

"Saito," the teacher says to me in a stern voice, causing me to wince.

Just because he called my name? ...Yes, but I but I'm not so dumb as to not understand the situation. To me, this is just like a — death sentence.

"Do you know something?"

"Eh? Ah...er..."

I don't know anything! I'm innocent! But... I fail to say so properly.

"What's wrong? I have asked you a question, Saito."

But he's suspecting me.

"Uh..."

Everyone is looking at me, suspecting me — that's more than enough to make me lose my tongue, but they do not see that.

They understand it like so: I'm panicking because I've been busted, because I'm the culprit.

I'm perfectly aware of that, and I know that I must absolutely answer his question with confidence, but yet I find myself unable to do so.

"I... I..."

If someone was here who understand my personality — if Reina was here — she could explain it to them, but she's not here.

She's not here.

I don't have any supporters here.

"I don't... I don't know any—"

"Kosugi-sensei," Mizuhara-san says, cutting my desperate words short. I look at her in wonder.

There is no anger in her face anymore.

"What is it, Mizuhara?"

"I did something to Saito-san that may have made her hold a grudge against me. I... I played a trick on her. Thinking about it now... that was mean of me," she says with tears in her eyes. "But I... I did it because I thought I could help her to open herself!"

Surprised at what she said, I gaze at her. The sorrowful expression on her face isn't faked. Mizuhara-san is honest.

However, it's unclear to me whether she really tried to open my heart with that fake love letter, or just persuaded herself of that noble goal because of the situation she has found herself in.

Whatever the answer is, there is one thing that has become a fact.

Her words have settled my position.

"..."

All eyes fixed on me.

Eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes.

Like light projected through a loop, their reproachful glances pierce through me.

There is no suspicion in them anymore.

It's been decided.

It's been decided that I am the culprit.

"N-No, I haven—"

"It was YOU!" Takatsuki-san cuts me short. "You were pissed off, but you couldn't defend yourself because you were too scared! That's why you resorted to such a dirty trick — to vent your frustration!"

"Don't say that, Kaho. I'm... I'm also at fault..."

''Also.''

The words Mizuhara-san sobbed subliminally yet clearly implied that I'm the culprit and that she's the victim.

As a result, her words added fuel to the fire. With a fire-red head, Takatsuki-san walks toward me. Fearing to be hit, I cover my head and cower.

However, she did not come to hit me. Her goal was my bag. She picks it up, opens it, turns it upside town and pours its contents onto my desk.

And for some reason, there is an unfamiliar wallet among the things that fall on my desk. However, someone has mangled it with a cutter.

"...Saito, you are to come to the staff room afterwards."

The moment the teacher says so, uncontrollable sobbing resounds through the classroom.

Needless to say, it was Mizuhara-san.

I look around.

Eyes. Eyes. Eyes. Eyes. Eyes.

Like an ice pick, their reproachful glances pierce through me.

Reina isn't '''here'''.

In other words—no one is '''here'''.

I don't have any supporters '''here'''.

The next day, my desk has disappeared.

Up until now, I have merely been air for everyone, but from now on, they won't even grant me to be air anymore.

I'm not even allowed to exist.

A missing desk in a classroom is like a missing piece in a puzzle; but in this case it's my desk that is missing. I must be the only one who feels that a piece is missing — for everyone else, the puzzle is completed.

I go to the veranda and move the desk and the chair back to their original place. Original place? Really? No, perhaps the original place where my seat is supposed to be is not in the classroom, but at the veranda.

But while that may be true... I don't want to notice.

White, everything turns white.

Everything besides Reina and me turns white.

Like a novel lacking spaces, I'm unable to make sense of the white world '''here'''. They disappear. Everything besides me flees out of reach.

Or perhaps—

I'm the one who is lacking color.

The lunch break ends without my talking to anyone.

I really haven't spoken a word, since I couldn't meet Reina, either. Not one word has been spoken for me or toward me.

People have stopped speaking to me. No, that's no news, but at least previously, there was no ill will in that.

I wasn't even allowed of the absolute minimum of conversation. Even Kimura-kun wasn't able to overcome the magnetic field around me that has emerged in class.

"..."

I was aware of it.

I was aware of it, but this makes it clear.

No one cares if I just disappeared.

The world wouldn't disappear when I disappeared. The blue sky would completely ignore me and not even let it rain. No one cares whatever happens to me. I'm absolutely separated from the rest of the world.

Again, a familiar thought assaults me.

—I... I can't endure it anymore, Reina!

Why? What have I done? I didn't want to be disliked. That's all... I just shut myself into my little box because I was afraid of getting hurt, yet why do they pierce it with spears?

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!

Save me Reina, save me Reina, save me rena, savemerena.

"They're all so mean."

"—Huh?"

Reina stands before my eyes.

"'Huh'? What is it, Fumi?"

"Ah, mmm... nothing."

Classes have ended; I have caught Reina when she was about to go to her club and consulted her at our usual spot on the stairs to the roof.

Yes, that sounds perfectly natural.

Why is it then that something felt fatally off? There's no reason.

"Why would they think that you're the culprit without conclusive proof? There's no way you would do that."

"...Well, they don't know my personality. Besides, Mizuhara-san's wallet was in my bag, so it's natural that they would think that I did it."

"Yes, but Fumi... why was that wallet in your bag, anyway?"

"Because—"

I don't really want to think about it...

"...The first reason that comes to mind would be because someone is trying to set you up."

"...Yeah, most likely." Unless I have a split personality. "...Someone who hates me?"

"I... I don't think so. You're not one to make a lot of enemies... I think that someone simply thought that it would be easy to lay the blame on you."

Perhaps.

But anyway, someone hated me enough to be fine with putting the blame on me.

"That's just heartless! We have to find and teach that culprit a lesson!"

"No... no need to!"

"Why? Aren't you suffering under the current situation?"

"I am. I am, but..."

"But?"

"The problem isn't new. It's merely surfaced now..."

"That's not... I mean, you weren't particularly unpopular..."

"You think so? I'm pretty sure it was a matter of time. For example, if Mizuhara-san's position and mine had been reversed, I most likely would have ended up with the short end of the stick."

"No, you're—"

Reina is at a loss for words. When it comes to deciding who is at fault, it doesn't matter what was done, but who did it. Between a teacher and a student, the student will be the bad one; between a honor student and a delinquent, the delinquent will be the bad one; between a beautiful person and an ugly person, the ugly person will be the bad one.

And of course, between Mizuhara-san and me, I will be the bad one.

In other words, the result has been decided all along.

Smart as Reina is, she realizes that.

"...That's not true!"

Reina doesn't believe her own words, and looking at her face, she is admonishing herself for faltering.

...But there's nothing to admonish herself for, since it's a fact.

"Reina."

"Hm?"

"You're still on my side, right?"

"Of course I am!"

Good.

I have a supporter. I have a irreplaceable friend. I have Reina.

So I may still be here.

"Ah—" Reina suddenly says, so I follow her gaze.

"Um..."

Kimura-kun is standing there, seemingly feeling a bit out-of-place.

"...Kimura-kun? What's the matter?"

"Ah, yes... can you spare a minute?" he asks reluctantly.

"Y-Yeah... what is it?"

"To come straight to the point, Ashi-chan told me to call you out, because I happened to know that you're here sometimes."

"Ashi-chan?"

"I'm talking about Ashizawa-kun! Toshiki Ashizawa."

The bad-mannered Ashizawa-kun...? What would he want from me?

Whatever it is, it can't be good for me. Kimura-kun's expression makes this obvious.

"Err... is he... angry?"

"..."

He just gazes closely at me, and eventually averts his eyes.

"...He is?"

"Saito-san. It might be better if you didn't go," he mutters with eyes cast away.

...It looks like it's more serious than I thought. But if I don't go, Ashizawa-kun's aversion toward me will only grow.

I—don't want that. I don't want to be avoided even more because of a misunderstanding.

"...I'm going."

"Okay..." he says as if he was going to get a beating from Ashizawa-kun.

"Fumi," Reina addresses me in a worried tone.

"I'll be fine," I smile and wave her goodbye.

Brought to our classroom (Kimura-kun immediately left for his club), Ashizawa-kun drives me into a corner, and without any time for confusion, I am surrounded by his buddies, Takatsuki-san and the other members of the group, while a few of my other classmates are watching from a safe distance. Mizuhara-san is here as well, but watching from afar with an uneasy expression.

"Okay. Do you know what this is?" Ashizawa-kun says in an oppressive voice as he holds something against my face. It's hard to see from such a short distance, but I can recognize that it's Mizuhara-san's wallet.

"—"

I try to answer, but the words stick in my throat. Everyone is watching me closely and with blatant enmity; I feel that I'm not allowed to speak. I'm scared.

His right arm, which is right beside my head, might lose it any moment. He definitely wants to. He is angry. And the perfect target to vent his anger on is right before his eyes.

I'm scared! Why are they looking at me like that? I can't say anything! I'm not allowed to speak!

"Hey! I asked you what the fuck this is!" he yells. His right arm is twitching.

"It's a... wallet..."

"Whose wallet?"

"Mizuhara-san's..."

"Right. It's Yuu's wallet."

Yuu? Come to think of it, that's Mizuhara-san's first name.

"It's the wallet I gave her for her birthday. It's the wallet you cut up with a goddamn cutter!" he says, some of his saliva flying on my face.

Anger has made him lose more than half of his reasoning. Had I been a guy, he would have beaten me up already long ago.

"You knew that Yuu's dating Toshiki, didn't you?" Takatsuki-san says with a scary face. "And you also knew that this wallet was a present from him, right?"

I don't. I had no idea that they were a couple. Such rumors don't reach me at all.

"That's why you stole the wallet when you were pissed off, no? You can't hide it!"

No, I didn't do anything!

But I can't say that. Even if I did and explained myself, they wouldn't believe me.

"Do you get that? This isn't something you can make up for with fucking money!"

His right hand moves. I reflexively close my eyes. However, he could somehow control himself and hit the wall behind me.

My mind goes blank like white paint. I'm trembling all over.

What am I supposed to do? I'm scared! Please, don't hurt me. I haven't done anything!

"Save me..."

I mutter at last, cornered and intimidated.

"Save me..."

At first, the others seem to think that I am begging toward them, but they quickly realize that's not the case and are taken aback.

"Save me..."

I seek help. Of course, there is only one person I would seek help from.

"Save me... Reina."

I didn't want to get Reina involved, so I tried to solve the matter without her coming with me.

But I failed.

I imagine how her long hair sways as Reina appears and swiftly frees me from their claws. I have a feeling that this picture will become reality. And then she will smile at me with her absurdly beautiful face, "Everything is all right, Fumi."

—However, Reina didn't come.

That sweet illusion took me from the ground to the clouds, to the pinnacle. But at the end of the day, I keep crawling on the ground in reality. I am thrown off the pinnacle again.

"Uh...uh..."

Unable to hold it in, I start to cry.

Thrown off course by my tears, the signs for violence disappear, even though Ashizawa-kun is still visibly angered.

"What?! Do you think we'll forgive you if you cry?!" Takatsuki-san shouts as she draws near to me. "Besides, there's no one who would want to 'save' someone like ''you''!"

"But there is..."

"Who? Your mom? A teacher? They would only help you because it's their duty!"

"There is!"

"And who would that be?! Good lord, you are—"

"Reina! Reina Kamisu is there for me!" I scream. In a voice that might well have been the strongest in my entire life.

Takatsuki-san—no, everyone present—widen their eyes in response to my powerful shout. I'm surprised by myself, too, but I don't regret it.

Because that's the one thing that I will not allow anyone to disagree with me.

I do have an irreplaceable friend.

I do have Reina Kamisu.

I won't let anyone say otherwise.

Taking advantage of their confusion, I escape. I escape from ''them''. I no longer need anything. Nothing.

All I need is Reina.

As long as Reina is with me, I'm perfectly fine.

===4===
As promised, Reina and I went to the aquarium.

There are more visitors than expected for a workday, most of which are families with children and young couples around twenty years old. Probably because they are not as restricted in time.

And of course, we are the only middle schoolers around.

"Reina, are you sure you don't need to go to school?"

"It's fine, but what about you, Fumi?"

"I don't mind at all."

I'm not welcome at school, anyway. My parents won't notice that I'm skipping, either, unless they get a call from school. In fact, ditching school today has made me wonder why I haven't done this sooner.

I look through the glass into the water tank.

Pretty fishes. That's all that comes to mind. They belong to the species ''Chaetodon auripes'', but I'm going to forget that in a few seconds. Therefore, I only feel that they're pretty.

But that's fun.

"Oh, look, Fumi! Lots of jellyfish!"

"Cool."

"I love jellyfish."

"You do? Why?"

"Hm? Well... I wonder why? Maybe because... they don't look a lot like living beings?"

They don't look like living beings — now that she mentions it, she has a point. Inside an aquarium, they still feel a bit like living beings, but when they are held in a water tank at home, they're more like decoration. Decoration that shines and pulsates. When jellyfish are put into a tank in a house, their role changes from a ''living being'' to ''decoration''.

"Besides, jellyfish kind of stand out. All other fishes here are just ''fishes'', but jellyfish feel like entirely different beings. Ah, I'm not making sense, am I?"

"No, I know what you mean. You want to say that jellyfish are simply jellyfish, right?"

"Ah, yes, sort of. Jellyfish are simply jellyfish."

Jellyfish are simply jellyfish.

Looking at Reina, who is gazing into the water tank, I think:

''Reina's also like that.''

Reina Kamisu is simply Reina Kamisu.

Absurdly beautiful, completely different from everyone else, and my only supporter.

Reina notices my glance.

"...What's wrong, Fumi?" she asks.

"Mm, nothing."

She tilts her head.

"Reina... the dolphin show is starting!"

"Hm? Oh, you're right. Okay, let's hurry up."

Slightly swift-footed, we walk to the stadium where the dolphin show takes place.

On the way there, we come past a tank in which a large number of fishes are herding together and keep rotating restlessly.

Don't they get tired? I don't only mean physically, but also mentally. Rotating all the time won't get them any farther, after all; they could just as well stay still from the start. If they don't want to get anywhere, is it their goal to continue doing this until they can't move anymore? Don't they feel that such a life is futile?

But the fishes keep rotating, not caring about my thoughts.

The seats at the stadium are being occupied from the back to the front.

"Let's go to the front row, Reina."

"Eh? We'll get wet!"

"I know, but I want to watch the dolphins from as close as possible."

With a wry but gentle smile, she follows me to the first row and takes a seat.

"By the way, Fumi, I told you why I like jellyfish, but what's your reason for liking dolphins?"

"Hm... because they're adorable."

"That's all?"

"No, apart from that..."

Before I can continue, the woman in charge of the show begins the narration, starting with a brief explanation on the ecology of dolphins (where their nose is, that they hear sounds through their bones, etc.).

And then the show begins.

As several dolphins leap into the air to greet us, I am already enchanted.

They are pretty big when you actually see them — their jumps are spectacular and cause the children in the audience to shout in joy. They look so majestic yet adorable.

As they land again, water spills toward us. I instinctively shrink back. While it doesn't reach my clothes, my shoes get slightly wet.

Awesome! That's just awesome! Dolphins are great!

During the show, they jumped through rings, returned balls the woman had thrown to them, and swam around in circles... in a nutshell, it was awesome and I was absorbed.

"Dolphins sure are intelligent..." Reina suddenly says.

"Totally!" I respond immediately.

"Hahaha, you really love them, don't you? Is their smartness also a reason why—"

"Yeah!"

The show reaches the climax, which features a trick where three dolphins have to simultaneously jump over a stick that is set up at an extremely high position.

"And you know, dolphins send out ultrasonic waves and determine the position of objects through the reflected waves!"

"Just like bats."

"Hmm... I don't want to think of them in the same category, but yeah."

The dolphins ready themselves to the woman's signal.

Are they able to jump so high? Well, they wouldn't be doing this if they couldn't, but I'm afraid that one of them might not make it.

I hold my breath.

The dolphins stand side by side (can you say that in this case?) and — jump.

"Whoa!"

It was a feast for the eyes.

With a grand splash, the three dolphins land in the water, raising a few large waves.

"Incredible..." I say in blank astonishment.

Looking at the wavy pool, I arrive at the thought that dolphins might be the cause for the never-ceasing waves of the sea.

"Hey, Fumi? Dolphins can communicate through sounds, right?"

"Yeah. Although it's unknown how sophisticated their conversations are. I for one believe that their communication skills are just as high as ours."

"I see... that would be nice."

"Mm! Actually, another reason why I love dolphins is because they can communicate with one another!"

"Oh, nice."

The show ends and the visitors start to leave while the dolphins are bidding them farewell by swimming around and doing individual performances.

"You know, when I learned that dolphins can communicate through sounds, I was jealous of them," I murmur while watching their performance.

"...jealous?" Reina asks puzzledly, tilting her head to the side.

"..."

I waver if I should explain it to her. If I continue, I will spoil the joyful mood.

"I think that communication through words is too complicated for me."

But I don't want to have secrets from Reina.

"Fumi..."

"I'm sure that even I would have been able to get friends if we had other ways of communicating..."

"You have me, Fumi!"

"...Mm."

These words of hers are enough for me.

"But you know, lately I've come to think that..."

"Hm?"

"I think that I might have become 'like that'."

"...'like that'?"

Unable to answer her, I look at the dolphins again, which are busy showing their performances. One of them is waving us goodbye with its fin.

I wave back.

And that's what I mean.

I am waving my hand because I freely interpret the dolphin's waving his fin as "goodbye." Our actions aren't in line at all.

Right, as deplorable as it is, I can't talk with dolphins.

But that isn't limited to dolphins.

My language has become different from everyone else's, and that's why I can't get through to anyone. My words don't reach anyone.

Except for Reina.

My way of communication has become different. And that's why I'm getting disconnected and disappearing.

We leave the aquarium, which is in the center of an aquatic park. I walk up to a bench and sit down. Reina sits down next to me.

"Reina? Would you..."

Reina looks at me when I suddenly start to talk.

"Would you be okay if we were the only humans on earth?"

I look around. There's no one nearby apart from Reina, which isn't that surprising for a workday afternoon. We're alone. I wouldn't be in the least concerned if the world closed up right now and we were left behind just by the two of us.

"Hm... it would be pretty troublesome because we'd have no electricity..."

"And if you think about it without such concerns?"

Reina gazes closely at my face, and answers with a smile:

"In that case, that wouldn't sound too bad."

"Really?"

"Really!"

I look at her. Aah, she isn't saying it just because. I'm happy, I really am.

After all, she's different from me! Unlike me, she is loved by a lot of people. Despite that, she would be with me.

"But you know, Reina, your mom would...be—"

—Reina's mom?

At once I get suspicious and stop.

A lot of people?

Well, there must be a lot. She's beautiful and nice, unlike me. But—

—But who are they, specifically?

"Fumi...?"

"Hey, Reina..."

"What's wrong?"

"...I've never been to your home, have I?"

"Are you sure?"

"Where do you live again? Nearby? You must be. After all, you go home together with me."

"What's wrong, Fumi? That's obvious, no?"

"Why is it then that — even though we are close friends — I haven't been to your place?"

"..." Reina remains silent.

Eh? Hold on! What's that supposed to mean?

We're best friends, no matter how you look at it, so why do I have no idea who her friends and family are, and where she lives?

"By the way, Reina—"

"Don't say it!" she cuts my question short.

"Reina...?"

"Don't go farther than that..." she says sorrowfully and averts her eyes.

There are circumstances...? I don't know what it is, but Reina has a reason not to tell me about her.

Everyone has things he doesn't want to or can't say.

But,

But—

"—That's mean!"

"...Huh?"

"Aren't we best friends? We shouldn't keep any secrets from one another! Or was I the only one who felt that way? Hm?"

"No!"

"But then!"

"It's no good, Fumi!"

"Why? I don't understand, Reina!" I shout and as I do, I notice that a tear is flowing down my cheek, which leaves Reina speechless.

Cold air pulsates between us. That... hasn't happened before. This is the first time that we've been surrounded by such a cold atmosphere.

My feelings had reached Reina. She knows that I wouldn't ever hate or make fun of her.

There is no reason to have secrets.

There should be none.

Yet—

"I can't say it," she says distinctly.

"Why would you..."

Rejection.

No, that's not it. That can't be it. Reina would never want to hurt me. It's something... it must be something that she can't say despite that.

Of course I can understand that.

But—

"Don't doubt me."

I can't help but feel that she is rejecting me.

"Uh..."

Therefore, a drop falls from my eyes.

And once I realize that it's a ''tear'', they start to overflow like a waterfall. Aah, I'm crying way too often lately! Man, I don't want to show anyone my tears. I don't want to bother anyone. But they won't stop.

I press my head against my knees as I burst out crying.

"—Fumi."

Reina's voice.

Reina's gentle voice.

"I'm sorry."

All I could perceive was my own crying voice, which is why I didn't notice what was happening.

I kept crying like an idiot, and when I raised my head—

—Reina wasn't there.

"Reina...?"

I looked and ran around searching for her.

But she was nowhere to be found.

Reina isn't anywhere anymore.

I was standing there in the wide, empty aquatic park, left behind, alone in the world.

===5===

People have erasers in their hearts.

While their efficiency differs from person to person — some of them might be really bad — anyone can use their eraser.

Rub, rub. Okay, away with you. You're an eyesore. Please go away. Rub, rub.

Two weeks have passed since the incident of Mizuhara-san's wallet. One week since I went to the aquarium with Reina.

Even after such a time span, no one is talking to me. Like the previous days, I'm just sitting in my seat, which isn't supposed to be here, and gazing out the window.

I have faded a lot.

Yet, they keep erasing me. Rub, rub.

Day by day, I am being erased. Bit by bit, I am fading. Rub, rub. Most of my existence has turned into eraser crumbs and gets wiped off my desk.

It's not going to get better. They have already become so used to rubbing me out that no one is having any doubts about it, let alone feelings of guilt. I'll keep being erased mechanically. If there is any human emotion involved, then it's slight irritation because their erasers get worn with use.

And Reina is still missing in this white and fading world.

Why? I'm not going to hold out like this! Reina... why did you leave me, Reina?

Why won't you appear before me? Even if you have secrets, that should be no obstacle for us!

Or do you hate me now?

Whatever it is, I want to see you!

I want to see you, I want to see you, I want to see you!

But no matter how much I beg, Reina doesn't appear.

And somewhere I know that she never will.

There is no meaning anymore.

In this classroom there is only irrelevant noise, irrelevant pictures, irrelevant classmates, and my irrelevant self.

There is no meaning anymore.

There is no meaning... in being '''here'''.

"—Goodbye," I whisper as I stand up.

The teacher is saying something. Ah, I was in the middle of having a 'lesson'?

Oh, he's angry. But I don't get what it's all about — after all, he isn't saying it for me, is he?

Oh, he's not angry anymore. But I wonder why he is looking at me like that? It's the first time someone does that, so I don't know what it means. But it looks a bit like he is scared.

I leave the classroom.

Far away behind me, the class is making a fuss, but it's irrelevant to me. Irrelevant. Completely irrelevant.

I'm sitting alone on the landing in the middle of the stairway to the roof. It's the second time since I've come here that the school building is getting noisy. What time is it? The first noise was probably the lunch break, so it must be the end of school today?

Reina. Will I ever see her again?

For some reason, I feel that I won't. I've been feeling that ever since she disappeared from me in that aquatic park. But so what? What about it? That doesn't change anything — I still need her, so much, so desperately.

Reina is all of me. Nothing remains if you take her from me. I'm empty. A wobbly lump that has no bones.

"Aah..."

What should I do? How can I meet Reina? I don't know! What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do?

Suddenly, I hear someone walking up the stairs.

I ready myself. It might be him — he might have come like I wanted.

"...Saito-san."

Kimura-kun appears before me.

"Kimura-kun... so you came to talk with me..."

"Yeah... I have no reasons to refuse if you call me out..."

Right. I have placed a letter into his shoe locker to call him here. Like Mizuhara-san did.

"I also brought this here with me. It was a pain to get past the eyes of the teachers," he explains as he holds out the keys to the roof.

"Mm. Thank you," I say and accept the keys from his visibly trembling hands. Perhaps, he has realized why I called him out here.

"..." he remains silent.

"Are you not going to ask...?"

"Ask what...?" he says clumsily.

"Why I had you bring me the keys to the roof."

After a few moments, he reluctantly asks, "Why?"

To tell the truth, I'm not sure how to answer him, either. Because maybe — no, for sure — my answer is going to hurt him.

But that's okay, isn't it? Kimura-kun is just as irrelevant as my other classmates, after all.

I reply: "To take revenge."

His face freezes instantly.

Oh, so I was right. Finally, I could confirm my suspicions.

"R-Revenge...?" he stutters miserably in bewilderment, and gets even more nervous because of it.

"You cut up Mizuhara-san's wallet and put it into my bag, didn't you?"

"W-Why would you say that...?" he counters, still not admitting to it, even though he knows that he can't talk himself out.

"It's okay! I don't plan to question you about it."

As a matter of fact, I really don't feel like questioning and blaming him. As I once told Reina, I was about to get into this situation anyway — Kimura-kun merely happened to be the one who pressed the switch.

My words seem to have calmed him down a bit.

"B-But... how did you find out?"

Do you really want to know? Isn't that going to be tough on you?

"...Should I answer that?"

Finally noticing the meaning of my answer, he looks down and says, "...No need to."

"Okay."

With these words, I slide the key into the lock.

There are several reasons why I suspected Kimura-kun.

My first doubts were raised when he started to converse with me after I had received the fake love letter. I was aware that Kimura-kun had no feelings for me, so I wondered why he would suddenly become so gentle.

Another clue was the general reaction when Mizuhara-san's wallet got lost. Everyone considered me the culprit right away. In other words, something led them to believe that I had a grudge against her. As far as I know, the only discord between Mizuhara-san and me is that love letter, which means that someone must have broadcast the story. But only her group and I, as well as Kimura-kun knew about it. Of course, I haven't told anyone, and Mizuhara-san and her friends didn't look like they would want to tell everyone about it, either.

But most of all, it was no one else but Kimura-kun who proposed that the culprit must have had a grudge against her. He called their attention to me in a blatant manner.

I don't know why he did that. Maybe he had a grudge against me that I don't know of, or he might have had strong feelings about Mizuhara-san and Ashizawa-kun.

But I don't really care.

His story is irrelevant to me.

I turn the key, and the door opens with a click. I tentatively turn the doorknob — yeah, seems fine.

"...What do you plan on doing on the roof, Saito-san?"

"..." I silently turn around to him.

"Saito-san...?"

I answer his question with a question.

"Hey, Kimura-kun—"

"—Do you happen to know ''Reina Kamisu''?"

Maybe I really thought that Reina would be waiting for me on the other side of the door.

This is a place that no one is allowed to enter, despite being so near. It's a place that we all know exists, yet only few have actually been there. And that's why I felt that I would find her here.

But of course, there is no sign of Reina.

I walk to the center of the roof and spin around.

Students going home, power poles established in regular intervals, the shopping district, our dirty river, another school, a house, another house — irrelevant scenery. But one thing within this irrelevant scenery — the glaring red sun hiding partly behind a building at the horizon — feels relevant to me.

The sun is about to hide on the other side, having completed its work for today, but floating there at the boundary, it feels like it's calling me.

I return to the door to lock it.

Now I'm completely alone.

I lean against the fence, and while watching the sun slowly hide its countenance, I think once more about Reina Kamisu.

Reina vanished. Yes, she vanished.

A beautiful and popular student suddenly stopped coming to school and went missing. This should have obviously been a serious incident for this Shikura middle school. It should have.

However, no one talks about it.

Of course, there is no one who would tell ''me'', but even I can perk up my ears for rumors. It's strange. Reina Kamisu does not come up anywhere at all. No one talks about such a extraordinary girl. Is that even possible?

I screwed up my courage and sneaked a peek into her class. First, I couldn't believe my eyes, then I couldn't believe my ears, and finally, I couldn't believe myself.

Her seat didn't exist. Her shoe locker didn't exist. Her name didn't exist. Nothing related to her existed.

Reina is nowhere.

And when I saw Kimura-kun's face when I asked him about Reina, I was convinced.

—Reina Kamisu vanished.

It's not simple death. She erased everything of her existence, everything related to it, and vanished. Without leaving anyone anything of herself, and completely revoking the fact that a person named Reina Kamisu has ever existed, she disappeared.

With the exception of me, her best friend.

But even I only have a few empty memories left — much like a drop of soda on the edge of an empty can. I don't remember where we met, how we became friends, or where we went apart from the aquarium. Nothing.

Those memories will soon wither as well, erasing her existence once and for all.

Reina is disappearing.

Reina, who was everything of me, is disappearing.

So—there is no reason for me to be '''here''' anymore.

I climb on the fence. It's 15cm wide, so I can stand without a problem.

I consider taking off my shoes, but I decide against it; I'm not trying to commit suicide or anything.

I'm merely going to see Reina.

Of course, I can't be sure if can meet her like that. It's just the absurd thought that if she isn't here, she must be "there." It's about as absurd as thinking that a bird can fly past the sky into the space.

But I can't think of anything else.

There is no other way, and if that's the only way, why should I not try it? There's nothing that stops me. Let me repeat that: I have no reason to be '''here''', so there is nothing that stops me.

I suddenly recall what I said to Kimura-kun.

—To take revenge.

Yeah, a petty revenge. By bringing me the keys, you got yourself involved in what is going to happen now, didn't you?

I wonder if he'll be having some pangs of remorse, even though he might not care about me?

I look down, and shrink back a little, scared of the imminent pain that I almost forgot about. That's going to hurt. Ten times... hundred times more than a syringe. But I mustn't flinch.

What is important to me? Meeting Reina. Being together with Reina.

That's all that counts. That's all...

Yes, with vigor!

Because I feel like I can get farther that way.

I take a vigorous leap.

Suddenly, the world spins and changes completely. Unable to properly grasp this unexpected world, I almost pass out.

I can only tell that it's not the place where I wanted to go. I have found myself in a tragic play.

Aah... did I fail? Did I make the wrong decision after all...?

But—

Just as I am about to give up, I realize that I've won the wager.

"Reina..."

Reina is right before my eyes.

"Reina, I missed you..."

She gives me her gentle and absurdly beautiful smile.

"Reina... tell me: where are you?"

"I am—" she answers.

"I am '''here'''. Kamisu Reina is — '''here'''."

Ah, right.

Why didn't I notice such a simple thing?

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Kamisu Reina:Volume 1 Fumi Saito

2015-03-18T12:20:33Z

MondSemmel: /* 3 */

==Chapter 1: Fumi Saito==
===1===

I don't have any friends.

Not because I hate talking to others, or because I'm mistrustful, or because I'm too lazy to cultivate contacts. It's not like I deliberately want to avoid making friends; put plain and simple, I'm just unable to make any.

My mom always tells me that it's no big deal, since I'm smart and my grades are good, but from my perspective ''that's'' no big deal. She doesn't know how cumbersome school is for people who can't make friends.

Just like right now: Even though it's break time and everyone's engaged in chats, I'm sitting here alone as if I were in another dimension. It gets even worse during the lunch break, when I wordlessly munch away on my lunch while all my classmates put their desks together and eat together—I always feel like a castaway on a desert island surrounded by the vast ocean.

From time to time I wonder if all the other people are just aliens wearing human disguises who are deceiving me, the last living earthling.

Ridiculous. Ridiculous, indeed, but that proves how alone I feel when I'm at school.

Because I have nothing to do between classes, I started reading books in my free time even though I don't really like doing so. Thanks to that, I've become even harder to approach and widened the gap between me and my classmates even further. It's a vicious cycle: I'm mistaken for someone who likes being alone, even though that's downright wrong. I'd love to chitchat, too! I want to chat about who's the coolest guy in our class or who my favorite member in whatever boyband is too! But I'm ignored. I'm only reluctantly approached by others when absolutely necessary.

Why am I unable to make friends? What makes me different from everyone else? Since I have nothing to do anyway, I often mull over this question.

It must be because I'm ugly. I have a lot of pimples, my eyes are small, and my nose is flat, just like my breasts. But do I really look that terrible? I don't think so. It's wrong to blame my looks, at any rate.

It's my communication skills. Right, I'm not good at talking to others. But why is that? Because I'm always cautious? Because I get nervous when I'm talked to? No, that's not all there is to it. That's just another vicious cycle that started because I don't often talk to others.

The root cause must be that... I'm scared of getting hurt. I'm scared of being thought of as an oddball. I'm scared of spoiling the mood by making an inappropriate remark. I'm scared of others' opinions of me.

Before I know it, I'm gazing at Mizuhara-san's group in the second row by the window. Mizuhara-san is sort of the leader of this class, and as such has lots of friends. They seem to be having a lot of fun. They're really enviable.

But even among the members of such a close group, I'm sure that people could name others in the same group who they don't like. Nobody is perfect. Everybody has characteristics that might cause resentment. I, for one, have lots of them.

Therefore, it must be impossible to make friends for me.

But that's okay.

I may have no normal friends, but I do have a best friend.

I have one irreplaceable best friend—

—Reina Kamisu.

"You're too kind, Fumi, that's your problem."

That's what Reina said to me on our way home when I told her about my take on why I can't make any friends.

The smile she flashed while saying that was so stunning that I couldn't help admiring her for a few moments. Her long hair is the purest raven-black and so smooth that it's unthinkable to find any split ends, while her body is curvy like a model's, unlike my immature development.

Reina is truly beautiful. Absurdly beautiful.

"I'm kind...? I don't think so. I just don't want to be hurt."

"But isn't that what makes you kind?"

"Why so?"

"I mean, it's not like everyone else ''wants'' to be hurt, right? They don't want to be hurt, either."

"But they get along with each other."

"Yeah. Then what distinguishes you from them? Let me tell you: You're sensitive to the wounds of others. You are scared of being hurt, Fumi, but you're also scared of hurting someone."

Well, of course I don't want to hurt others randomly.

"That's why you are very kind to everyone."

"Reina..."

I'm really grateful for her words.

But I know that in truth I'm just a coward. Reina has merely put a sugar-sweet coating around the word ''coward'' before handing it to me.

But that thoughtfulness of hers makes me happy.

Aah, Reina sure is peerless. Even though she's only in the third year of middle school like me, she's so different.

"You're so lucky, Reina..."

"Mm? Why?"

"I mean... you're pretty and you're smart... I can't help thinking that God treats us unjustly."

Yeah, God is unjust. If he wasn't, Reina and I wouldn't be living in the same world. I suppose God doesn't get around to balancing out everything that he's created, and passes us around even more carelessly than workers do with products on a conveyor belt.

Everyone knows that. But I'm not mature enough yet to accept that I'm "inferior".

"That's not true! You're cute, Fumi," she responds with a kind smile, reading my mind.

"...I'm not. That sounds a bit like sarcasm if it's you, you know...?"

"Ah, that's totally mean! But Fumi... while some people like you prefer me, there are also some people who would prefer you!"

"No."

"But there are! At least there's one, right here," Reina says as she points at herself and smiles.

"But—"

"If," she interrupts me, "If for argument's sake, there were more people who prefer me over you, why should you care? Numbers don't mean anything. Or do you want to be in the spotlight like an idol?"

"That's not it."

"Then there's nothing to worry about, is there? There's at least one person right here who thinks you are irreplaceable. Or are you not satisfied with that?"

"Mmm! I couldn't wish for more!"

"...I see."

Reina puts on her kind smile again, which makes me kind of ashamed of my behavior.

Aah... I'm still such a child. Silly me. Really. I bet Reina thinks that I'm jealous of her beauty, which is actually true. I'm so filthy. Now she's lost faith in me. I'm sure.

"...Fumi, you're blaming yourself, aren't you?"

"Eh?"

"My... you really ''are'' too kind. Do you think I'd taken offense?"

"But——"

"No buts. You're being a little rude, you know?"

"Eh?"

"Fumi, you are a dear friend of mine. Someone important to me. By acting this way, it almost seems as if you didn't believe me?"

"Ah..."

"Fumi. I'm your best friend, right?"

"Of course!"

I can say this for certain.

"You're an irreplaceable friend, Reina!"

A dear friend who could never be replaced.

If Reina wasn't here, I—

I would long since have—

===2===
Another bad day starts.

The fact that I'm usually alone in the morning only makes it worse; Reina often has to go early to school because of her morning practice in the track and field club. I did once consider leaving the house at the same time as she does, but waiting in the classroom until classes begin is pretty painful as well, and most of all, I don't want to bother her, so I decided against it.

I walk alone to school and head to the shoe lockers to change into my indoor shoes.

"..."

What is this...?

''Morning!'' I hear someone say behind me (of course not to me) and hurriedly close my locker. After waiting for that student to leave, I open it again.

"Oh, eh..."

There is a letter on my indoor shoes.

I reach out, but at a loss what to do, my hand stays there until another student approaches. On the spur of the moment, I cram the letter into my bag.

Oh my, oh my... i-is this a...?

I get uncomfortable. I don't know why that is, but there are too many people here. I feel like all the people around me are watching me. Whenever a glance crosses my eyes (and I know it just crosses them and doesn't actually perceive me) I feel it piercing through me.

Nobody would care about me, I know that, but I can't help feeling that everybody keeps watching my every step.

Unable to bear the gazes any longer, I escape to the restroom, and hurry into a toilet stall, and take the letter out.

Stuffing it into my bag has left the letter slightly crumpled — sorry to the person who put it into my locker.

I unfold the letter.

"Dear Fumi Saito

I am writing this letter to you because there is something that I have been wanting to tell you.

Please wait in your classroom after school."

That's all there is.

"Ah...hah..." I gasp for air, finally noticing that I haven't breathed while reading.

What is this about? What... what is this about?

As short as it is, I can still see that, objectively, it's probably a love letter. However, it's addressed at me. A love letter addressed at me? Really? Is that possible?

"Of course it's possible!" Reina says right off the bat.

We're on break and have come to the landing of the stairs that lead to the roof. Because the roof is inaccessible, the stairs here are virtually never used by anyone, which is why we often use them when we want to discuss something in secret (although it's mostly me who has something to discuss).

"How can you be so sure?! I mean, we're talking about me here...!"

"As I told you the other day, Fumi: you are a charming girl."

I open my mouth to deny what she said, but then I reconsider, thinking back at how we went round in circles last time.

"So, how about it, Fumi?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"What's your response to that love letter?"

"Ah—"

I had completely forgotten about that because I was fixated on the fact that I'd received one. Right, I still have to respond to it.

"R-Reina, I, I don't know what to do!"

"To start with, how do you feel about that boy?"

"That boy...?"

I unfold the love letter and check again.

"Well, Fumi? How do you feel about him? Do you know each other pretty well? Or not at all, maybe?"

"—None."

"Hm?"

"There's no name."

"Let me... let me take a look."

I give Reina the letter. She inspects the piece of paper from all sides, and eventually heaves a sigh.

"You're right. There's no name."

"...You've received love letters before, right, Reina?"

"Yes, I have."

"Were there any without a name?"

"...Hm... maybe there was one, but I think it was a case where the sender was obvious. I always knew who the letter was from."

"I see..."

I reread the letter. ''"Please wait in your classroom after school"'' — a sincere request to me.

"...What are you going to do?" Reina inquires.

"Don't you know pretty well what I'm going to do, Reina?"

"...Right. Well, it's you after all!" she smiles gloomily.

"Don't... don't wait for me today after you're done with your club activities."

"Why not...?"

"..." I remain silent, unable to give her a proper answer. I don't really know why I asked her that, either. Normally, I would want her with me at such times.

Reina gives me a bright smile, "...Hey, Fumi. You've been wanting to go to the aquarium, haven't you?"

"...Yeah. I love dolphins."

"Let's go there one of these days, then!"

Why would she propose that now?

"...Mm! It's a promise!"

I knew why, and that made me happy.

Classes have ended.

I always stay at school even without receiving such a letter, because I wait for Reina's club activities to end.

Today, however, I had Reina go home herself. I'm alone—alone at waiting for the sender of that letter.

As I gaze at an open book, I ponder over who I want the letter to be from. Kado-kun, the boy who is popular in class because he's good at basketball? Mm, I would be happy. The delinquent of our class, Ashizawa-kun? He's a bit scary, but I think I would appreciate it. How about Kogure-kun, although he's a bit strange? I would probably be a bit wary of him, but still happy. And Dojima-kun, who everyone avoids because he's dirty? I wouldn't want to go out with him, but I would be happy.

It's always a nice thing to be thought of favorably.

But how would I respond when it comes to dating someone?

Right now... I have no such plans, because I don't exactly know what would be expected of me. I'm a bit scared, and I don't know how I should treat the other party.

I guess a proper couple has to kiss? But how does that feel? When do you feel like kissing? How should I react when he wants me to kiss? Would he be hurt when I refused to? I can't refuse then... I don't want to be disliked, after all.

Right. Refusal is no option.

Mm, so it doesn't matter who gave me that letter—I have to obey and ''wait in my classroom after school''.

It has become dark outside. The school is going to be closed soon.

Maybe, no one will come. Maybe, it was a joke. If it was—I would feel a bit calmer.

I stow away the book I have hardly read and just gazed at, and prepare myself for taking my leave, when suddenly, the Mizuhara group enters the classroom. They all belong to the tennis club, so I first thought they came to leave their rackets here.

However, their eyes reveal to me that there's more to it.

Mizuhara-san looks at me. "Heh, so you waited."

"Er..."

The girls around her start to giggle as they watch me getting nervous.

"Did we get your hopes up?" Mizuhara-san asks with a grin.

"Eh, um..."

What should I answer...? What answer do they expect from me?

"Probably... I did get hopes..." I answer honestly.

Suddenly, one of them laughs out loud, unable to hold it in any longer, spurring on the giggling.

"Oh come on, that's stupid! No guy would be interested in a sourpuss like you!"

"Kaho! Don't be so mean to her~!"

"But look...!"

"Well, she ''is'' pretty gullible, but that makes it clear how serious her case is, right?"

"Yeah, she's obviously not used to this kind of stuff."

Without giving me a chance to interrupt, Takatsuki-san and Omi-san keep discussing how dumb and strange I am.

I don't know what to do.

Hopes. Right, I had faint hopes that someone might like me. How stupid of me. That's absurd. Completely impossible.

Right now, there is a clear barrier between the rest of the world and me. Transparent, yet tough like tempered glass. Even though they can see me, no one attempts to read what feelings I hold behind my face. Even though they can hear me, no one attempts to understand the meaning of my words.

It's almost like my eyes perceive something entirely different from everyone else. Whenever I reach out my hands, I can only grasp air.

Alone. I'm alone.

Someone likes me? As if. No one is interested in me in the least, except maybe as someone to tease. As a topic to laugh at.

"...uh..."

Ah... I didn't want to cry... but there goes a tear. This will spoil the party. I'm sorry, but I cried, I'm really sorry.

As I expected, they start making uneasy faces.

Desperately trying not to show them my tears, I cover my eyes.

"Aah... we made her cry. Sorry, Saito-san," Mizuhara-san says gently. "But you know? We didn't mean to hurt you. How should I put it... you always avoid talking to people, no?"

No, I simply ''can't'' talk to people!

"I think that's not a good thing, so I thought that doing this, kind of like a shock treatment, might help you. I didn't mean any harm."

I wonder how much truth there is to that? Maybe that was part of the reason, but how is a fake love letter supposed to get me to speak normally? Was there no other way? Isn't that just a pretext to tease me?

"No offense! Really! ...Will you forgive me?"

However, there is something desperate in her voice that makes me nod as I still keep my eyes covered.

"Aah, thanks a lot... I'm really sorry. Okay, see you."

Once I had forgiven them, they quickly left.

...But Mizuhara-san isn't mean. She may have completely missed the mark, but she did care about me. She does take heed of me.

Yeah, she's not mean. She's not.. mean.

"What a mean bunch!"

My inner dialog is being denied. Surprised by that sudden voice, I look up.

"Ah... Kimura-kun..."

Oh no, he saw my tear-stained face. I must look horrible right now...

"Sorry! I allowed myself to overhear your little conversation," he says with an uneasy expression.

"Mmm! I-It's fine..." These words escape my lips because I want to reassure him.

"...They teased you with a fake love letter, right? That's cruel. She... Mizuhara's always like that. You could say that her hobby is to toy with the feelings of others!" Kimura-kun rants, seeming genuinely angry at her.

Is he angry for my sake? For real? If so, why?

Okay, what am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to calm him down?

"It's okay, Kimura-kun... I knew it was just a trick."

"You knew it was a trick?" he asks while raising an eyebrow.

"I knew that... it would end like this."

"...But why didn't you ignore the letter, then?"

"———"

I couldn't give him an answer. I have no idea how to put it into words.

"Well, whatever... anyway, if something like this happens again, be sure to let me know!"

"Eh?!"

"W-What? You don't trust me, or what?"

I shake my head furiously. It's only natural that I would get startled — after all, he doesn't profit in any way from helping me.

"You're quite the strange girl... okay, gotta go!" he says as he puts a hand on my head with a smile, after which he left. Unable to make sense of that, I just watched him baffledly.

While walking home alone, I start reflecting on the reason why I couldn't ignore the letter.

I expected the letter to be fake — because there was no name, because the paper used was not typical for boys, and most of all, because I noticed that the writer had deliberately tried to fake her handwriting.

However, what if, as unlikely as it is, the love letter had been real? In that case, ignoring it would have hurt that person. I would have betrayed that person and his sincere request ''to have me wait''. I couldn't do that. Absolutely not.

Besides, I couldn't have ignored it either way: the person who wanted to make a joke at my expense wished for me to take on the role of a fool. Had I ignored that request, I would have betrayed their expectations. I would have spoiled their fun. I would have fallen into their disfavor.

That's why I was unable to ignore the letter.

Did I make the right choice? No, I'm sure I didn't. If I were right—

—It wouldn't hurt so much.

Reina.

It hurts, Reina!

I don't want to be '''here''', it hurts!

For the first time in a long time, I have to face that thought again. That thought I always held before meeting Reina.

Right, if Reina wasn't here, I—

I would long have—died.

I have thought about dying countless times.

I'm sure there is no such thing like happy times.

Adult people lie when they speak of their supposedly happy youth. If they don't, then nostalgia must have warped their memories, because they couldn't endure the absence of hope in reality otherwise. Thinking that back in the day, everything used to be better, in order to put up with the present.

This leads to my hypothesis:

Life is and will always be hopeless. We live our pitch-dark lives as we cling to shiny shards that appear every now and then, and then we think back at those shards with a nostalgic smile on our faces. Like fools.

However, I don't have a past to take refuge. I don't have a past to romanticize in my mind when I lose hope in reality. I have no other choice but to accept that life is filled with despair from bottom to top.

Therefore, the only place I can escape to is death.

''Don't think of suicide'', people say. But is that statement backed by actual thought? You shall not kill. Of course. You shall not steal. Of course. You shall not commit suicide. Of course. The answer is so obvious that there is no place for doubt. Those statements must be perfectly true. Dazzlingly true.

You have to walk an endless muddy path that has no significance whatsoever, and you are naturally not allowed to break out. What a hopeless system.

What do you want me to do? What the hell am I supposed to do?

Someone save me! Give me hope! No, I won't be so greedy. Please someone, just notice that I'm walking this path and say a few gentle words to me...

"Fumi."

Surprised by the voice that calls out to me at the perfect moment, I raise my head.

"Reina..."

Only after speaking these words do I notice that I have been crying.

"You told me to go home, but you didn't tell me not to come meet you, right?" she smiles gently at me.

"...I can't."

Even though she understands what I mean, she gently embraces me.

"...It was painful, wasn't it?"

I can't... I just can't anymore!

I'll depend on you, Reina! I'll lean against you! I'll entrust my life to you!

"It's okay," she whispers to me. "I won't betray you."

"—!"

I clearly understand now why I had Reina go home earlier.

It's because I knew that she would comfort me. Because I knew that I would depend on her.

What is the consequence of that?

I have long lost my balance to be '''here''', and needed something to take refuge in.

Needless to say, Reina Kamisu has taken on the role of my refuge, of my shelter.

But now, because of her embrace, I have completely become dependent on her. Maybe that has already been the case for a long time, but either way, I can no longer exist without Reina.

In order to prevent that, I have sent her home.

"...Reina...I..."

"It's okay. Don't worry. I'll... take on your burden."

Her words pierce through me.

I feel how my entire body starts to melt into Reina's body. Slowly but surely, I fade into her.

Such bliss.

I realize that this is what it means to be accepted by someone.

"Uh...gh...," I moan as my tears push up. They fall onto Reina, producing small ripples. I always thought my tears would only fall to the ground, but I was wrong — they have reached Reina's heart.

I am part of Reina, and—

—Reina is everything of me.

===3===

I am changing. The liquid "Reina" is continuously being poured into the container "I", while the liquid "I" is overflowing from that container.

The container is still me, but its contents are Reina; Reina has become my essence.

I still hardly speak anything in the classroom (although Kimura-kun, whose desk is behind mine, talks to me from time to time), but I don't feel depressed anymore.

I am not alone.

That belief gives me strength. That thought I have been holding has gone somewhere far away.

I don't care about anything, as long as Reina is with me.

That's what I thought. That's what I believed.

But not in my wildest dreams did I expect that things could still get worse.

"I can't find my wallet!" Mizuhara-san screams agitatedly.

Everyone present at the homeroom after classes, our class teacher Kosugi-sensei included, focuses on her as she desperately searches for her wallet. The member of her group are watching her worriedly. For a few moments, the classroom lapses into silence, until someone checks if their own wallet is still there, and the others follow suit. I don't bring my wallet to school, but I reach into my pocket nonetheless in order not to be the odd one out.

By the time everyone has confirmed that their money is safe, Mizuhara-san is sitting still in her seat, visibly troubled. Kosugi-sensei walks toward her.

"Have you found it?"

"No..."

"Are you sure that it was there?"

"Absolutely."

"Understood," the teacher says with a frown and goes back to the teacher's desk. "All right, as you surely heard, Mizuhara has lost her wallet. Of course, this may be some sort of misunderstanding on her end, but—" he starts and explains in a ridiculously roundabout way that there is a chance that a member of this class might have stolen her wallet.

The likelihood of pickpocketing is high, considering what the missing item is. Not far in the past, there has been a fuss over a stolen mp3-player.

Mizuhara-san, convinced that it was a theft, is visibly angered, and so are the members of her group, influenced by her.

"Does anyone have a clue where her wallet might be?" the teacher asks.

The students just exchange glances. The teacher isn't expecting any answers, either — the culprit or those who know who did it wouldn't speak up right now.

Or so I thought. But I was wrong.

Kimura-kun reluctantly raises his hand.

"Kimura, do you know something?"

"No, not exactly... but there's something that bothers me."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think that it's common to take the wallet when stealing money. Normally, you would just pull out the contents, right? In fact, that's how the theft in class 5 happened."

"...Perhaps."

"Besides, it would make more sense to steal the money of all members of this class instead of only Mizuhara-san's. Yet, she's the only victim."

"What are you getting at?"

"What I want to say is that it's either a misunderstanding or a vicious joke toward Mizuhara-san."

"It's absolutely not a misunderstanding!" Mizuhara-san disagrees loudly. "Someone has played a trick on me!"

"A trick, hm? How much was in your wallet, if I may ask?"

"...1000 yen and change, but so what?" she answers grumpily.

"So it can't be because of the money, then. It looks like the goal of the culprit was teasing Mizuhara-san; and wouldn't that narrow down the list of suspects to a manageable number?" Kimura-kun says, causing everyone to exchange glances again.

That means that the culprit has a grudge against her, or at least doesn't think favorably of her?

Arriving at this thought—

—I notice that eyes are starting to focus on me.

"Huh...?"

A few students who aren't looking at me notice that a few of their classmates are focusing on me, and thus follow suit. On seeing that, yet another person gazes at me. All eyes are pinned on me.

Why? Why would they look at me?

This makes it seem like... like—

Our teacher, too, notices that I'm the center of attention, and looks at me, only to move his gaze on to Mizuhara-san. I follow his glance.

For some reason, she makes a face of realization.

"Saito," the teacher says to me in a stern voice, causing me to wince.

Just because he called my name? ...Yes, but I but I'm not so dumb as to not understand the situation. To me, this is just like a — death sentence.

"Do you know something?"

"Eh? Ah...er..."

I don't know anything! I'm innocent! But... I fail to say so properly.

"What's wrong? I have asked you a question, Saito."

But he's suspecting me.

"Uh..."

Everyone is looking at me, suspecting me — that's more than enough to make me lose my tongue, but they do not see that.

They understand it like so: I'm panicking because I've been busted, because I'm the culprit.

I'm perfectly aware of that, and I know that I must absolutely answer his question with confidence, but yet I find myself unable to do so.

"I... I..."

If someone was here who understand my personality — if Reina was here — she could explain it to them, but she's not here.

She's not here.

I don't have any supporters here.

"I don't... I don't know any—"

"Kosugi-sensei," Mizuhara-san says, cutting my desperate words short. I look at her in wonder.

There is no anger in her face anymore.

"What is it, Mizuhara?"

"I did something to Saito-san that may have made her hold a grudge against me. I... I played a trick on her. Thinking about it now... that was mean of me," she says with tears in her eyes. "But I... I did it because I thought I could help her to open herself!"

Surprised at what she said, I gaze at her. The sorrowful expression on her face isn't faked. Mizuhara-san is honest.

However, it's unclear to me whether she really tried to open my heart with that fake love letter, or just persuaded herself of that noble goal because of the situation she has found herself in.

Whatever the answer is, there is one thing that has become a fact.

Her words have settled my position.

"..."

All eyes fixed on me.

Eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes.

Like light projected through a loop, their reproachful glances pierce through me.

There is no suspicion in them anymore.

It's been decided.

It's been decided that I am the culprit.

"N-No, I haven—"

"It was YOU!" Takatsuki-san cuts me short. "You were pissed off, but you couldn't defend yourself because you were too scared! That's why you resorted to such a dirty trick — to vent your frustration!"

"Don't say that, Kaho. I'm... I'm also at fault..."

''Also.''

The words Mizuhara-san sobbed subliminally yet clearly implied that I'm the culprit and that she's the victim.

As a result, her words added fuel to the fire. With a fire-red head, Takatsuki-san walks toward me. Fearing to be hit, I cover my head and cower.

However, she did not come to hit me. Her goal was my bag. She picks it up, opens it, turns it upside town and pours its contents onto my desk.

And for some reason, there is an unfamiliar wallet among the things that fall on my desk. However, someone has mangled it with a cutter.

"...Saito, you are to come to the staff room afterwards."

The moment the teacher says so, uncontrollable sobbing resounds through the classroom.

Needless to say, it was Mizuhara-san.

I look around.

Eyes. Eyes. Eyes. Eyes. Eyes.

Like an ice pick, their reproachful glances pierce through me.

Reina isn't '''here'''.

In other words—no one is '''here'''.

I don't have any supporters '''here'''.

The next day, my desk has disappeared.

Up until now, I have merely been air for everyone, but from now on, they won't even grant me to be air anymore.

I'm not even allowed to exist.

A missing desk in a classroom is like a missing piece in a puzzle; but in this case it's my desk that is missing. I must be the only one who feels that a piece is missing — for everyone else, the puzzle is completed.

I go to the veranda and move the desk and the chair back to their original place. Original place? Really? No, perhaps the original place where my seat is supposed to be is not in the classroom, but at the veranda.

But while that may be true... I don't want to notice.

White, everything turns white.

Everything besides Reina and me turns white.

Like a novel lacking spaces, I'm unable to make sense of the white world '''here'''. They disappear. Everything besides me flees out of reach.

Or perhaps—

I'm the one who is lacking color.

The lunch break ends without my talking to anyone.

I really haven't spoken a word, since I couldn't meet Reina, either. Not one word has been spoken for me or toward me.

People have stopped speaking to me. No, that's no news, but at least previously, there was no ill will in that.

I wasn't even allowed of the absolute minimum of conversation. Even Kimura-kun wasn't able to overcome the magnetic field around me that has emerged in class.

"..."

I was aware of it.

I was aware of it, but this makes it clear.

No one cares if I just disappeared.

The world wouldn't disappear when I disappeared. The blue sky would completely ignore me and not even let it rain. No one cares whatever happens to me. I'm absolutely separated from the rest of the world.

Again, a familiar thought assaults me.

—I... I can't endure it anymore, Reina!

Why? What have I done? I didn't want to be disliked. That's all... I just shut myself into my little box because I was afraid of getting hurt, yet why do they pierce it with spears?

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!

Save me Reina, save me Reina, save me rena, savemerena.

"They're all so mean."

"—Huh?"

Reina stands before my eyes.

"'Huh'? What is it, Fumi?"

"Ah, mmm... nothing."

Classes have ended; I have caught Reina when she was about to go to her club and consulted her at our usual spot on the stairs to the roof.

Yes, that sounds perfectly natural.

Why is it then that something felt fatally off? There's no reason.

"Why would they think that you're the culprit without conclusive proof? There's no way you would do that."

"...Well, they don't know my personality. Besides, Mizuhara-san's wallet was in my bag, so it's natural that they would think that I did it."

"Yes, but Fumi... why was that wallet in your bag, anyway?"

"Because—"

I don't really want to think about it...

"...The first reason that comes to mind would be because someone is trying to set you up."

"...Yeah, most likely." Unless I have a split personality. "...Someone who hates me?"

"I... I don't think so. You're not one to make a lot of enemies... I think that someone simply thought that it would be easy to lay the blame on you."

Perhaps.

But anyway, someone hated me enough to be fine with putting the blame on me.

"That's just heartless! We have to find and teach that culprit a lesson!"

"No... no need to!"

"Why? Aren't you suffering under the current situation?"

"I am. I am, but..."

"But?"

"The problem isn't new. It's merely surfaced now..."

"That's not... I mean, you weren't particularly unpopular..."

"You think so? I'm pretty sure it was a matter of time. For example, if Mizuhara-san's position and mine had been reversed, I most likely would have ended up with the short end of the stick."

"No, you're—"

Reina is at a loss for words. When it comes to deciding who is at fault, it doesn't matter what was done, but who did it. Between a teacher and a student, the student will be the bad one; between a honor student and a delinquent, the delinquent will be the bad one; between a beautiful person and an ugly person, the ugly person will be the bad one.

And of course, between Mizuhara-san and me, I will be the bad one.

In other words, the result has been decided all along.

Smart as Reina is, she realizes that.

"...That's not true!"

Reina doesn't believe her own words, and looking at her face, she is admonishing herself for faltering.

...But there's nothing to admonish herself for, since it's a fact.

"Reina."

"Hm?"

"You're still on my side, right?"

"Of course I am!"

Good.

I have a supporter. I have a irreplaceable friend. I have Reina.

So I may still be here.

"Ah—" Reina suddenly says, so I follow her gaze.

"Um..."

Kimura-kun is standing there, seemingly feeling a bit out-of-place.

"...Kimura-kun? What's the matter?"

"Ah, yes... can you spare a minute?" he asks reluctantly.

"Y-Yeah... what is it?"

"To come straight to the point, Ashi-chan told me to call you out, because I happened to know that you're here sometimes."

"Ashi-chan?"

"I'm talking about Ashizawa-kun! Toshiki Ashizawa."

The bad-mannered Ashizawa-kun...? What would he want from me?

Whatever it is, it can't be good for me. Kimura-kun's expression makes this obvious.

"Err... is he... angry?"

"..."

He just gazes closely at me, and eventually averts his eyes.

"...He is?"

"Saito-san. It might be better if you didn't go," he mutters with eyes cast away.

...It looks like it's more serious than I thought. But if I don't go, Ashizawa-kun's aversion toward me will only grow.

I—don't want that. I don't want to be avoided even more because of a misunderstanding.

"...I'm going."

"Okay..." he says as if he was going to get a beating from Ashizawa-kun.

"Fumi," Reina addresses me in a worried tone.

"I'll be fine," I smile and wave her goodbye.

Brought to our classroom (Kimura-kun immediately left for his club), Ashizawa-kun drives me into a corner, and without any time for confusion, I am surrounded by his buddies, Takatsuki-san and the other members of the group, while a few of my other classmates are watching from a safe distance. Mizuhara-san is here as well, but watching from afar with an uneasy expression.

"Okay. Do you know what this is?" Ashizawa-kun says in an oppressive voice as he holds something against my face. It's hard to see from such a short distance, but I can recognize that it's Mizuhara-san's wallet.

"—"

I try to answer, but the words stick in my throat. Everyone is watching me closely and with blatant enmity; I feel that I'm not allowed to speak. I'm scared.

His right arm, which is right beside my head, might lose it any moment. He definitely wants to. He is angry. And the perfect target to vent his anger on is right before his eyes.

I'm scared! Why are they looking at me like that? I can't say anything! I'm not allowed to speak!

"Hey! I asked you what the fuck this is!" he yells. His right arm is twitching.

"It's a... wallet..."

"Whose wallet?"

"Mizuhara-san's..."

"Right. It's Yuu's wallet."

Yuu? Come to think of it, that's Mizuhara-san's first name.

"It's the wallet I gave her for her birthday. It's the wallet you cut up with a goddamn cutter!" he says, some of his saliva flying on my face.

Anger has made him lose more than half of his reasoning. Had I been a guy, he would have beaten me up already long ago.

"You knew that Yuu's dating Toshiki, didn't you?" Takatsuki-san says with a scary face. "And you also knew that this wallet was a present from him, right?"

I don't. I had no idea that they were a couple. Such rumors don't reach me at all.

"That's why you stole the wallet when you were pissed off, no? You can't hide it!"

No, I didn't do anything!

But I can't say that. Even if I did and explained myself, they wouldn't believe me.

"Do you get that? This isn't something you can make up for with fucking money!"

His right hand moves. I reflexively close my eyes. However, he could somehow control himself and hit the wall behind me.

My mind goes blank like white paint. I'm trembling all over.

What am I supposed to do? I'm scared! Please, don't hurt me. I haven't done anything!

"Save me..."

I mutter at last, cornered and intimidated.

"Save me..."

At first, the others seem to think that I am begging toward them, but they quickly realize that's not the case and are taken aback.

"Save me..."

I seek help. Of course, there is only one person I would seek help from.

"Save me... Reina."

I didn't want to get Reina involved, so I tried to solve the matter without her coming with me.

But I failed.

I imagine how her long hair sways as Reina appears and swiftly frees me from their claws. I have a feeling that this picture will become reality. And then she will smile at me with her absurdly beautiful face, "Everything is all right, Fumi."

—However, Reina didn't come.

That sweet illusion took me from the ground to the clouds, to the pinnacle. But at the end of the day, I keep crawling on the ground in reality. I am thrown off the pinnacle again.

"Uh...uh..."

Unable to hold it in, I start to cry.

Thrown off course by my tears, the signs for violence disappear, even though Ashizawa-kun is still visibly angered.

"What?! Do you think we'll forgive you if you cry?!" Takatsuki-san shouts as she draws near to me. "Besides, there's no one who would want to 'save' someone like ''you''!"

"But there is..."

"Who? Your mom? A teacher? They would only help you because it's their duty!"

"There is!"

"And who would that be?! Good lord, you are—"

"Reina! Reina Kamisu is there for me!" I scream. In a voice that might well have been the strongest in my entire life.

Takatsuki-san—no, everyone present—widen their eyes in response to my powerful shout. I'm surprised by myself, too, but I don't regret it.

Because that's the one thing that I will not allow anyone to disagree with me.

I do have an irreplaceable friend.

I do have Reina Kamisu.

I won't let anyone say otherwise.

Taking advantage of their confusion, I escape. I escape from ''them''. I no longer need anything. Nothing.

All I need is Reina.

As long as Reina is with me, I'm perfectly fine.

===4===
As promised, Reina and I went to the aquarium.

There are more visitors than expected for a workday, most of which are families with children and young couples around twenty years old. Probably because they are not as restricted in time.

And of course, we are the only middle schoolers around.

"Reina, are you sure you don't need to go to school?"

"It's fine, but what about you, Fumi?"

"I don't mind at all."

I'm not welcome at school, anyway. My parents won't notice that I'm skipping, either, unless they get a call from school. In fact, ditching school today has made me wonder why I haven't done this sooner.

I look through the glass into the water tank.

Pretty fishes. That's all that comes to mind. They belong to the species ''Chaetodon auripes'', but I'm going to forget that in a few seconds. Therefore, I only feel that they're pretty.

But that's fun.

"Oh, look, Fumi! Lots of jellyfish!"

"Cool."

"I love jellyfish."

"You do? Why?"

"Hm? Well... I wonder why? Maybe because... they don't look a lot like living beings?"

They don't look like living beings — now that she mentions it, she has a point. Inside an aquarium, they still feel a bit like living beings, but when they are held in a water tank at home, they're more like decoration. Decoration that shines and pulsates. When jellyfish are put into a tank in a house, their role changes from a ''living being'' to ''decoration''.

"Besides, jellyfish kind of stand out. All other fishes here are just ''fishes'', but jellyfish feel like entirely different beings. Ah, I'm not making sense, am I?"

"No, I know what you mean. You want to say that jellyfish are simply jellyfish, right?"

"Ah, yes, sort of. Jellyfish are simply jellyfish."

Jellyfish are simply jellyfish.

Looking at Reina, who is gazing into the water tank, I think:

''Reina's also like that.''

Reina Kamisu is simply Reina Kamisu.

Absurdly beautiful, completely different from everyone else, and my only supporter.

Reina notices my glance.

"...What's wrong, Fumi?" she asks.

"Mm, nothing."

She tilts her head.

"Reina... the dolphin show is starting!"

"Hm? Oh, you're right. Okay, let's hurry up."

Slightly swift-footed, walk to the stadium where the dolphin show takes place.

On the way there, we come past a tank in which a large number of fishes are herding together and keep rotating restlessly.

Don't they get tired? I don't only mean physically, but also mentally. Rotating all the time won't get them any farther, after all; they could just as well stay still from the start. If they don't want to get anywhere, is it their goal to continue doing this until they can't move anymore? Don't they feel that such a life is futile?

But the fishes keep rotating, not caring about my thoughts.

The seats at the stadium are being occupied from the back to the front.

"Let's go to the front row, Reina."

"Eh? We'll get wet!"

"I know, but I want to watch the dolphins from as close as possible."

With a wry but gentle smile, she follows me to the first row and takes a seat.

"By the way, Fumi, I told you why I like jellyfish, but what's your reason for liking dolphins?"

"Hm... because they're adorable."

"That's all?"

"No, apart from that..."

Before I can continue, the woman in charge of the show begins the narration, starting with a brief explanation on the ecology of dolphins (where their nose is, that they hear sounds through their bones, etc.).

And then the show begins.

As several dolphins leap into the air to greet us, I am already enchanted.

They are pretty big when you actually see them — their jumps are spectacular and cause the children in the audience to shout in joy. They look so majestic yet adorable.

As they land again, water spills toward us. I instinctively shrink back. While it doesn't reach my clothes, my shoes get slightly wet.

Awesome! That's just awesome! Dolphins are great!

During the show, they jumped through rings, returned balls the woman had thrown to them, and swam around in circles... in a nutshell, it was awesome and I was absorbed.

"Dolphins sure are intelligent..." Reina suddenly says.

"Totally!" I respond immediately.

"Hahaha, you really love them, don't you? Is their smartness also a reason why—"

"Yeah!"

The show reaches the climax, which features a trick where three dolphins have to simultaneously jump over a stick that is set up at an extremely high position.

"And you know, dolphins send out ultrasonic waves and determine the position of objects through the reflected waves!"

"Just like bats."

"Hmm... I don't want to think of them in the same category, but yeah."

The dolphins ready themselves to the woman's signal.

Are they able to jump so high? Well, they wouldn't be doing this if they couldn't, but I'm afraid that one of them might not make it.

I hold my breath.

The dolphins stand side by side (can you say that in this case?) and — jump.

"Whoa!"

It was a feast for the eyes.

With a grand splash, the three dolphins land in the water, raising a few large waves.

"Incredible..." I say in blank astonishment.

Looking at the wavy pool, I arrive at the thought that dolphins might be the cause for the never-ceasing waves of the sea.

"Hey, Fumi? Dolphins can communicate through sounds, right?"

"Yeah. Although it's unknown how sophisticated their conversations are. I for one believe that their communication skills are just as high as ours."

"I see... that would be nice."

"Mm! Actually, another reason why I love dolphins is because they can communicate with one another!"

"Oh, nice."

The show ends and the visitors start to leave while the dolphins are bidding them farewell by swimming around and doing individual performances.

"You know, when I learned that dolphins can communicate through sounds, I was jealous of them," I murmur while watching their performance.

"...jealous?" Reina asks puzzledly, tilting her head to the side.

"..."

I waver if I should explain it to her. If I continue, I will spoil the joyful mood.

"I think that communication through words is too complicated for me."

But I don't want to have secrets from Reina.

"Fumi..."

"I'm sure that even I would have been able to get friends if we had other ways of communicating..."

"You have me, Fumi!"

"...Mm."

These words of hers are enough for me.

"But you know, lately I've come to think that..."

"Hm?"

"I think that I might have become 'like that'."

"...'like that'?"

Unable to answer her, I look at the dolphins again, which are busy showing their performances. One of them is waving us goodbye with its fin.

I wave back.

And that's what I mean.

I am waving my hand because I freely interpret the dolphin's waving his fin as "goodbye." Our actions aren't in line at all.

Right, as deplorable as it is, I can't talk with dolphins.

But that isn't limited to dolphins.

My language has become different from everyone else's, and that's why I can't get through to anyone. My words don't reach anyone.

Except for Reina.

My way of communication has become different. And that's why I'm getting disconnected and disappearing.

We leave the aquarium, which is in the center of an aquatic park. I walk up to a bench and sit down. Reina sits down next to me.

"Reina? Would you..."

Reina looks at me when I suddenly start to talk.

"Would you be okay if we were the only humans on earth?"

I look around. There's no one nearby apart from Reina, which isn't that surprising for a workday afternoon. We're alone. I wouldn't be in the least concerned if the world closed up right now and we were left behind just by the two of us.

"Hm... it would be pretty troublesome because we'd have no electricity..."

"And if you think about it without such concerns?"

Reina gazes closely at my face, and answers with a smile:

"In that case, that wouldn't sound too bad."

"Really?"

"Really!"

I look at her. Aah, she isn't saying it just because. I'm happy, I really am.

After all, she's different from me! Unlike me, she is loved by a lot of people. Despite that, she would be with me.

"But you know, Reina, your mom would...be—"

—Reina's mom?

At once I get suspicious and stop.

A lot of people?

Well, there must be a lot. She's beautiful and nice, unlike me. But—

—But who are they, specifically?

"Fumi...?"

"Hey, Reina..."

"What's wrong?"

"...I've never been to your home, have I?"

"Are you sure?"

"Where do you live again? Nearby? You must be. After all, you go home together with me."

"What's wrong, Fumi? That's obvious, no?"

"Why is it then that — even though we are close friends — I haven't been to your place?"

"..." Reina remains silent.

Eh? Hold on! What's that supposed to mean?

We're best friends, no matter how you look at it, so why do I have no idea who her friends and family are, and where she lives?

"By the way, Reina—"

"Don't say it!" she cuts my question short.

"Reina...?"

"Don't go farther than that..." she says sorrowfully and averts her eyes.

There are circumstances...? I don't know what it is, but Reina has a reason not to tell me about her.

Everyone has things he doesn't want to or can't say.

But,

But—

"—That's mean!"

"...Huh?"

"Aren't we best friends? We shouldn't keep any secrets from one another! Or was I the only one who felt that way? Hm?"

"No!"

"But then!"

"It's no good, Fumi!"

"Why? I don't understand, Reina!" I shout and as I do, I notice that a tear is flowing down my cheek, which leaves Reina speechless.

Cold air pulsates between us. That... hasn't happened before. This is the first time that we've been surrounded by such a cold atmosphere.

My feelings had reached Reina. She knows that I wouldn't ever hate or make fun of her.

There is no reason to have secrets.

There should be none.

Yet—

"I can't say it," she says distinctly.

"Why would you..."

Rejection.

No, that's not it. That can't be it. Reina would never want to hurt me. It's something... it must be something that she can't say despite that.

Of course I can understand that.

But—

"Don't doubt me."

I can't help but feel that she is rejecting me.

"Uh..."

Therefore, a drop falls from my eyes.

And once I realize that it's a ''tear'', they start to overflow like a waterfall. Aah, I'm crying way too often lately! Man, I don't want to show anyone my tears. I don't want to bother anyone. But they won't stop.

I press my head against my knees as I burst out crying.

"—Fumi."

Reina's voice.

Reina's gentle voice.

"I'm sorry."

All I could perceive was my own crying voice, which is why I didn't notice what was happening.

I kept crying like an idiot, and when I raised my head—

—Reina wasn't there.

"Reina...?"

I looked and ran around searching for her.

But she was nowhere to be found.

Reina isn't anywhere anymore.

I was standing there in the wide, empty aquatic park, left behind, alone in the world.

===5===

People have erasers in their hearts.

While their efficiency differs from person to person — some of them might be really bad — anyone can use their eraser.

Rub, rub. Okay, away with you. You're an eyesore. Please go away. Rub, rub.

Two weeks have passed since the incident of Mizuhara-san's wallet. One week since I went to the aquarium with Reina.

Even after such a time span, no one is talking to me. Like the previous days, I'm just sitting in my seat, which isn't supposed to be here, and gazing out the window.

I have faded a lot.

Yet, they keep erasing me. Rub, rub.

Day by day, I am being erased. Bit by bit, I am fading. Rub, rub. Most of my existence has turned into eraser crumbs and gets wiped off my desk.

It's not going to get better. They have already become so used to rubbing me out that no one is having any doubts about it, let alone feelings of guilt. I'll keep being erased mechanically. If there is any human emotion involved, then it's slight irritation because their erasers get worn with use.

And Reina is still missing in this white and fading world.

Why? I'm not going to hold out like this! Reina... why did you leave me, Reina?

Why won't you appear before me? Even if you have secrets, that should be no obstacle for us!

Or do you hate me now?

Whatever it is, I want to see you!

I want to see you, I want to see you, I want to see you!

But no matter how much I beg, Reina doesn't appear.

And somewhere I know that she never will.

There is no meaning anymore.

In this classroom there is only irrelevant noise, irrelevant pictures, irrelevant classmates, and my irrelevant self.

There is no meaning anymore.

There is no meaning... in being '''here'''.

"—Goodbye," I whisper as I stand up.

The teacher is saying something. Ah, I was in the middle of having a 'lesson'?

Oh, he's angry. But I don't get what it's all about — after all, he isn't saying it for me, is he?

Oh, he's not angry anymore. But I wonder why he is looking at me like that? It's the first time someone does that, so I don't know what it means. But it looks a bit like he is scared.

I leave the classroom.

Far away behind me, the class is making a fuss, but it's irrelevant to me. Irrelevant. Completely irrelevant.

I'm sitting alone on the landing in the middle of the stairway to the roof. It's the second time since I've come here that the school building is getting noisy. What time is it? The first noise was probably the lunch break, so it must be the end of school today?

Reina. Will I ever see her again?

For some reason, I feel that I won't. I've been feeling that ever since she disappeared from me in that aquatic park. But so what? What about it? That doesn't change anything — I still need her, so much, so desperately.

Reina is all of me. Nothing remains if you take her from me. I'm empty. A wobbly lump that has no bones.

"Aah..."

What should I do? How can I meet Reina? I don't know! What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do?

Suddenly, I hear someone walking up the stairs.

I ready myself. It might be him — he might have come like I wanted.

"...Saito-san."

Kimura-kun appears before me.

"Kimura-kun... so you came to talk with me..."

"Yeah... I have no reasons to refuse if you call me out..."

Right. I have placed a letter into his shoe locker to call him here. Like Mizuhara-san did.

"I also brought this here with me. It was a pain to get past the eyes of the teachers," he explains as he holds out the keys to the roof.

"Mm. Thank you," I say and accept the keys from his visibly trembling hands. Perhaps, he has realized why I called him out here.

"..." he remains silent.

"Are you not going to ask...?"

"Ask what...?" he says clumsily.

"Why I had you bring me the keys to the roof."

After a few moments, he reluctantly asks, "Why?"

To tell the truth, I'm not sure how to answer him, either. Because maybe — no, for sure — my answer is going to hurt him.

But that's okay, isn't it? Kimura-kun is just as irrelevant as my other classmates, after all.

I reply: "To take revenge."

His face freezes instantly.

Oh, so I was right. Finally, I could confirm my suspicions.

"R-Revenge...?" he stutters miserably in bewilderment, and gets even more nervous because of it.

"You cut up Mizuhara-san's wallet and put it into my bag, didn't you?"

"W-Why would you say that...?" he counters, still not admitting to it, even though he knows that he can't talk himself out.

"It's okay! I don't plan to question you about it."

As a matter of fact, I really don't feel like questioning and blaming him. As I once told Reina, I was about to get into this situation anyway — Kimura-kun merely happened to be the one who pressed the switch.

My words seem to have calmed him down a bit.

"B-But... how did you find out?"

Do you really want to know? Isn't that going to be tough on you?

"...Should I answer that?"

Finally noticing the meaning of my answer, he looks down and says, "...No need to."

"Okay."

With these words, I slide the key into the lock.

There are several reasons why I suspected Kimura-kun.

My first doubts were raised when he started to converse with me after I had received the fake love letter. I was aware that Kimura-kun had no feelings for me, so I wondered why he would suddenly become so gentle.

Another clue was the general reaction when Mizuhara-san's wallet got lost. Everyone considered me the culprit right away. In other words, something led them to believe that I had a grudge against her. As far as I know, the only discord between Mizuhara-san and me is that love letter, which means that someone must have broadcast the story. But only her group and I, as well as Kimura-kun knew about it. Of course, I haven't told anyone, and Mizuhara-san and her friends didn't look like they would want to tell everyone about it, either.

But most of all, it was no one else but Kimura-kun who proposed that the culprit must have had a grudge against her. He called their attention to me in a blatant manner.

I don't know why he did that. Maybe he had a grudge against me that I don't know of, or he might have had strong feelings about Mizuhara-san and Ashizawa-kun.

But I don't really care.

His story is irrelevant to me.

I turn the key, and the door opens with a click. I tentatively turn the doorknob — yeah, seems fine.

"...What do you plan on doing on the roof, Saito-san?"

"..." I silently turn around to him.

"Saito-san...?"

I answer his question with a question.

"Hey, Kimura-kun—"

"—Do you happen to know ''Reina Kamisu''?"

Maybe I really thought that Reina would be waiting for me on the other side of the door.

This is a place that no one is allowed to enter, despite being so near. It's a place that we all know exists, yet only few have actually been there. And that's why I felt that I would find her here.

But of course, there is no sign of Reina.

I walk to the center of the roof and spin around.

Students going home, power poles established in regular intervals, the shopping district, our dirty river, another school, a house, another house — irrelevant scenery. But one thing within this irrelevant scenery — the glaring red sun hiding partly behind a building at the horizon — feels relevant to me.

The sun is about to hide on the other side, having completed its work for today, but floating there at the boundary, it feels like it's calling me.

I return to the door to lock it.

Now I'm completely alone.

I lean against the fence, and while watching the sun slowly hide its countenance, I think once more about Reina Kamisu.

Reina vanished. Yes, she vanished.

A beautiful and popular student suddenly stopped coming to school and went missing. This should have obviously been a serious incident for this Shikura middle school. It should have.

However, no one talks about it.

Of course, there is no one who would tell ''me'', but even I can perk up my ears for rumors. It's strange. Reina Kamisu does not come up anywhere at all. No one talks about such a extraordinary girl. Is that even possible?

I screwed up my courage and sneaked a peek into her class. First, I couldn't believe my eyes, then I couldn't believe my ears, and finally, I couldn't believe myself.

Her seat didn't exist. Her shoe locker didn't exist. Her name didn't exist. Nothing related to her existed.

Reina is nowhere.

And when I saw Kimura-kun's face when I asked him about Reina, I was convinced.

—Reina Kamisu vanished.

It's not simple death. She erased everything of her existence, everything related to it, and vanished. Without leaving anyone anything of herself, and completely revoking the fact that a person named Reina Kamisu has ever existed, she disappeared.

With the exception of me, her best friend.

But even I only have a few empty memories left — much like a drop of soda on the edge of an empty can. I don't remember where we met, how we became friends, or where we went apart from the aquarium. Nothing.

Those memories will soon wither as well, erasing her existence once and for all.

Reina is disappearing.

Reina, who was everything of me, is disappearing.

So—there is no reason for me to be '''here''' anymore.

I climb on the fence. It's 15cm wide, so I can stand without a problem.

I consider taking off my shoes, but I decide against it; I'm not trying to commit suicide or anything.

I'm merely going to see Reina.

Of course, I can't be sure if can meet her like that. It's just the absurd thought that if she isn't here, she must be "there." It's about as absurd as thinking that a bird can fly past the sky into the space.

But I can't think of anything else.

There is no other way, and if that's the only way, why should I not try it? There's nothing that stops me. Let me repeat that: I have no reason to be '''here''', so there is nothing that stops me.

I suddenly recall what I said to Kimura-kun.

—To take revenge.

Yeah, a petty revenge. By bringing me the keys, you got yourself involved in what is going to happen now, didn't you?

I wonder if he'll be having some pangs of remorse, even though he might not care about me?

I look down, and shrink back a little, scared of the imminent pain that I almost forgot about. That's going to hurt. Ten times... hundred times more than a syringe. But I mustn't flinch.

What is important to me? Meeting Reina. Being together with Reina.

That's all that counts. That's all...

Yes, with vigor!

Because I feel like I can get farther that way.

I take a vigorous leap.

Suddenly, the world spins and changes completely. Unable to properly grasp this unexpected world, I almost pass out.

I can only tell that it's not the place where I wanted to go. I have found myself in a tragic play.

Aah... did I fail? Did I make the wrong decision after all...?

But—

Just as I am about to give up, I realize that I've won the wager.

"Reina..."

Reina is right before my eyes.

"Reina, I missed you..."

She gives me her gentle and absurdly beautiful smile.

"Reina... tell me: where are you?"

"I am—" she answers.

"I am '''here'''. Kamisu Reina is — '''here'''."

Ah, right.

Why didn't I notice such a simple thing?

<noinclude>
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| Return to [[Kamisu Reina Series|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Kamisu Reina:Volume 1 Atsushi Kogure|Chapter 2]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter2

2015-03-05T22:11:00Z

MondSemmel: /* Part 3 */

==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—” Zaat 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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| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter3|Chapter 3]]
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Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter2

2015-03-05T21:53:35Z

MondSemmel: /* Part 2 */

==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—” Zaat 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 centre, and the horse cavalry in the front and rear, their 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 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 the 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 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 into 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 meanwhile. 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 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 horse.

''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 started 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 bore holes into the bushes or blew 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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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter1|Chapter 1]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter3|Chapter 3]]
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter2

2015-03-05T21:38:21Z

MondSemmel: /* Part 1 */

==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—” Zaat 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, 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 lost 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 upperhand, but the sudden development likewise left Orba little room to breath.

''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 much the better collection than Solon.”

Theresia feigned ignorance and looked at the pile of clothes brought over by the attendant. The wife of the 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 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 send reinforcements to them just now, having that directly said to her made startled Vileena. 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 the 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 to 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 centre, and the horse cavalry in the front and rear, their 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 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 the 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 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 into 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 meanwhile. 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 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 horse.

''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 started 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 bore holes into the bushes or blew 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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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter1|Chapter 1]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter3|Chapter 3]]
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter1

2015-03-05T21:22:45Z

MondSemmel: /* Part 3 */

==Imperial Capital Departure==
===Part 1===
A sparrow wandered astray over the stone pavings.

It cocked its head once, twice, perplexed by a feeling of estrangement and then flapped its wings in a fluster.

Immediately following, a gust of wind rushed past as a gigantic shadow soared overhead. At a glance, it might be seen as a living creature. Its long neck, a ferocious face baring its fangs, and its large wings spread at its sides—a wyvern.

Alas, things like winged dragons did not inhabit this continent. Its howl, shrill as the creaking of metal, sounded from the humming of its ether engine, and its skin was the weightless metal, dragonstone, lightly painted over in bronze. Namely, this was the Mephius Empire’s airship.

These man-made wyverns carrying pilots in their bosoms took off from the ground in succession.

Orba looked up to watch them, his hand forming a visor over his eyes.

Flying front was the man named Neil Thompson, and simply being fairly skilled made him stand out greatly above the rest. Neil beautifully tilted the ship’s wings to a turn as the other ships frantically chased after it, like chicks straying from its mother.

But the one Orba hurled words of anger towards amongst them following their momentary return was Neil.

“This is no place to make a show of your theatrics! Pay more attention to the others! You won’t be able to do anything by yourself on the battlefield. Now, have another go.”

Pressed on by Orba—or to them, the first crown prince of the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius, Gil Mephius—the pilots hurriedly launched off to the skies in their ships once more.

“You don’t have to be so snappy, do you? I think they’re doing on the better side.”

Orba roughly shook off Shique who came snuggling onto his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter how well they do for ‘slaves’. You think I can be satisfied with such a level?”

The parade ground near the Imperial Guards’ barracks; a small-scale gladiator arena rebuilt. Small as it may be called, its extensive interior housed an airship runway and to add, was situated beside the dragons’ stable.

“But you know, Orba,” the bronzen faced Gowen spoke, “it’s not even been a month since you started the airship unit. There’s not much you can do even if you’re running out of patience.”

“I wouldn’t have expected to hear that from you. You’re the one who sent me out to kill in under two weeks of teaching me how to hold a sword.”

“There’s no meaning in using slaves as a comparison, is there?” Gowen replied, directing Orba’s words back at him. “There are different circumstances now compared to then. You can’t buy however much of them as you want.”

Even if these former slaves didn’t fall behind soldiers in terms of individual skill, they had trouble cooperating in numbers. And it was because it was Gowen, who was retraining the infantry comprising of the swords slaves from scratch, saying this that these words held persuasive power.

Orba said no more. His face twisted slightly in pain as he moved to cross his arms. His right arm was dressed in bandages and stood hanging.

—Roughly half a month had passed since the disturbance caused by Zaat Quark’s rebellion. Injured from the series of battles during the gladiator’s tournament and to further add, being shot by Zaat Quark, his body naturally had yet to recover. However one week prior, Orba was summoned by the emperor and ordered to head for the southern city of Apta—the land taken in the ten year strife with Garbera and the very fortress city his brother Roan had been drafted to. There was no time for him to allow his body to rest. Just when Shique and Gowen thought he was holing himself up in his room buried under a mountain of books, they’d find him zealously directing the Imperial Guard’s training like so.

“Ah, there you go, quiet again.” Shique shrugged his shoulders in jest. “We get indescribably uneasy when you turn silent. I can’t help thinking that you might be getting weird thoughts again.”

At that time, a lively voice sounded.

“A wonderful sight, isn’t it!”

When he heard this voice which was out of place in this brutish location, Orba’s face tensed for some reason.

Gowen and Shique were slightly amused at seeing this and shifted their gaze taking a smile.

“It pains me to say that it is not anything much for a proper lady to see.”

The one they laid sight on was Garbera’s third princess, Vileena Owell, accompanied by her maid Theresia. Her platinum hair shone a transparent white under the morning sun. She had been forced into the women’s chambers since her coming to Mephius, but with her efforts flying the airship together with the prince during Zaat’s rebellion, she seemed to have been given a relative amount of freedom as of late. Two days ago after mentioning how the Imperial Guards were doing air training at breakfast, she had exclaimed ‘I simply must watch’.

The young girl’s eyes squinted as they followed the airships’ movements, and her cheeks flushed lightly.

''She’s an unusual princess.''

Orba strongly reaffirmed this thought.

After the mission at Apta ended, they would formally become married—as Emperor Guhl had declared, but that was ultimately only said to Gil and not openly announced. With the progress in discussions over the wedding obscure, Vileena was as she had always been, in an insecure position.

“His Highness is a perfectionist after all,” Shique commented, intentionally returning to the previous conversation. “He tells them ‘fly shoulder to shoulder with the Garberan airship platoon’ within under a month of training.”

“I didn’t—”

—say that, he tried to refute, but before he could continue...

“There is always a beginning to everything. Air training in particular comes with accidents. If you do not pay careful attention to the pilots’ condition, the ship’s maintenance and such, then your platoon will assuredly be destroyed before you can achieve its desired growth, your Highness.”

With regard to airships, Vileena was an expert. She spoke proudly in a sharp tone with her childish face.

“But there also isn’t much time left until departure.”

Orba averted his gaze from Vileena who tried to confront him directly.

“Is it not all right if you also perform them in Apta, your Highness?” Shique said. “It’s as if you believe Ax might try to commence war the very day we arrive in Apta.”

Zaat’s rebellion had been quelled by Orba’s hand, but because it happened during the founding festival where a good number of envoys had been invited, news of it reached the surrounding countries. Furthermore, there were reports of suspicious activity from the Taúlia province located southwest to Mephius around the same time.

Taúlia bordered the Aptan region. It was probable Taúlia’s governing general, Ax Bazgan, would target the moment Apta was returned by Garbera and advance his army there.

However, with Zaat’s rebellion, Guhl Mephius was in a precarious situation where he could not trust his retainers, even those serving him longest. For that reason, Guhl had appointed his born son, Gil, to commander of Apta’s troops, deeming it inappropriate to divide his troops to fend off invasion.

“It’ll only be trouble if I don’t get them ready as soon as possible. I’ve realised since Zaat’s incident. No matter how peacefully we may have joined with Garbera, the flames of dissent are always at our feet even within our country’s borders. There’s no harm in being too prepared.”

“Speaking of Zaat Quark, I have not seen Ineli since the incident. Have you met with her since then, prince?”

“Ineli?”

The unexpected name left Orba half startled. “No.” He shook his head. Vileena angrily knit her eyebrows.

“Please also pay some attention to things outside of military affairs. Being taken prisoner by Zaat surely must have given her a fright. Is she not shutting herself in her room? I have been meaning to visit her, but what say you we go together?”

“Well, that is…”

Orba wasn’t sure what to say. As Vileena had mentioned, Ineli was taken prisoner by Zaat in the midst of the uproar. And in front Orba and Vileena who went to save her, she had a gun thrust at her. But what went through Orba’s mind now wasn’t that, but the scene he had seen at the party during the founding festival; the one where Ineli and Vileena glared at one another by the fountain.

The Garberan princess seemed to have already long forgotten their discord, but as for Ineli, he didn’t believe she would be as forgiving. Rather, judging from her personality, being saved by the Vileena she hated and so detested, she would have felt it humiliating.

“I think it’s best if you don’t.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Well, the thing is, if she’s received a shock from that incident, it’s best to gently leave it alone. If either I or the princess go see her, it might bring back the memories and do more harm than good.”

“See, princess? It’s as I told you.” Theresia said. “I am of the same opinion of as His Highness. It’s best to quietly leave Ineli alone precisely if you’re worried about her.”

“What is this. The prince, and Theresia as well, are treating my feelings as if they were an oblivious child’s.”

Her face quickly fell into a sulk and she stomped her small feet against the ground. In fact, it was because it was exactly as she said that Orba was lost for words. She was overall a quick-witted princess albeit young, but when it came to the subtleties in personal relations, she was poorly informed.

Orba unintentionally sent a look over to Theresia.

''It must be tough.''

The princess’ maid was momentarily surprised, then slightly turned her eyes down and chuckled in agreement.

''Damn it!''

Orba was also surprised. He had expressed his sentiments towards Theresia, but it was as ‘Orba’. Not the crown prince. That was probably why Theresia had also been surprised.

“Now,” Orba spoke up in an attempt to try to smooth things over. “I will, then, patiently wait out the airship unit’s results. I, am going to check out the dragon’s situ—”

Orba turned to look at the dragon’s stable by the parade ground, but right at that moment, he saw several figures heading this way. In front, skipping her way towards them, was a petite girl. Coming up to Orba, Ronnie Lorgo stopped and tugging her skirt, made a bow.

“Fare greetings, your Imperial Highness.”

“Aah.”

She was daughter of Mephius’ general, Odyne Lorgo, and thirteen years old. Though a young girl, she had saddled on top a dragon’s back during the founding festival and carried out the coming-of-age ceremony.

“Hurry and come over. Oh Romus, even though you’re not afraid of dragons, you’re helplessly shy around people.”

She loudly called over the young boy timidly toddling behind. As always, his greetings in front of the prince were soft.

“Really, you’re spineless.”

“No, it’s not that he’s spineless, but that milady here is strong,” Orba jested. “Your courage is promising. However, the dragons’ stable isn’t suitable as a playground.”

“Oh my. It’s not that we are strolling around here for no apparent reason, prince,” Ronnie responded disapprovingly in a lady-like manner. “Romus has been coming here everyday and as his senior I’ve gotten concerned for him.”

“Oh? Is Romus aspiring to be a dragoon?”

“He is not, your highness. Romus, you’re really here for the dragon, aren’t you? It’s not that you’re longing to become a dragoon, right?”

“W-what’s that to do with you.”

Romus’ face reddened. There was one other coming from the dragon stable’s direction. The dragon trainer Hou Ran assigned as part of the prince’s Imperial Battalion. It seemed she was looking over the dragoon’s training. Even if she wasn’t, she was usually here at the stable caring for the dragons all day.

“There’s no need to worry about Romus.”

Ran said outright, as if she had heard the conversation from start to end.

“He’s gotten even more used to dragons than Orba. In another half year, he might be able to hear and understand their ‘voice’. There’s little to no chance he will get attacked even at the dragon’s stable.”

Theresia breathed a gasp of wonder. She found not only Ran’s nomadic appearance unusual, but also the combination of her proportional body, dark skin, and pale hair to be strangely alluring.

“If that’s what you say, I’m sure that’s how it is. How are the dragoons’ condition? And have you sorted the dragons we will take with us to Apta?”

“I can somehow manage if I’m with them. As long as they’re within my eye’s reach. No one here has even a fragment of Romus’ talent. More than sorting the dragons Orba will need to sort the soldiers.”

“R-Right.”

“Also, aren’t the dragons we’re bring with us a bit too many to not be using the carrier? With the numbers Orba’s said, it’s more than I can manage.”

“Not using the carrier?”

Shique raised his voice in alarm.

“Why? Marching to Apta in file will take a week. Transporting the dragons and weapons would also be more convenient with a carrier.”

“Because I want to be seen off and cheered by the people.”

Orba’s response was blunt. It was times like these his behaviour denoted a reluctance to voice his thoughts any further. Because Shique and Gowen understood this, they made no further protest, bearing a look that said ''here we go again.''

“''Orba'', is it.”

But Princess Vileena’s attention seemed to be hung on something else. The thought “oh crap” could be read on the prince’s face.

“A considerable amount of trust sure is placed on that swordsman. It was also the case at the founding festival, but it seems he has been tasked with several important duties this time as well.”

“Ah, yeah. He’s...handy.”

Orba gibbered, stealthily sneaking a glare at Ran’s direction. Vileena became slightly indignant.

“However, he appeared to have been injured a good deal from the arena. Although you yourself prince have also suffered injuries, how about you heed your subjects a bit more.”

“Uh, yeah, you’re right.”

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v03 031.jpg|thumb]]

“Despite how strong a person you yourself may be, that is not always the case for others. Above all, prince, your numbers mustn’t diminish any more. If you don’t allow them a word and only have them quietly obey you, no matter how fine a swordsman Orba is, even he will eventually...”

“Ha!”

At that moment, Ran snorted. For an instant, everyone was bewildered by the almost outright scorn. Who this was directed towards they did not know.

“Orba seems to be rather favoured by the princess.”

Her lips swerved into a thin, open smile, and then she turned her back, promptly returning to the dragon’s housing. Romus hurriedly chased after her, and Ronnie subsequently followed in a dash. Orba and everyone else saw them off stupefied.

“That young lady,” Theresia spoke shortly after adding in a cough, “isn’t she somewhat lacking in her manners? To act like that when the crown prince and Princess Vileena are present...”

“Ah. I’m truly ashamed. I apologize on behalf of my daughter’s discourtesy.”

The adopted father Gowen lowered his greying head. It was Orba’s first time seeing him bow down his large frame.

But Theresia also wasn’t truly angry. As evidence of that,

“That young lady,” she said once more, leaving a pause as if add weight, “Is she Sir Orba’s lover?”

“A-Absurd. —Why would you think that?”

“It is no such thing as absurd. I only felt that was how it was.”

“And I’m asking, why?”

“Now why, I wonder. I instead find the prince’s manner of disarray strangely odd. This might even be a harbinger of love for Sir Orba.”

Absurd! Orba muttered once more, facing away. He had known Hou Ran for over two years, but never noticed any attraction towards her. It might have been ''because'' he hadn’t, or that he ''shouldn’t'' have had any, that having this suddenly pointed out disturbed him.

For some time after, Orba and the others inattentively watched over the airship unit’s training. Shortly before the hour of noon, Vileena excused herself and Theresia from the platform. The princess would also be accompanying them to Apta. They had said there was still packing to be done.

When Orba finally thought he could take a breath of air, he overheard some unexpected words from Shique.

“The princess isn’t in too high of spirits is she.”

“Really? I don’t see any big difference from usual. If that’s her in low spirits, then the usual Vileena will be a far tougher opponent than Ryucown and Pashir.”

“Orba...right, you don’t understand the subtleties of women.”

“Does a misogynist have any right to say that?”

“It’s not that I hate them because I don’t understand them. It’s because I understand them too much that I hate them.”

Back at the days when he was a gladiator, Shique was exceptionally popular with women. There were many noblewomen piling up large sums of gold before the slave merchant Tarkas to be his patron. And to each and every one of them, Shique refused and snorted at them.

“Then again, it isn’t really that complicated. She probably knows about the rumours of ongoing tension between Garbera and Ende. Of course, she’s not a princess that wouldn’t grieve knowing of her home’s hardships.”

“It’s hard to say Garbera has fully recovered from Ryucown’s previous rebellion,” Gowen agreed. “It’s the same for Mephius, but at the least we were able to stop it before it occurred. To others, you could even say it’s been put out. But they experienced betrayal from one of their most famed generals. It’s certain to have a lasting effect.”

“I could care less about other countries’ troubles,” Orba promptly parted the remark. He then called the captain Neil back, bringing the training to an end. A separate unit was scheduled for training here after. With Pashir included, they consisted of the slaves from the recent rebellion whom Orba had added to his forces. Having once taken advantage of the opportunity provided by Zaat and attempting a rebellion, he could not just appoint them as regular soldiers and thus had designated them war slaves under the Imperial Guard’s command.

Orba had no business here. He had already earned the resentment of the slaves by having obstructed the rebellion, and had no intention of possibly aggravating them further by remaining to watch.

On this note, he entrusted their training to Gowen. A man originally a supervisor over sword slaves and versed in drills.

“I’ll leave the rest to you.”

“Aah.”

Orba double-timed out of the parade ground.

Shique, who had stayed behind, took notice of Gowen’s sudden masked snicker.

“What’s the matter?”

“No, it’s just how he said ‘I’ll leave the rest to you.’ That damn little squirt’s position has sure changed in under two years.”

“And he’s gotten frightfully used to it too.”

“The weird one isn’t only him, but me who’s also grown used to these positions.”

“Yeah.” Shique strangely broke into a grin. “I’m no longer surprised by anything he says or does. If I don’t get used to that, it’ll only ruin my health.”

As Shique gave his agreement with a smile, Gowen watched Orba’s retreating figure in the distance.

“It would be good if it was only a problem of getting used to. Lately, he’s been devoting himself too much to being the crown prince.”

That single phrase, heard by no one, disappeared into the blowing sand and wind.

Solon saw the coming of noon.

===Part 2===
‘Emperor Guhl Mephius has stopped smiling.’ Orba had lost count how many times he had heard these murmurings inside the palace.

The former emperor often joked in front of his retainers and filled the halls with his jovial voice—he’d heard. Orba himself had only met with him a handful of times since pretending to be his actual son, so he didn’t know of this ‘former’ emperor.

Most notably, the emperor didn’t so much as chuckle after Zaat’s rebellion. His lips swerved into frowns, and he constantly rest his face against his hands in ill humour.

''I get chills every time he looks at me.''

These whispers he had also heard countlessly.

The emperor worked endlessly towards increasing the imperial family’s—or more precisely, the emperor’s—authority.

“There is no longer anyone who can make a single objection to His Majesty.”

Fedom had muttered shortly before with a near trembling face.

“If these were vassals such as Colyne satisfied with readily following orders, that might be good in itself...however, for prideful nobles like myself who harbour the slightest thought for Mephius’ future, should even that pride be considered a nuisance that we may be dismissed by the emperor, we might as well be dead.”

''There’s Simon Rodloom.''

Orba first conjured that name. At the time of the festival when Orba joined the emperor for breakfast, he had stated his own opinions without fear of the emperor. Whatmore, it was directly after Zaat had been confined.

''If it’s that man, wouldn’t he fearlessly oppose the emperor without thought of personal gain or self-protection when necessary?''

''Hm?—''

Orba twisted his lips, taken by these mysterious thoughts. He would have never believed himself to recognise a Mephian noble even a little bit as a person back when he was a gladiator.

Currently directly in front of Orba, his head bowed continuing his prayers with his eyes fixed on no particular point, was that very emperor, Guhl Mephius.

At the Black Tower, centre of the imperial capital of Solon.

The soldiers assigned as lookouts recognised Orba and gave a bow. They were his guide and proceeded towards the tower’s underground. They passed by numerous people. They were half bare men carrying excavated rocks and rubble. Most were slaves or criminals.

In this underground was a certain Dragon God Mausoleum, currently in the midst of construction. While the Dragon God’s Temple was being built in a location closer to the palace, the entirety of the mausoleum would be transferred here.

The emperor was ahead at their place of destination. He stood before an enormous carving depicting the Dragon God’s form. This was the place they held the rituals to pray for abundant harvests directly before the festival had begun. This painting would also eventually be carved out and be established within the temple.

Orba politely gave words of greeting, but the emperor replied with only a grunt and nod, and occupied himself in issuing orders to the surrounding people.

He waited for a time—a long time.

Ten minutes must have passed, when the emperor stepped forth from the row of people. Orba once again lowered his head.

“I will set out the day after tomorrow.”

“I see.”

The emperor passed by him showing no signs of stopping, but then suddenly halted and peered into Orba’s face.

“You’re growing more and more to resemble your mother.”

“Ha, hahah. I-Is that so?”

Even the famed gladiator found himself dripping in cold sweat. Then the emperor resumed walking again and Orba followed behind.

“It is not only your face. There are many who say you’ve changed into a different person, and it’s them following with such compliments as saying you’ve inherited my blood that irk me so.”

“I only received advice from my men.”

Behind and in front of them were Imperial Guards directly under the emperor assigned guard, but they kept their distance. Within the naturally chilly cave workings, the surroundings fell into an eerie silence as the voices and figures of the slaves grew further.

“Was that also the same with regards to Zaat? You happened to get advice from someone? Surely it wasn’t from me. I wasn’t given a single notice.”

“Yes. N-no, I mean—the one who planned it was me. Only, I was somewhat uneasy over my own thoughts and went to Fedom to receive his wisdom. However, I had consulted him without mentioning Zaat’s name, nor informing him of the situation’s urgency, merely as an assumption,” Orba quickly replied.

“And whose suggestion was it to purposely aim at the time of Zaat’s rebellion? Had I been immediately notified, I could have quietly subdued Zaat without the ambassadors and guests from abroad noticing.”

The emperor stopped walking. There was no path ahead, only a cliff looming 50 metres tall. The dim light of a single candle placed on the walls flickered over the shadow cast on the emperor’s face.

“I do not plan to excuse myself for my actions. I wanted...an accomplishment that would make me be recognized by many. I didn’t consider the lives of the soldiers and ambassadors—It was thoughtless of me. I beg your forgiveness.”

“That’s wrong, isn’t it?”

The emperor flatly concluded. He refaced Orba, who took a deep gulp.

“No, it ''is'' wrong. You don’t trust in ''me''.”

“I-I wouldn’t—”

“You only wanted an accomplishment? If there is a part of you that has changed, it’s how you would even dare mouth such as insolent excuse towards me above all.”

The recesses of his eyes reflected the colour of the flames, and seemed to wrap around his body and soul like a snake. Orba said nothing, only shamefully lowering his head.”

“I see. So a dragon’s child is a dragon. For we imperials who succeed the blood of the Dragon God Mephius, it may be that even you cannot forever stay a dragonling.”

The word’s echo held neither conceit nor scorn. The emperor walked towards Orba who continued facing down.

“However, it seems you take much more strongly after your mother than I. It’s not only your face, but your character. In the end you stray from the Mephius imperial customs and are unable to open you heart to me; you’ve inherited that frail trait.”

After gazing into his face one last time, he passed his shoulder.

“Very well. If you’ve begun to sprout a dragon’s wings, then I’ll have you match up to that expectation and keep Ax Bazgan in place. After two weeks, Oubary’s forces shall join yours. If it’s to protect the fortress alone, those forces should be more than sufficient.”

''Oubary.''

At that moment, a single hot flame lit within Orba’s chilled heart.

Amongst the forces Orba was bringing to Apta, there would also be fifty men borrowed from Oubary’s Black Helmet Division. Oubary himself would be dispatched to the southeastern parts of Mephius along with his 500 men. Several days after Zaat’s rebellion, slaves revolted in the southeastern Kiluro, and he had been tasked with suppressing them.

During the uproar at the Grand Stadium, Oubary had disappeared quite quickly, resulting in doubts and animosity from the emperor and statesmen. It had therefore become hard for him to stay in Solon and he also likely wanted to use this to wipe clean his bad name.

“Use them as you please. You may wield your powers as commander to your heart’s content. In return, I won’t have any complaint no matter the circumstance. Either way, you consider me beneath your notice. Any worry would be meaningless.”

The emperor receded away from Orba into the distance along with his ringing echo, this time it being rich in ridicule. Orba breathed a sigh of relief, grateful he had somehow managed to end this without his identity being exposed. At the same time, an unfamiliar feeling passed him.

''Are fathers...''

''Are all fathers meant to be like this? That they hate and deplore their own sons—or is it because they are nobles that they’re so strange.''

Orba held no memories of his father. However, he did know the faces of everyone in his home village. There were a mountain of adults that looked after him like a father. There were those who severely scolded his troublemaker self, and then also those who laughed, telling him how they were also the same in the past. Back during those days, Orba thought they were all annoying, but now having lost even that, he found the memories even a little nostalgic.

“Father.”

Urged by the heated flame lit within him, Orba suddenly called out to the emperor.

“What?”

Turning around, his face displayed a candid annoyance. Orba slowly raised his downturned eyes.

“If I may ‘use them as I please’, then I take it you don’t mind if I use those forces to take Ax’s head.”

“What?”

“And on the break of that dawn that I may also have the fortress city Taúlia Ax occupies.”

A still, heavy silence weighed on Orba’s shoulders.

Some tens of seconds later,

“You nitwit!”

The emperor shouted as loud as permitted him. And then he burst into a welling laughter.

“You nitwit, I said you could do as you pleased. Go ahead! I’d like to see this dunce of a dragonling that can barely flap his wings try!”

Because of standing rumours that the emperor had stopped smiling, even the distant imperial soldiers had come running in surprise at the sound of his bursting laughter. Stopping them with the raise of his hand, the emperor gave a further sneer and departed.

In the little remaining time before his departure, Orba was drowned in the flood of documents, books, and papers delivered to his room.

These documents listed the names of the commanding officers and captains amongst the soldiers accompanying him. Amongst the members of the Black Helmet Division was Bane’s name. He was someone Orba had incidentally requested when speaking with the assistant commander of the Black Helmet Division over the party’s formation. At that time, the date for Oubary’s main forces to set out was also drawing near, and any conflicting opinions being a waste of time may have been why it was easily agreed to.

In terms of ability, Bane was nothing much. Over the course of six years, his position had stopped at captain, meaning he most likely earned barely any achievements in the ten year war. But for Orba, there was reason for his irrepressible want for him.

And amongst the war slaves, Pashir’s name was of course present. In the days following the founding festival’s ‘Clovis’ Dragon Extermination’ Orba had not met him once, but according to Gowen’s testimony, he was obediently undergoing practice and drills at the time being. Also present, as the war slaves’ steward, was the name of Mira, who’d also attended the sword slaves at Solon’s grand stadium.

The rest he roughly glanced over. At the end of the list were the names of aspiring applicants that either wanted to join Orba’s forces or take on administrative roles in Apta. The majority were of noble descent; names of poor nobles or late sons of prestiged houses.

“Even though they’re the same nobles, they seem to each have their own circumstances.”

The chamberlain, Dinn, brought over a fresh batch of books to him.

“My arms are already swollen.” The boy winced from looking at the mountain of books stacked high in the room.

“Don’t tell me you plan on training even me and sending me out to the battlefield.”

“You said it.” 

Orba took a newly delivered book into his hand and flipped through its pages. It contained mostly the histories of countries neighbouring Mephius and compiled summaries of their current state and situation.

After what happened with Noue and Zaat, Orba fully realised he had absolutely no knowledge on these matters. Information was crucial in battles. He had experienced this first hand in his childhood days, and since then Orba always wanted to gather as much information on hand as possible. Of course, storing up information alone wasn’t enough, but having information provided from others’ thoughts and perspectives would affect the very breadth of his thinking.

“What about ''that''? There’s little of the vital information.”

“Do you mean of the current state of Taúlia and the western provinces? I’ve also been looking for them in as many ways as possible. What currently exist are only second hand copies based on a few books originating from countries to the northern coast. I admit even these books are outdated.”

“Why?”

“Mephian trade with the western world—in other words, the Tauran provinces—is banned. The former Zer Tauran was a country raised by the Bazgans, once Mephian vassals. Even now after Zer Tauran’s collapse, the Bazgan House continues to skirmish with us, and the other provinces are also ruled by Zer Tauran successors.”

“But even then...no, it’s for this reason that he should at least send tens or even a hundred spies over.”

“Please say that directly to His Majesty. I have nothing to do with it.”

“If speaking directly with him would have had any effect, I would’ve learned everything I needed to from the start.”

Orba further flipped through the pages.

''Strange.''

Feeling an inconsistency, he stopped his hands.

It wasn’t about how the emperor hadn’t handed him information on the west.

“Trade with the west is banned? How many years ago was this?”

“More than years, it should be decades, or even over a century. I don’t believe we ever signed a ceasefire or peace treaty since the Zer Tauran days.”

“Reeaalllyy.”

Closing the book, Orba stretched his legs over the table. “Here you go again,” Dinn reprimanded but Orba did not budge. Once he started thinking, he would not break from the forest of thoughts until he came up with his own solution.

Dinn had grown used to it.

“Come along now, prince. Before you turn silent from your thoughts, please state what foods you would prefer. The palace master chef should take even more time, and I’ll have you know I won’t take ‘Anything’s fine’ for an answer!”

Dinn could do nothing but perform his own duties to his best.

===Part 3===
The Solon west gates bustled with crowds coming to see off Prince Gil and his troops.

The group of cavaliers moving headfirst waved their spearflags while responding to the people’s cheers with waves of their hands.

Amongst those selected within the Imperial Guards was Shique. With vexingly good looks for a man, the refreshing figure of him mounted on his horse had particularly fanned the women and children’s heated cries.

As the dragoons under Oubary and the artillerymen under Odyne Lorgo went, the carriage carrying Princess Vileena came into sight along with the clattering sounds of its wheels. The joyous cheers as Vileena smiled and waved her hands out the window were noticeably high.

And as a new group of horsemen appeared behind as if guarding her rear, the streets were filled with a series of stirs different from previous ones.

Saddled on his gallant white horse, was Mephius’ crown prince Gil Mephius. His silver armour lavishly reflected the sun’s rays as if emitting a powerful radiance. And contrastively to his side was a black horse. Mounted was the iron masked gladiator. The pair was sent a frenzied applause.

“Gil-sama!”

“Prinncccee!”

“Look, it’s the ‘Clovis’, Orba!”

The combination of the young prince who rescued the country from a rebellion and his faithful masked warrior was a story worth passing down and heightened their popularity amongst the people.

Gil had limited himself to releasing one hand from the reins and lightly raising it, but Orba, probably unable to withstand the storm of cheers, wildly waved both arms, and suddenly stood straight up with both feet on the stirrup while having his horse do a light jump. Because the response was tremendous, he got carried away and did it multiple times, and in the end was nearly about to slip off the stirrup and fall.

“You idiot!” The mounted Gil—of course, this was the real Orba—shouted at him with a flushed face. “Behave yourself.”

The scolded Orba—the Imperial Guard Kain, who could also be said to be Orba’s body double—dejectedly dropped his shoulders. The cheers completely turned into a downpour of laughter.

“Well, I guess this could also be a form of extravagant publicity as we set out.”

Above the ramparts enclosing the gates was also the figure of Fedom Aulin.

He was the lord of Birac, but ever since he had disguised Orba as the prince, he had yet to return to his land even once. Although his family had also come to Solon for the festival, even when it was time for his wife and children to go back, he had insisted on staying in Solon, saying ‘I still have work to be done’.

“The prince has raised his name from his campaign against Ryucown and the incident with Zaat.” A tall young man, who at a glance appeared to be a boarder, whispered to him from beside. “This trend will make a good impetus for the people. It also denotes the continuation of the imperial family’s dignity.”

“Hmph—There are other ways if they care about their dignity. Look at those troops. They appear to be keeping their interval, but in the end they’re a poorly patched bunch. Former sword slaves acting as imperial guards, war slaves that had only recently attempted rebellion, and a mere hundred nominated soldiers; if an army from Taúlia truly marched in at full might, forget a month, it’s unlikely they’d even last three days.”

Fedom did not see eye to eye with the rumours regarding Ax Bazgan’s suspicious movements. If the emperor Guhl was fully certain that Ax would come attack Apta then he would have reinforced the army a bit more.

''I can’t imagine he would let him die this openly without batting an eye.''

Fedom bitterly clicked his tongue as he heard the yet unceasing cheers towards Prince Gil. What set him impatient now most above all was the piece of news that claimed Guhl’s second wife Melissa was pregnant. It was no more than a rumour whispered within the palace, but if it were to be true, then he would change his stand on how he viewed this treatment towards the prince.

''Curse you Guhl. Do you intend to distance the prince who has gained a rise in popularity from the centre of politics?''

He was irritated. Fedom Aulin was the perpetrator who had concealed the death of the actual Gil Mephius and set up the former gladiator Orba as a substitute. Of course, this was a large crime that if discovered would sentence his entire family and all those serving him to death. He continued his days coming off nights of insufficient sleep rushed by an impatience to get things done even a day sooner.

However, because Fedom originally took the stance of the anti-imperial faction, he required a different faction that would support the prince. He would have to gather those discontented towards the current emperor and ''not'' towards the very system of imperials, and who dreamed of advancement through a new order established under Prince Gil—a strengthened rectification of the country’s foundation, so to speak—if he did not want to end up like Ryucown who invested his life into a futureless rebellion.

Now, when things were finally beginning to take shape after discreetly taking ventures, and on a few occasions with ones dire enough to chill him down to his marrow, that Prince Gil was to be sent far off to the outlands that was also as well the country’s borders.

Naturally, he was not going to give up from this. In Fedom’s eyes, it might even be a good thing if a battle occurred at Apta once. Were the emperor to hesitate sending reinforcements during the prince’s crisis, then that would serve a common cause that might make it possible to remove the emperor from his seat.

''The two weeks before Oubary’s forces join them will be the determiner, will it.''

Then Fedom’s concern was on Orba who was more than likely to go off acting on his own and completely disregard his distresses. Then again, there ''was'' the difference in strength of forces and to add, his own forces were a cobbled together band that he could scarcely hope to take command of, so he shouldn’t really be able to move about as he pleased.

“Still—that rascal, he parted with some strange words.”

Directly before he departed, Orba had made Fedom an odd request. His troops would continue moving towards Apta by foot, it seemed. ‘I’d like you to let our flagship Doom temporarily anchor in Birac,’ Orba said.

“I’ll also leave a few winged dragon officers along with it. You can just leave the ship as is. They’ll move the ship when I’ll need it.”

“Why would you again do something so tedious?”

“It’s the thing called preparation. Don’t worry, just because you won’t be there doesn’t mean I’ll stop being his body double. The real prince should be remaining in Solon either way. I don’t know who’s targeting him, but you might as well look after him.”

“You seem to have grown quite fond of this game of war, prince.”

Fedom was busy carrying out his own plans.

“Be sure not to let your schemes get the better of you. If all you’re going to do is fortify the fortress’ defences, I won’t say a word. But just you try running rampant with your arbitrary actions and exceeding my patience. At that time...”

“I get it, Lord Fedom Aulin.”

Orba smiled lightly. Fedom had, to be honest, felt a shudder from that smile.

''He resembles him,'' he had thought.

Not the real Gil Mephius. Instead, that moment Fedom felt him the splitting image of the father, Guhl Mephius, despite his appearance being entirely the same as Gil.

Before long the troops exited the gate and the cheers gradually came to a halt.

Fedom also began to leave and quickly called out to the young man who stood at the same spot as him.

“What’s wrong, Hermann. Is there something you’re uneasy about?”

The magician servant, gently turned his head.

The man’s face was expressionless, and Fedom had long been unable to read him. Though there were times he appeared a young man, depending on the angle of lighting, there were times he appeared to far exceed Fedom in age. Fedom perked his fleshy shoulders.

“We also have a mountain of preparations to do. Many of them will require your insight. For the time being I won’t forgive you going off on your own.”

“I do understand, milord.”

Hermann lightly nodded, but, as he was about to make his leave, he cast his glance once more across the walls towards the road the prince and his troops departed on.

''“Hmm.”''

He murmured in a small voice inaudible to even Fedom.

''“‘His’ fate is certainly to move largely riding the ‘gale’. That speed is faster than my eyes can grasp.”''

''But—Oh my.''

''How strange. The ‘gale’ is certainly blowing and I can unmistakably see its direction. But the destination of the crucial ‘he’—this single future step, is darkly shut. What could this possibly—?''

In this time of the year, Solon’s skies were clear. The untempered sunlight shone on the prince and his party’s armour and the resulting row of bending lights faded into the distance. Not too long after, they could no longer be seen from even the tallest of Solon’s towers.

“Have they gone?”

As for the emperor Guhl, he had not even gone to see them off and spent the entire time in his personal room performing various miscellaneous tasks.

“Yes.”

The one responding was the former council president, Simon Rodloom.

“The prince is certainly in high spirits. He has unmistakably put his all in adorning his men in uniform.”

“He’s still a child, that one.”

“I quite enjoy it. Rather, it is by outstripping those childish traits one by one that he can steadily climb the steps towards adulthood.”

“You are patient,” the emperor grunted. ”In politics and in parenting both. What will you do about the problem of Rodloom house’s successor?”

“Well,”

Simon smiled bashfully.

He had two daughters; both of which were already married. Normally one would have entered one of the two husbands into the family register, but Simon had yet to decide. He had no particular qualms about their pedigree or personality but…

“I’m afraid if I rush the decision, I’ll grow old all at once.”

“How like you, Simon.”

The emperor nodded in assent without so much a laugh.

''Is His Majesty tired?''

Sometimes his emotions were fierce, such that they were as glaring as the Dragon God’s vigour, and just as frequently, sometimes his responses were like a completely withered flame.

“Two days back, if I remember correctly,” the emperor spoke, taking the chance to close his eyes, “Princess Vileena petitioned for an audience. What reason do you think for?”

“What could it be?...The case between Ende and Garbera, perhaps?”

“That may be. However, she did not touch on it with a single word and expressed her intent to give a farewell greeting. At the end she declared, ‘In the near future, my fathers will number two. May you watch over your health.’”

''—''

In the situation something were to happen to Garbera, how would the allied Mephius move? Thoughts within the imperial court in regards to that were quite varied. As for Vileena, she had likely said it with the implied meaning ‘should that time come I pray you will come to Garbera’s aid’.

“A princess, brave and able to take action. Thoughts wishing Gil had even a fragment of her capacity have also crossed my mind.”

“Your Majesty...”

“I will admit that Gil has grown in his own way. However, he cannot hope to carry the burden of the country as he is. To be a ruler is to sometimes see black as white; to listen to all things but also to not show hesitation against dissent; to speak one’s own words from the very start.”

“There is no one who can lead from the start. Not even the greatest of monarchs and heroes written down in history. I’m afraid to say, Your Majesty, it is not that I am patient, but that you are impatient.”

“I may not have been a good father. I shall also admit to that.”

The emperor said as if to put an end their conversation, perhaps finding it to have taken an unpleasant turn.

There were a mountain of things Simon wanted to discuss with the emperor that needed to be said directly. The case of the Dragon God Shrine was also one of them. But he realised that what stood before him was like a heavy leaden wall, that no matter what words he tried to put forth, they would only rebound.

''Can you no longer believe in anyone, Guhl?''

He called out to his old friend internally.

''I see, to be a ruler is to live in solitude.'' As Simon looked along the deep wrinkles, so deep almost as if someone carved them into him, and his whitened hair and beard, he saw an aged emperor weary from a long period of solitude, but who was at the same time very stubborn and refusing to separate from his chair.

''It might be that he’s afraid.''

The flash of realisation suddenly hit him. This owed to the emperor’s current appearance, face down and attentively cleaning up the paperwork, being comparable to that of a small, frail old man.

''Afraid of himself who has stopped being an emperor, and his own son who he has stopped loving, be he fool or not. Or perhaps—''

There was no way Simon Rodloom could not be familiar with the fatigue of someone having engaged in the country’s politics for a long time. Simon believed this may have been a premonition of things to come.

''Rule mustn’t continue to be entrusted to the hands of the weary. Old blood must eventually be replaced by new blood. Should that time be mistaken, the country will be eaten away by disease from within and before long, perish.''

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3_Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter1

2015-03-05T21:18:16Z

MondSemmel: /* Part 3 */

==Imperial Capital Departure==
===Part 1===
A sparrow wandered astray over the stone pavings.

It cocked its head once, twice, perplexed by a feeling of estrangement and then flapped its wings in a fluster.

Immediately following, a gust of wind rushed past as a gigantic shadow soared overhead. At a glance, it might be seen as a living creature. Its long neck, a ferocious face baring its fangs, and its large wings spread at its sides—a wyvern.

Alas, things like winged dragons did not inhabit this continent. Its howl, shrill as the creaking of metal, sounded from the humming of its ether engine, and its skin was the weightless metal, dragonstone, lightly painted over in bronze. Namely, this was the Mephius Empire’s airship.

These man-made wyverns carrying pilots in their bosoms took off from the ground in succession.

Orba looked up to watch them, his hand forming a visor over his eyes.

Flying front was the man named Neil Thompson, and simply being fairly skilled made him stand out greatly above the rest. Neil beautifully tilted the ship’s wings to a turn as the other ships frantically chased after it, like chicks straying from its mother.

But the one Orba hurled words of anger towards amongst them following their momentary return was Neil.

“This is no place to make a show of your theatrics! Pay more attention to the others! You won’t be able to do anything by yourself on the battlefield. Now, have another go.”

Pressed on by Orba—or to them, the first crown prince of the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius, Gil Mephius—the pilots hurriedly launched off to the skies in their ships once more.

“You don’t have to be so snappy, do you? I think they’re doing on the better side.”

Orba roughly shook off Shique who came snuggling onto his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter how well they do for ‘slaves’. You think I can be satisfied with such a level?”

The parade ground near the Imperial Guards’ barracks; a small-scale gladiator arena rebuilt. Small as it may be called, its extensive interior housed an airship runway and to add, was situated beside the dragons’ stable.

“But you know, Orba,” the bronzen faced Gowen spoke, “it’s not even been a month since you started the airship unit. There’s not much you can do even if you’re running out of patience.”

“I wouldn’t have expected to hear that from you. You’re the one who sent me out to kill in under two weeks of teaching me how to hold a sword.”

“There’s no meaning in using slaves as a comparison, is there?” Gowen replied, directing Orba’s words back at him. “There are different circumstances now compared to then. You can’t buy however much of them as you want.”

Even if these former slaves didn’t fall behind soldiers in terms of individual skill, they had trouble cooperating in numbers. And it was because it was Gowen, who was retraining the infantry comprising of the swords slaves from scratch, saying this that these words held persuasive power.

Orba said no more. His face twisted slightly in pain as he moved to cross his arms. His right arm was dressed in bandages and stood hanging.

—Roughly half a month had passed since the disturbance caused by Zaat Quark’s rebellion. Injured from the series of battles during the gladiator’s tournament and to further add, being shot by Zaat Quark, his body naturally had yet to recover. However one week prior, Orba was summoned by the emperor and ordered to head for the southern city of Apta—the land taken in the ten year strife with Garbera and the very fortress city his brother Roan had been drafted to. There was no time for him to allow his body to rest. Just when Shique and Gowen thought he was holing himself up in his room buried under a mountain of books, they’d find him zealously directing the Imperial Guard’s training like so.

“Ah, there you go, quiet again.” Shique shrugged his shoulders in jest. “We get indescribably uneasy when you turn silent. I can’t help thinking that you might be getting weird thoughts again.”

At that time, a lively voice sounded.

“A wonderful sight, isn’t it!”

When he heard this voice which was out of place in this brutish location, Orba’s face tensed for some reason.

Gowen and Shique were slightly amused at seeing this and shifted their gaze taking a smile.

“It pains me to say that it is not anything much for a proper lady to see.”

The one they laid sight on was Garbera’s third princess, Vileena Owell, accompanied by her maid Theresia. Her platinum hair shone a transparent white under the morning sun. She had been forced into the women’s chambers since her coming to Mephius, but with her efforts flying the airship together with the prince during Zaat’s rebellion, she seemed to have been given a relative amount of freedom as of late. Two days ago after mentioning how the Imperial Guards were doing air training at breakfast, she had exclaimed ‘I simply must watch’.

The young girl’s eyes squinted as they followed the airships’ movements, and her cheeks flushed lightly.

''She’s an unusual princess.''

Orba strongly reaffirmed this thought.

After the mission at Apta ended, they would formally become married—as Emperor Guhl had declared, but that was ultimately only said to Gil and not openly announced. With the progress in discussions over the wedding obscure, Vileena was as she had always been, in an insecure position.

“His Highness is a perfectionist after all,” Shique commented, intentionally returning to the previous conversation. “He tells them ‘fly shoulder to shoulder with the Garberan airship platoon’ within under a month of training.”

“I didn’t—”

—say that, he tried to refute, but before he could continue...

“There is always a beginning to everything. Air training in particular comes with accidents. If you do not pay careful attention to the pilots’ condition, the ship’s maintenance and such, then your platoon will assuredly be destroyed before you can achieve its desired growth, your Highness.”

With regard to airships, Vileena was an expert. She spoke proudly in a sharp tone with her childish face.

“But there also isn’t much time left until departure.”

Orba averted his gaze from Vileena who tried to confront him directly.

“Is it not all right if you also perform them in Apta, your Highness?” Shique said. “It’s as if you believe Ax might try to commence war the very day we arrive in Apta.”

Zaat’s rebellion had been quelled by Orba’s hand, but because it happened during the founding festival where a good number of envoys had been invited, news of it reached the surrounding countries. Furthermore, there were reports of suspicious activity from the Taúlia province located southwest to Mephius around the same time.

Taúlia bordered the Aptan region. It was probable Taúlia’s governing general, Ax Bazgan, would target the moment Apta was returned by Garbera and advance his army there.

However, with Zaat’s rebellion, Guhl Mephius was in a precarious situation where he could not trust his retainers, even those serving him longest. For that reason, Guhl had appointed his born son, Gil, to commander of Apta’s troops, deeming it inappropriate to divide his troops to fend off invasion.

“It’ll only be trouble if I don’t get them ready as soon as possible. I’ve realised since Zaat’s incident. No matter how peacefully we may have joined with Garbera, the flames of dissent are always at our feet even within our country’s borders. There’s no harm in being too prepared.”

“Speaking of Zaat Quark, I have not seen Ineli since the incident. Have you met with her since then, prince?”

“Ineli?”

The unexpected name left Orba half startled. “No.” He shook his head. Vileena angrily knit her eyebrows.

“Please also pay some attention to things outside of military affairs. Being taken prisoner by Zaat surely must have given her a fright. Is she not shutting herself in her room? I have been meaning to visit her, but what say you we go together?”

“Well, that is…”

Orba wasn’t sure what to say. As Vileena had mentioned, Ineli was taken prisoner by Zaat in the midst of the uproar. And in front Orba and Vileena who went to save her, she had a gun thrust at her. But what went through Orba’s mind now wasn’t that, but the scene he had seen at the party during the founding festival; the one where Ineli and Vileena glared at one another by the fountain.

The Garberan princess seemed to have already long forgotten their discord, but as for Ineli, he didn’t believe she would be as forgiving. Rather, judging from her personality, being saved by the Vileena she hated and so detested, she would have felt it humiliating.

“I think it’s best if you don’t.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Well, the thing is, if she’s received a shock from that incident, it’s best to gently leave it alone. If either I or the princess go see her, it might bring back the memories and do more harm than good.”

“See, princess? It’s as I told you.” Theresia said. “I am of the same opinion of as His Highness. It’s best to quietly leave Ineli alone precisely if you’re worried about her.”

“What is this. The prince, and Theresia as well, are treating my feelings as if they were an oblivious child’s.”

Her face quickly fell into a sulk and she stomped her small feet against the ground. In fact, it was because it was exactly as she said that Orba was lost for words. She was overall a quick-witted princess albeit young, but when it came to the subtleties in personal relations, she was poorly informed.

Orba unintentionally sent a look over to Theresia.

''It must be tough.''

The princess’ maid was momentarily surprised, then slightly turned her eyes down and chuckled in agreement.

''Damn it!''

Orba was also surprised. He had expressed his sentiments towards Theresia, but it was as ‘Orba’. Not the crown prince. That was probably why Theresia had also been surprised.

“Now,” Orba spoke up in an attempt to try to smooth things over. “I will, then, patiently wait out the airship unit’s results. I, am going to check out the dragon’s situ—”

Orba turned to look at the dragon’s stable by the parade ground, but right at that moment, he saw several figures heading this way. In front, skipping her way towards them, was a petite girl. Coming up to Orba, Ronnie Lorgo stopped and tugging her skirt, made a bow.

“Fare greetings, your Imperial Highness.”

“Aah.”

She was daughter of Mephius’ general, Odyne Lorgo, and thirteen years old. Though a young girl, she had saddled on top a dragon’s back during the founding festival and carried out the coming-of-age ceremony.

“Hurry and come over. Oh Romus, even though you’re not afraid of dragons, you’re helplessly shy around people.”

She loudly called over the young boy timidly toddling behind. As always, his greetings in front of the prince were soft.

“Really, you’re spineless.”

“No, it’s not that he’s spineless, but that milady here is strong,” Orba jested. “Your courage is promising. However, the dragons’ stable isn’t suitable as a playground.”

“Oh my. It’s not that we are strolling around here for no apparent reason, prince,” Ronnie responded disapprovingly in a lady-like manner. “Romus has been coming here everyday and as his senior I’ve gotten concerned for him.”

“Oh? Is Romus aspiring to be a dragoon?”

“He is not, your highness. Romus, you’re really here for the dragon, aren’t you? It’s not that you’re longing to become a dragoon, right?”

“W-what’s that to do with you.”

Romus’ face reddened. There was one other coming from the dragon stable’s direction. The dragon trainer Hou Ran assigned as part of the prince’s Imperial Battalion. It seemed she was looking over the dragoon’s training. Even if she wasn’t, she was usually here at the stable caring for the dragons all day.

“There’s no need to worry about Romus.”

Ran said outright, as if she had heard the conversation from start to end.

“He’s gotten even more used to dragons than Orba. In another half year, he might be able to hear and understand their ‘voice’. There’s little to no chance he will get attacked even at the dragon’s stable.”

Theresia breathed a gasp of wonder. She found not only Ran’s nomadic appearance unusual, but also the combination of her proportional body, dark skin, and pale hair to be strangely alluring.

“If that’s what you say, I’m sure that’s how it is. How are the dragoons’ condition? And have you sorted the dragons we will take with us to Apta?”

“I can somehow manage if I’m with them. As long as they’re within my eye’s reach. No one here has even a fragment of Romus’ talent. More than sorting the dragons Orba will need to sort the soldiers.”

“R-Right.”

“Also, aren’t the dragons we’re bring with us a bit too many to not be using the carrier? With the numbers Orba’s said, it’s more than I can manage.”

“Not using the carrier?”

Shique raised his voice in alarm.

“Why? Marching to Apta in file will take a week. Transporting the dragons and weapons would also be more convenient with a carrier.”

“Because I want to be seen off and cheered by the people.”

Orba’s response was blunt. It was times like these his behaviour denoted a reluctance to voice his thoughts any further. Because Shique and Gowen understood this, they made no further protest, bearing a look that said ''here we go again.''

“''Orba'', is it.”

But Princess Vileena’s attention seemed to be hung on something else. The thought “oh crap” could be read on the prince’s face.

“A considerable amount of trust sure is placed on that swordsman. It was also the case at the founding festival, but it seems he has been tasked with several important duties this time as well.”

“Ah, yeah. He’s...handy.”

Orba gibbered, stealthily sneaking a glare at Ran’s direction. Vileena became slightly indignant.

“However, he appeared to have been injured a good deal from the arena. Although you yourself prince have also suffered injuries, how about you heed your subjects a bit more.”

“Uh, yeah, you’re right.”

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v03 031.jpg|thumb]]

“Despite how strong a person you yourself may be, that is not always the case for others. Above all, prince, your numbers mustn’t diminish any more. If you don’t allow them a word and only have them quietly obey you, no matter how fine a swordsman Orba is, even he will eventually...”

“Ha!”

At that moment, Ran snorted. For an instant, everyone was bewildered by the almost outright scorn. Who this was directed towards they did not know.

“Orba seems to be rather favoured by the princess.”

Her lips swerved into a thin, open smile, and then she turned her back, promptly returning to the dragon’s housing. Romus hurriedly chased after her, and Ronnie subsequently followed in a dash. Orba and everyone else saw them off stupefied.

“That young lady,” Theresia spoke shortly after adding in a cough, “isn’t she somewhat lacking in her manners? To act like that when the crown prince and Princess Vileena are present...”

“Ah. I’m truly ashamed. I apologize on behalf of my daughter’s discourtesy.”

The adopted father Gowen lowered his greying head. It was Orba’s first time seeing him bow down his large frame.

But Theresia also wasn’t truly angry. As evidence of that,

“That young lady,” she said once more, leaving a pause as if add weight, “Is she Sir Orba’s lover?”

“A-Absurd. —Why would you think that?”

“It is no such thing as absurd. I only felt that was how it was.”

“And I’m asking, why?”

“Now why, I wonder. I instead find the prince’s manner of disarray strangely odd. This might even be a harbinger of love for Sir Orba.”

Absurd! Orba muttered once more, facing away. He had known Hou Ran for over two years, but never noticed any attraction towards her. It might have been ''because'' he hadn’t, or that he ''shouldn’t'' have had any, that having this suddenly pointed out disturbed him.

For some time after, Orba and the others inattentively watched over the airship unit’s training. Shortly before the hour of noon, Vileena excused herself and Theresia from the platform. The princess would also be accompanying them to Apta. They had said there was still packing to be done.

When Orba finally thought he could take a breath of air, he overheard some unexpected words from Shique.

“The princess isn’t in too high of spirits is she.”

“Really? I don’t see any big difference from usual. If that’s her in low spirits, then the usual Vileena will be a far tougher opponent than Ryucown and Pashir.”

“Orba...right, you don’t understand the subtleties of women.”

“Does a misogynist have any right to say that?”

“It’s not that I hate them because I don’t understand them. It’s because I understand them too much that I hate them.”

Back at the days when he was a gladiator, Shique was exceptionally popular with women. There were many noblewomen piling up large sums of gold before the slave merchant Tarkas to be his patron. And to each and every one of them, Shique refused and snorted at them.

“Then again, it isn’t really that complicated. She probably knows about the rumours of ongoing tension between Garbera and Ende. Of course, she’s not a princess that wouldn’t grieve knowing of her home’s hardships.”

“It’s hard to say Garbera has fully recovered from Ryucown’s previous rebellion,” Gowen agreed. “It’s the same for Mephius, but at the least we were able to stop it before it occurred. To others, you could even say it’s been put out. But they experienced betrayal from one of their most famed generals. It’s certain to have a lasting effect.”

“I could care less about other countries’ troubles,” Orba promptly parted the remark. He then called the captain Neil back, bringing the training to an end. A separate unit was scheduled for training here after. With Pashir included, they consisted of the slaves from the recent rebellion whom Orba had added to his forces. Having once taken advantage of the opportunity provided by Zaat and attempting a rebellion, he could not just appoint them as regular soldiers and thus had designated them war slaves under the Imperial Guard’s command.

Orba had no business here. He had already earned the resentment of the slaves by having obstructed the rebellion, and had no intention of possibly aggravating them further by remaining to watch.

On this note, he entrusted their training to Gowen. A man originally a supervisor over sword slaves and versed in drills.

“I’ll leave the rest to you.”

“Aah.”

Orba double-timed out of the parade ground.

Shique, who had stayed behind, took notice of Gowen’s sudden masked snicker.

“What’s the matter?”

“No, it’s just how he said ‘I’ll leave the rest to you.’ That damn little squirt’s position has sure changed in under two years.”

“And he’s gotten frightfully used to it too.”

“The weird one isn’t only him, but me who’s also grown used to these positions.”

“Yeah.” Shique strangely broke into a grin. “I’m no longer surprised by anything he says or does. If I don’t get used to that, it’ll only ruin my health.”

As Shique gave his agreement with a smile, Gowen watched Orba’s retreating figure in the distance.

“It would be good if it was only a problem of getting used to. Lately, he’s been devoting himself too much to being the crown prince.”

That single phrase, heard by no one, disappeared into the blowing sand and wind.

Solon saw the coming of noon.

===Part 2===
‘Emperor Guhl Mephius has stopped smiling.’ Orba had lost count how many times he had heard these murmurings inside the palace.

The former emperor often joked in front of his retainers and filled the halls with his jovial voice—he’d heard. Orba himself had only met with him a handful of times since pretending to be his actual son, so he didn’t know of this ‘former’ emperor.

Most notably, the emperor didn’t so much as chuckle after Zaat’s rebellion. His lips swerved into frowns, and he constantly rest his face against his hands in ill humour.

''I get chills every time he looks at me.''

These whispers he had also heard countlessly.

The emperor worked endlessly towards increasing the imperial family’s—or more precisely, the emperor’s—authority.

“There is no longer anyone who can make a single objection to His Majesty.”

Fedom had muttered shortly before with a near trembling face.

“If these were vassals such as Colyne satisfied with readily following orders, that might be good in itself...however, for prideful nobles like myself who harbour the slightest thought for Mephius’ future, should even that pride be considered a nuisance that we may be dismissed by the emperor, we might as well be dead.”

''There’s Simon Rodloom.''

Orba first conjured that name. At the time of the festival when Orba joined the emperor for breakfast, he had stated his own opinions without fear of the emperor. Whatmore, it was directly after Zaat had been confined.

''If it’s that man, wouldn’t he fearlessly oppose the emperor without thought of personal gain or self-protection when necessary?''

''Hm?—''

Orba twisted his lips, taken by these mysterious thoughts. He would have never believed himself to recognise a Mephian noble even a little bit as a person back when he was a gladiator.

Currently directly in front of Orba, his head bowed continuing his prayers with his eyes fixed on no particular point, was that very emperor, Guhl Mephius.

At the Black Tower, centre of the imperial capital of Solon.

The soldiers assigned as lookouts recognised Orba and gave a bow. They were his guide and proceeded towards the tower’s underground. They passed by numerous people. They were half bare men carrying excavated rocks and rubble. Most were slaves or criminals.

In this underground was a certain Dragon God Mausoleum, currently in the midst of construction. While the Dragon God’s Temple was being built in a location closer to the palace, the entirety of the mausoleum would be transferred here.

The emperor was ahead at their place of destination. He stood before an enormous carving depicting the Dragon God’s form. This was the place they held the rituals to pray for abundant harvests directly before the festival had begun. This painting would also eventually be carved out and be established within the temple.

Orba politely gave words of greeting, but the emperor replied with only a grunt and nod, and occupied himself in issuing orders to the surrounding people.

He waited for a time—a long time.

Ten minutes must have passed, when the emperor stepped forth from the row of people. Orba once again lowered his head.

“I will set out the day after tomorrow.”

“I see.”

The emperor passed by him showing no signs of stopping, but then suddenly halted and peered into Orba’s face.

“You’re growing more and more to resemble your mother.”

“Ha, hahah. I-Is that so?”

Even the famed gladiator found himself dripping in cold sweat. Then the emperor resumed walking again and Orba followed behind.

“It is not only your face. There are many who say you’ve changed into a different person, and it’s them following with such compliments as saying you’ve inherited my blood that irk me so.”

“I only received advice from my men.”

Behind and in front of them were Imperial Guards directly under the emperor assigned guard, but they kept their distance. Within the naturally chilly cave workings, the surroundings fell into an eerie silence as the voices and figures of the slaves grew further.

“Was that also the same with regards to Zaat? You happened to get advice from someone? Surely it wasn’t from me. I wasn’t given a single notice.”

“Yes. N-no, I mean—the one who planned it was me. Only, I was somewhat uneasy over my own thoughts and went to Fedom to receive his wisdom. However, I had consulted him without mentioning Zaat’s name, nor informing him of the situation’s urgency, merely as an assumption,” Orba quickly replied.

“And whose suggestion was it to purposely aim at the time of Zaat’s rebellion? Had I been immediately notified, I could have quietly subdued Zaat without the ambassadors and guests from abroad noticing.”

The emperor stopped walking. There was no path ahead, only a cliff looming 50 metres tall. The dim light of a single candle placed on the walls flickered over the shadow cast on the emperor’s face.

“I do not plan to excuse myself for my actions. I wanted...an accomplishment that would make me be recognized by many. I didn’t consider the lives of the soldiers and ambassadors—It was thoughtless of me. I beg your forgiveness.”

“That’s wrong, isn’t it?”

The emperor flatly concluded. He refaced Orba, who took a deep gulp.

“No, it ''is'' wrong. You don’t trust in ''me''.”

“I-I wouldn’t—”

“You only wanted an accomplishment? If there is a part of you that has changed, it’s how you would even dare mouth such as insolent excuse towards me above all.”

The recesses of his eyes reflected the colour of the flames, and seemed to wrap around his body and soul like a snake. Orba said nothing, only shamefully lowering his head.”

“I see. So a dragon’s child is a dragon. For we imperials who succeed the blood of the Dragon God Mephius, it may be that even you cannot forever stay a dragonling.”

The word’s echo held neither conceit nor scorn. The emperor walked towards Orba who continued facing down.

“However, it seems you take much more strongly after your mother than I. It’s not only your face, but your character. In the end you stray from the Mephius imperial customs and are unable to open you heart to me; you’ve inherited that frail trait.”

After gazing into his face one last time, he passed his shoulder.

“Very well. If you’ve begun to sprout a dragon’s wings, then I’ll have you match up to that expectation and keep Ax Bazgan in place. After two weeks, Oubary’s forces shall join yours. If it’s to protect the fortress alone, those forces should be more than sufficient.”

''Oubary.''

At that moment, a single hot flame lit within Orba’s chilled heart.

Amongst the forces Orba was bringing to Apta, there would also be fifty men borrowed from Oubary’s Black Helmet Division. Oubary himself would be dispatched to the southeastern parts of Mephius along with his 500 men. Several days after Zaat’s rebellion, slaves revolted in the southeastern Kiluro, and he had been tasked with suppressing them.

During the uproar at the Grand Stadium, Oubary had disappeared quite quickly, resulting in doubts and animosity from the emperor and statesmen. It had therefore become hard for him to stay in Solon and he also likely wanted to use this to wipe clean his bad name.

“Use them as you please. You may wield your powers as commander to your heart’s content. In return, I won’t have any complaint no matter the circumstance. Either way, you consider me beneath your notice. Any worry would be meaningless.”

The emperor receded away from Orba into the distance along with his ringing echo, this time it being rich in ridicule. Orba breathed a sigh of relief, grateful he had somehow managed to end this without his identity being exposed. At the same time, an unfamiliar feeling passed him.

''Are fathers...''

''Are all fathers meant to be like this? That they hate and deplore their own sons—or is it because they are nobles that they’re so strange.''

Orba held no memories of his father. However, he did know the faces of everyone in his home village. There were a mountain of adults that looked after him like a father. There were those who severely scolded his troublemaker self, and then also those who laughed, telling him how they were also the same in the past. Back during those days, Orba thought they were all annoying, but now having lost even that, he found the memories even a little nostalgic.

“Father.”

Urged by the heated flame lit within him, Orba suddenly called out to the emperor.

“What?”

Turning around, his face displayed a candid annoyance. Orba slowly raised his downturned eyes.

“If I may ‘use them as I please’, then I take it you don’t mind if I use those forces to take Ax’s head.”

“What?”

“And on the break of that dawn that I may also have the fortress city Taúlia Ax occupies.”

A still, heavy silence weighed on Orba’s shoulders.

Some tens of seconds later,

“You nitwit!”

The emperor shouted as loud as permitted him. And then he burst into a welling laughter.

“You nitwit, I said you could do as you pleased. Go ahead! I’d like to see this dunce of a dragonling that can barely flap his wings try!”

Because of standing rumours that the emperor had stopped smiling, even the distant imperial soldiers had come running in surprise at the sound of his bursting laughter. Stopping them with the raise of his hand, the emperor gave a further sneer and departed.

In the little remaining time before his departure, Orba was drowned in the flood of documents, books, and papers delivered to his room.

These documents listed the names of the commanding officers and captains amongst the soldiers accompanying him. Amongst the members of the Black Helmet Division was Bane’s name. He was someone Orba had incidentally requested when speaking with the assistant commander of the Black Helmet Division over the party’s formation. At that time, the date for Oubary’s main forces to set out was also drawing near, and any conflicting opinions being a waste of time may have been why it was easily agreed to.

In terms of ability, Bane was nothing much. Over the course of six years, his position had stopped at captain, meaning he most likely earned barely any achievements in the ten year war. But for Orba, there was reason for his irrepressible want for him.

And amongst the war slaves, Pashir’s name was of course present. In the days following the founding festival’s ‘Clovis’ Dragon Extermination’ Orba had not met him once, but according to Gowen’s testimony, he was obediently undergoing practice and drills at the time being. Also present, as the war slaves’ steward, was the name of Mira, who’d also attended the sword slaves at Solon’s grand stadium.

The rest he roughly glanced over. At the end of the list were the names of aspiring applicants that either wanted to join Orba’s forces or take on administrative roles in Apta. The majority were of noble descent; names of poor nobles or late sons of prestiged houses.

“Even though they’re the same nobles, they seem to each have their own circumstances.”

The chamberlain, Dinn, brought over a fresh batch of books to him.

“My arms are already swollen.” The boy winced from looking at the mountain of books stacked high in the room.

“Don’t tell me you plan on training even me and sending me out to the battlefield.”

“You said it.” 

Orba took a newly delivered book into his hand and flipped through its pages. It contained mostly the histories of countries neighbouring Mephius and compiled summaries of their current state and situation.

After what happened with Noue and Zaat, Orba fully realised he had absolutely no knowledge on these matters. Information was crucial in battles. He had experienced this first hand in his childhood days, and since then Orba always wanted to gather as much information on hand as possible. Of course, storing up information alone wasn’t enough, but having information provided from others’ thoughts and perspectives would affect the very breadth of his thinking.

“What about ''that''? There’s little of the vital information.”

“Do you mean of the current state of Taúlia and the western provinces? I’ve also been looking for them in as many ways as possible. What currently exist are only second hand copies based on a few books originating from countries to the northern coast. I admit even these books are outdated.”

“Why?”

“Mephian trade with the western world—in other words, the Tauran provinces—is banned. The former Zer Tauran was a country raised by the Bazgans, once Mephian vassals. Even now after Zer Tauran’s collapse, the Bazgan House continues to skirmish with us, and the other provinces are also ruled by Zer Tauran successors.”

“But even then...no, it’s for this reason that he should at least send tens or even a hundred spies over.”

“Please say that directly to His Majesty. I have nothing to do with it.”

“If speaking directly with him would have had any effect, I would’ve learned everything I needed to from the start.”

Orba further flipped through the pages.

''Strange.''

Feeling an inconsistency, he stopped his hands.

It wasn’t about how the emperor hadn’t handed him information on the west.

“Trade with the west is banned? How many years ago was this?”

“More than years, it should be decades, or even over a century. I don’t believe we ever signed a ceasefire or peace treaty since the Zer Tauran days.”

“Reeaalllyy.”

Closing the book, Orba stretched his legs over the table. “Here you go again,” Dinn reprimanded but Orba did not budge. Once he started thinking, he would not break from the forest of thoughts until he came up with his own solution.

Dinn had grown used to it.

“Come along now, prince. Before you turn silent from your thoughts, please state what foods you would prefer. The palace master chef should take even more time, and I’ll have you know I won’t take ‘Anything’s fine’ for an answer!”

Dinn could do nothing but perform his own duties to his best.

===Part 3===
The Solon west gates bustled with crowds coming to see off Prince Gil and his troops.

The group of cavaliers moving headfirst waved their spearflags while responding to the people’s cheers with waves of their hands.

Amongst those selected within the Imperial Guards was Shique. With vexingly good looks for a man, the refreshing figure of him mounted on his horse had particularly fanned the women and children’s heated cries.

As the dragoons under Oubary and the artillerymen under Odyne Lorgo went, the carriage carrying Princess Vileena came into sight along with the clattering sounds of its wheels. The joyous cheers as Vileena smiled and waved her hands out the window were noticeably high.

And as a new group of horsemen appeared behind as if guarding her rear, the streets were filled with a series of stirs different from previous ones.

Saddled on his gallant white horse, was Mephius’ crown prince Gil Mephius. His silver armour lavishly reflected the sun’s rays as if emitting a powerful radiance. And contrastively to his side was a black horse. Mounted was the iron masked gladiator. The pair was sent a frenzied applause.

“Gil-sama!”

“Prinncccee!”

“Look, it’s the ‘Clovis’, Orba!”

The combination of the young prince who rescued the country from a rebellion and his faithful masked warrior was a story worth passing down and heightened their popularity amongst the people.

Gil had limited himself to releasing one hand from the reins and lightly raising it, but Orba, probably unable to withstand the storm of cheers, wildly waved both arms, and suddenly stood straight up with both feet on the stirrup while having his horse do a light jump. Because the response was tremendous, he got carried away and did it multiple times, and in the end was nearly about to slip off the stirrup and fall.

“You idiot!” The mounted Gil—of course, this was the real Orba—shouted at him with a flushed face. “Behave yourself.”

The scolded Orba—the Imperial Guard Kain, who could also be said to be Orba’s body double—dejectedly dropped his shoulders. The cheers completely turned into a downpour of laughter.

“Well, I guess this could also be a form of extravagant publicity as we set out.”

Above the ramparts enclosing the gates was also the figure of Fedom Aulin.

He was the lord of Birac, but ever since he had disguised Orba as the prince, he had yet to return to his land even once. Although his family had also come to Solon for the festival, even when it was time for his wife and children to go back, he had insisted on staying in Solon, saying ‘I still have work to be done’.

“The prince has raised his name from his campaign against Ryucown and the incident with Zaat.” A tall young man, who at a glance appeared to be a boarder, whispered to him from beside. “This trend will make a good impetus for the people. It also denotes the continuation of the imperial family’s dignity.”

“Hmph—There are other ways if they care about their dignity. Look at those troops. They appear to be keeping their interval, but in the end they’re a poorly patched bunch. Former sword slaves acting as imperial guards, war slaves that had only recently attempted rebellion, and a mere hundred nominated soldiers; if an army from Taúlia truly marched in at full might, forget a month, it’s unlikely they’d even last three days.”

Fedom did not see eye to eye with the rumours regarding Ax Bazgan’s suspicious movements. If the emperor Guhl was fully certain that Ax would come attack Apta then he would have reinforced the army a bit more.

''I can’t imagine he would let him die this openly without batting an eye.''

Fedom bitterly clicked his tongue as he heard the yet unceasing cheers towards Prince Gil. What set him impatient now most above all was the piece of news that claimed Guhl’s second wife Melissa was pregnant. It was no more than a rumour whispered within the palace, but if it were to be true, then he would change his stand on how he viewed this treatment towards the prince.

''Curse you Guhl. Do you intend to distance the prince who has gained a rise in popularity from the centre of politics?''

He was irritated. Fedom Aulin was the perpetrator who had concealed the death of the actual Gil Mephius and set up the former gladiator Orba as a substitute. Of course, this was a large crime that if discovered would sentence his entire family and all those serving him to death. He continued his days coming off nights of insufficient sleep rushed by an impatience to get things done even a day sooner.

However, because Fedom originally took the stance of the anti-imperial faction, he required a different faction that would support the prince. He would have to gather those discontented towards the current emperor and ''not'' towards the very system of imperials, and who dreamed of advancement through a new order established under Prince Gil—a strengthened rectification of the country’s foundation, so to speak—if he did not want to end up like Ryucown who invested his life into a futureless rebellion.

Now, when things were finally beginning to take shape after discreetly taking ventures, and on a few occasions with ones dire enough to chill him down to his marrow, that Prince Gil was to be sent far off to the outlands that was also as well the country’s borders.

Naturally, he was not going to give up from this. In Fedom’s eyes, it might even be a good thing if a battle occurred at Apta once. Were the emperor to hesitate sending reinforcements during the prince’s crisis, then that would serve a common cause that might make it possible to remove the emperor from his seat.

''The two weeks before Oubary’s forces join them will be the determiner, will it.''

Then Fedom’s concern was on Orba who was more than likely to go off acting on his own and completely disregard his distresses. Then again, there ''was'' the difference in strength of forces and to add, his own forces were a cobbled together band that he could scarcely hope to take command of, so he shouldn’t really be able to move about as he pleased.

“Still—that rascal, he parted with some strange words.”

Directly before he departed, Orba had made Fedom an odd request. His troops would continue moving towards Apta by foot, it seemed. ‘I’d like you to let our flagship Doom temporarily anchor in Birac,’ Orba said.

“I’ll also leave a few winged dragon officers along with it. You can just leave the ship as is. They’ll move the ship when I’ll need it.”

“Why would you again do something so tedious?”

“It’s the thing called preparation. Don’t worry, just because you won’t be there doesn’t mean I’ll stop being his body double. The real prince should be remaining in Solon either way. I don’t know who’s targeting him, but you might as well look after him.”

“You seem to have grown quite fond of this game of war, prince.”

Fedom was busy carrying out his own plans.

“Be sure not to let your schemes get the better of you. If all you’re going to do is fortify the fortress’ defences, I won’t say a word. But just you try running rampant with your arbitrary actions and exceeding my patience. At that time...”

“I get it, Lord Fedom Aulin.”

Orba smiled lightly. Fedom had, to be honest, felt a shudder from that smile.

''He resembles him,'' he had thought.

Not the real Gil Mephius. Instead, that moment Fedom felt him the splitting image of the father, Guhl Mephius, despite his appearance being entirely the same as Gil.

Before long the troops exited the gate and the cheers gradually came to a halt.

Fedom also began to leave and quickly called out to the young man who stood at the same spot as him.

“What’s wrong, Hermann. Is there something you’re uneasy about?”

The magician servant, gently turned his head.

The man’s face was expressionless, and Fedom had long been unable to read him. Though there were times he appeared a young man, depending on the angle of lighting, there were times he appeared to far exceed Fedom in age. Fedom perked his fleshy shoulders.

“We also have a mountain of preparations to do. Many of them will require your insight. For the time being I won’t forgive you going off on your own.”

“I do understand, milord.”

Hermann lightly nodded, but, as he was about to make his leave, he cast his glance once more across the walls towards the road the prince and his troops departed on.

''“Hmm.”''

He murmured in a small voice inaudible to even Fedom.

''“‘His’ fate is certainly to move largely riding the ‘gale’. That speed is faster than my eyes can grasp.”''

''But—Oh my.''

''How strange. The ‘gale’ is certainly blowing and I can unmistakably see it’s direction. But the destination of the crucial ‘he’—this single future step, is darkly shut. What could this possibly—?''

In this time of the year, Solon’s skies were clear. The untempered sunlight shone on the prince and his party’s armour and the resulting row of bending lights faded into the distance. Not too long after, they could no longer be seen from even the tallest of Solon’s towers.

“Have they gone?”

As for the emperor Guhl, he had not even gone to see them off and spent the entire time in his personal room performing various miscellaneous tasks.

“Yes.”

The one responding was the former council president, Simon Rodloom.

“The prince is certainly in high spirits. He has unmistakably put his all in adorning his men in uniform.”

“He’s still a child, that one.”

“I quite enjoy it. Rather, it is by outstripping those childish traits one by one that he can steadily climb the steps towards adulthood.”

“You are patient,” the emperor grunted. ”In politics and in parenting both. What will you do about the problem of Rodloom house’s successor?”

“Well,”

Simon smiled bashfully.

He had two daughters; both of which were already married. Normally one would have entered one of the two husbands into the family register, but Simon had yet to decide. He had no particular qualms about their pedigree or personality but…

“I’m afraid if I rush the decision, I’ll grow old all at once.”

“How like you, Simon.”

The emperor nodded in assent without so much a laugh.

''Is His Majesty tired?''

Sometimes his emotions were fierce, such that they were as glaring as the Dragon God’s vigour, and just as frequently, sometimes his responses were like a completely withered flame.

“Two days back, if I remember correctly,” the emperor spoke, taking the chance to close his eyes, “Princess Vileena petitioned for an audience. What reason do you think for?”

“What could it be?...The case between Ende and Garbera, perhaps?”

“That may be. However, she did not touch on it with a single word and expressed her intent to give a farewell greeting. At the end she declared, ‘In the near future, my fathers will number two. May you watch over your health.’”

''—''

In the situation something were to happen to Garbera, how would the allied Mephius move? Thoughts within the imperial court in regards to that were quite varied. As for Vileena, she had likely said it with the implied meaning ‘should that time come I pray you will come to Garbera’s aid’.

“A princess, brave and able to take action. Thoughts wishing Gil had even a fragment of her capacity have also crossed my mind.”

“Your Majesty...”

“I will admit that Gil has grown in his own way. However, he cannot hope to carry the burden of the country as he is. To be a ruler is to sometimes see black as white; to listen to all things but also to not show hesitation against dissent; to speak one’s own words from the very start.”

“There is no one who can lead from the start. Not even the greatest of monarchs and heroes written down in history. I’m afraid to say, Your Majesty, it is not that I am patient, but that you are impatient.”

“I may not have been a good father. I shall also admit to that.”

The emperor said as if to put an end their conversation, perhaps finding it to have taken an unpleasant turn.

There were a mountain of things Simon wanted to discuss with the emperor that needed to be said directly. The case of the Dragon God Shrine was also one of them. But he realised that what stood before him was like a heavy leaden wall, that no matter what words he tried to put forth, they would only be rebound.

''Can you no longer believe in anyone, Guhl?''

He called out to his old friend internally.

''I see, to be a ruler is to live in solitude.'' As Simon looked along the deep wrinkles, so deep almost as if someone carved them into him, and his whitened hair and beard, he saw an aged emperor weary from a long period of solitude, but who was at the same time very stubborn and refusing to separate from his chair.

''It might be that he’s afraid.''

The flash of realisation suddenly hit him. This owed to the emperor’s current appearance, face down and attentively cleaning up the paperwork, being comparable to that of a small, frail old man.

''Afraid of himself who has stopped being an emperor, and his own son who he has stopped loving, be he fool or not. Or perhaps—''

There was no way Simon Rodloom could not be familiar with the fatigue of someone having engaged in the country’s politics for a long time. Simon believed this may have been a premonition of things to come.

''Rule mustn’t continue to be entrusted to hands of the weary. Old blood must eventually be replaced by new blood. Should that time be mistaken, the country will be eaten away by disease from within and before long, perish.''

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3_Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter1

2015-03-05T21:14:16Z

MondSemmel: /* Part 3 */

==Imperial Capital Departure==
===Part 1===
A sparrow wandered astray over the stone pavings.

It cocked its head once, twice, perplexed by a feeling of estrangement and then flapped its wings in a fluster.

Immediately following, a gust of wind rushed past as a gigantic shadow soared overhead. At a glance, it might be seen as a living creature. Its long neck, a ferocious face baring its fangs, and its large wings spread at its sides—a wyvern.

Alas, things like winged dragons did not inhabit this continent. Its howl, shrill as the creaking of metal, sounded from the humming of its ether engine, and its skin was the weightless metal, dragonstone, lightly painted over in bronze. Namely, this was the Mephius Empire’s airship.

These man-made wyverns carrying pilots in their bosoms took off from the ground in succession.

Orba looked up to watch them, his hand forming a visor over his eyes.

Flying front was the man named Neil Thompson, and simply being fairly skilled made him stand out greatly above the rest. Neil beautifully tilted the ship’s wings to a turn as the other ships frantically chased after it, like chicks straying from its mother.

But the one Orba hurled words of anger towards amongst them following their momentary return was Neil.

“This is no place to make a show of your theatrics! Pay more attention to the others! You won’t be able to do anything by yourself on the battlefield. Now, have another go.”

Pressed on by Orba—or to them, the first crown prince of the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius, Gil Mephius—the pilots hurriedly launched off to the skies in their ships once more.

“You don’t have to be so snappy, do you? I think they’re doing on the better side.”

Orba roughly shook off Shique who came snuggling onto his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter how well they do for ‘slaves’. You think I can be satisfied with such a level?”

The parade ground near the Imperial Guards’ barracks; a small-scale gladiator arena rebuilt. Small as it may be called, its extensive interior housed an airship runway and to add, was situated beside the dragons’ stable.

“But you know, Orba,” the bronzen faced Gowen spoke, “it’s not even been a month since you started the airship unit. There’s not much you can do even if you’re running out of patience.”

“I wouldn’t have expected to hear that from you. You’re the one who sent me out to kill in under two weeks of teaching me how to hold a sword.”

“There’s no meaning in using slaves as a comparison, is there?” Gowen replied, directing Orba’s words back at him. “There are different circumstances now compared to then. You can’t buy however much of them as you want.”

Even if these former slaves didn’t fall behind soldiers in terms of individual skill, they had trouble cooperating in numbers. And it was because it was Gowen, who was retraining the infantry comprising of the swords slaves from scratch, saying this that these words held persuasive power.

Orba said no more. His face twisted slightly in pain as he moved to cross his arms. His right arm was dressed in bandages and stood hanging.

—Roughly half a month had passed since the disturbance caused by Zaat Quark’s rebellion. Injured from the series of battles during the gladiator’s tournament and to further add, being shot by Zaat Quark, his body naturally had yet to recover. However one week prior, Orba was summoned by the emperor and ordered to head for the southern city of Apta—the land taken in the ten year strife with Garbera and the very fortress city his brother Roan had been drafted to. There was no time for him to allow his body to rest. Just when Shique and Gowen thought he was holing himself up in his room buried under a mountain of books, they’d find him zealously directing the Imperial Guard’s training like so.

“Ah, there you go, quiet again.” Shique shrugged his shoulders in jest. “We get indescribably uneasy when you turn silent. I can’t help thinking that you might be getting weird thoughts again.”

At that time, a lively voice sounded.

“A wonderful sight, isn’t it!”

When he heard this voice which was out of place in this brutish location, Orba’s face tensed for some reason.

Gowen and Shique were slightly amused at seeing this and shifted their gaze taking a smile.

“It pains me to say that it is not anything much for a proper lady to see.”

The one they laid sight on was Garbera’s third princess, Vileena Owell, accompanied by her maid Theresia. Her platinum hair shone a transparent white under the morning sun. She had been forced into the women’s chambers since her coming to Mephius, but with her efforts flying the airship together with the prince during Zaat’s rebellion, she seemed to have been given a relative amount of freedom as of late. Two days ago after mentioning how the Imperial Guards were doing air training at breakfast, she had exclaimed ‘I simply must watch’.

The young girl’s eyes squinted as they followed the airships’ movements, and her cheeks flushed lightly.

''She’s an unusual princess.''

Orba strongly reaffirmed this thought.

After the mission at Apta ended, they would formally become married—as Emperor Guhl had declared, but that was ultimately only said to Gil and not openly announced. With the progress in discussions over the wedding obscure, Vileena was as she had always been, in an insecure position.

“His Highness is a perfectionist after all,” Shique commented, intentionally returning to the previous conversation. “He tells them ‘fly shoulder to shoulder with the Garberan airship platoon’ within under a month of training.”

“I didn’t—”

—say that, he tried to refute, but before he could continue...

“There is always a beginning to everything. Air training in particular comes with accidents. If you do not pay careful attention to the pilots’ condition, the ship’s maintenance and such, then your platoon will assuredly be destroyed before you can achieve its desired growth, your Highness.”

With regard to airships, Vileena was an expert. She spoke proudly in a sharp tone with her childish face.

“But there also isn’t much time left until departure.”

Orba averted his gaze from Vileena who tried to confront him directly.

“Is it not all right if you also perform them in Apta, your Highness?” Shique said. “It’s as if you believe Ax might try to commence war the very day we arrive in Apta.”

Zaat’s rebellion had been quelled by Orba’s hand, but because it happened during the founding festival where a good number of envoys had been invited, news of it reached the surrounding countries. Furthermore, there were reports of suspicious activity from the Taúlia province located southwest to Mephius around the same time.

Taúlia bordered the Aptan region. It was probable Taúlia’s governing general, Ax Bazgan, would target the moment Apta was returned by Garbera and advance his army there.

However, with Zaat’s rebellion, Guhl Mephius was in a precarious situation where he could not trust his retainers, even those serving him longest. For that reason, Guhl had appointed his born son, Gil, to commander of Apta’s troops, deeming it inappropriate to divide his troops to fend off invasion.

“It’ll only be trouble if I don’t get them ready as soon as possible. I’ve realised since Zaat’s incident. No matter how peacefully we may have joined with Garbera, the flames of dissent are always at our feet even within our country’s borders. There’s no harm in being too prepared.”

“Speaking of Zaat Quark, I have not seen Ineli since the incident. Have you met with her since then, prince?”

“Ineli?”

The unexpected name left Orba half startled. “No.” He shook his head. Vileena angrily knit her eyebrows.

“Please also pay some attention to things outside of military affairs. Being taken prisoner by Zaat surely must have given her a fright. Is she not shutting herself in her room? I have been meaning to visit her, but what say you we go together?”

“Well, that is…”

Orba wasn’t sure what to say. As Vileena had mentioned, Ineli was taken prisoner by Zaat in the midst of the uproar. And in front Orba and Vileena who went to save her, she had a gun thrust at her. But what went through Orba’s mind now wasn’t that, but the scene he had seen at the party during the founding festival; the one where Ineli and Vileena glared at one another by the fountain.

The Garberan princess seemed to have already long forgotten their discord, but as for Ineli, he didn’t believe she would be as forgiving. Rather, judging from her personality, being saved by the Vileena she hated and so detested, she would have felt it humiliating.

“I think it’s best if you don’t.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Well, the thing is, if she’s received a shock from that incident, it’s best to gently leave it alone. If either I or the princess go see her, it might bring back the memories and do more harm than good.”

“See, princess? It’s as I told you.” Theresia said. “I am of the same opinion of as His Highness. It’s best to quietly leave Ineli alone precisely if you’re worried about her.”

“What is this. The prince, and Theresia as well, are treating my feelings as if they were an oblivious child’s.”

Her face quickly fell into a sulk and she stomped her small feet against the ground. In fact, it was because it was exactly as she said that Orba was lost for words. She was overall a quick-witted princess albeit young, but when it came to the subtleties in personal relations, she was poorly informed.

Orba unintentionally sent a look over to Theresia.

''It must be tough.''

The princess’ maid was momentarily surprised, then slightly turned her eyes down and chuckled in agreement.

''Damn it!''

Orba was also surprised. He had expressed his sentiments towards Theresia, but it was as ‘Orba’. Not the crown prince. That was probably why Theresia had also been surprised.

“Now,” Orba spoke up in an attempt to try to smooth things over. “I will, then, patiently wait out the airship unit’s results. I, am going to check out the dragon’s situ—”

Orba turned to look at the dragon’s stable by the parade ground, but right at that moment, he saw several figures heading this way. In front, skipping her way towards them, was a petite girl. Coming up to Orba, Ronnie Lorgo stopped and tugging her skirt, made a bow.

“Fare greetings, your Imperial Highness.”

“Aah.”

She was daughter of Mephius’ general, Odyne Lorgo, and thirteen years old. Though a young girl, she had saddled on top a dragon’s back during the founding festival and carried out the coming-of-age ceremony.

“Hurry and come over. Oh Romus, even though you’re not afraid of dragons, you’re helplessly shy around people.”

She loudly called over the young boy timidly toddling behind. As always, his greetings in front of the prince were soft.

“Really, you’re spineless.”

“No, it’s not that he’s spineless, but that milady here is strong,” Orba jested. “Your courage is promising. However, the dragons’ stable isn’t suitable as a playground.”

“Oh my. It’s not that we are strolling around here for no apparent reason, prince,” Ronnie responded disapprovingly in a lady-like manner. “Romus has been coming here everyday and as his senior I’ve gotten concerned for him.”

“Oh? Is Romus aspiring to be a dragoon?”

“He is not, your highness. Romus, you’re really here for the dragon, aren’t you? It’s not that you’re longing to become a dragoon, right?”

“W-what’s that to do with you.”

Romus’ face reddened. There was one other coming from the dragon stable’s direction. The dragon trainer Hou Ran assigned as part of the prince’s Imperial Battalion. It seemed she was looking over the dragoon’s training. Even if she wasn’t, she was usually here at the stable caring for the dragons all day.

“There’s no need to worry about Romus.”

Ran said outright, as if she had heard the conversation from start to end.

“He’s gotten even more used to dragons than Orba. In another half year, he might be able to hear and understand their ‘voice’. There’s little to no chance he will get attacked even at the dragon’s stable.”

Theresia breathed a gasp of wonder. She found not only Ran’s nomadic appearance unusual, but also the combination of her proportional body, dark skin, and pale hair to be strangely alluring.

“If that’s what you say, I’m sure that’s how it is. How are the dragoons’ condition? And have you sorted the dragons we will take with us to Apta?”

“I can somehow manage if I’m with them. As long as they’re within my eye’s reach. No one here has even a fragment of Romus’ talent. More than sorting the dragons Orba will need to sort the soldiers.”

“R-Right.”

“Also, aren’t the dragons we’re bring with us a bit too many to not be using the carrier? With the numbers Orba’s said, it’s more than I can manage.”

“Not using the carrier?”

Shique raised his voice in alarm.

“Why? Marching to Apta in file will take a week. Transporting the dragons and weapons would also be more convenient with a carrier.”

“Because I want to be seen off and cheered by the people.”

Orba’s response was blunt. It was times like these his behaviour denoted a reluctance to voice his thoughts any further. Because Shique and Gowen understood this, they made no further protest, bearing a look that said ''here we go again.''

“''Orba'', is it.”

But Princess Vileena’s attention seemed to be hung on something else. The thought “oh crap” could be read on the prince’s face.

“A considerable amount of trust sure is placed on that swordsman. It was also the case at the founding festival, but it seems he has been tasked with several important duties this time as well.”

“Ah, yeah. He’s...handy.”

Orba gibbered, stealthily sneaking a glare at Ran’s direction. Vileena became slightly indignant.

“However, he appeared to have been injured a good deal from the arena. Although you yourself prince have also suffered injuries, how about you heed your subjects a bit more.”

“Uh, yeah, you’re right.”

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v03 031.jpg|thumb]]

“Despite how strong a person you yourself may be, that is not always the case for others. Above all, prince, your numbers mustn’t diminish any more. If you don’t allow them a word and only have them quietly obey you, no matter how fine a swordsman Orba is, even he will eventually...”

“Ha!”

At that moment, Ran snorted. For an instant, everyone was bewildered by the almost outright scorn. Who this was directed towards they did not know.

“Orba seems to be rather favoured by the princess.”

Her lips swerved into a thin, open smile, and then she turned her back, promptly returning to the dragon’s housing. Romus hurriedly chased after her, and Ronnie subsequently followed in a dash. Orba and everyone else saw them off stupefied.

“That young lady,” Theresia spoke shortly after adding in a cough, “isn’t she somewhat lacking in her manners? To act like that when the crown prince and Princess Vileena are present...”

“Ah. I’m truly ashamed. I apologize on behalf of my daughter’s discourtesy.”

The adopted father Gowen lowered his greying head. It was Orba’s first time seeing him bow down his large frame.

But Theresia also wasn’t truly angry. As evidence of that,

“That young lady,” she said once more, leaving a pause as if add weight, “Is she Sir Orba’s lover?”

“A-Absurd. —Why would you think that?”

“It is no such thing as absurd. I only felt that was how it was.”

“And I’m asking, why?”

“Now why, I wonder. I instead find the prince’s manner of disarray strangely odd. This might even be a harbinger of love for Sir Orba.”

Absurd! Orba muttered once more, facing away. He had known Hou Ran for over two years, but never noticed any attraction towards her. It might have been ''because'' he hadn’t, or that he ''shouldn’t'' have had any, that having this suddenly pointed out disturbed him.

For some time after, Orba and the others inattentively watched over the airship unit’s training. Shortly before the hour of noon, Vileena excused herself and Theresia from the platform. The princess would also be accompanying them to Apta. They had said there was still packing to be done.

When Orba finally thought he could take a breath of air, he overheard some unexpected words from Shique.

“The princess isn’t in too high of spirits is she.”

“Really? I don’t see any big difference from usual. If that’s her in low spirits, then the usual Vileena will be a far tougher opponent than Ryucown and Pashir.”

“Orba...right, you don’t understand the subtleties of women.”

“Does a misogynist have any right to say that?”

“It’s not that I hate them because I don’t understand them. It’s because I understand them too much that I hate them.”

Back at the days when he was a gladiator, Shique was exceptionally popular with women. There were many noblewomen piling up large sums of gold before the slave merchant Tarkas to be his patron. And to each and every one of them, Shique refused and snorted at them.

“Then again, it isn’t really that complicated. She probably knows about the rumours of ongoing tension between Garbera and Ende. Of course, she’s not a princess that wouldn’t grieve knowing of her home’s hardships.”

“It’s hard to say Garbera has fully recovered from Ryucown’s previous rebellion,” Gowen agreed. “It’s the same for Mephius, but at the least we were able to stop it before it occurred. To others, you could even say it’s been put out. But they experienced betrayal from one of their most famed generals. It’s certain to have a lasting effect.”

“I could care less about other countries’ troubles,” Orba promptly parted the remark. He then called the captain Neil back, bringing the training to an end. A separate unit was scheduled for training here after. With Pashir included, they consisted of the slaves from the recent rebellion whom Orba had added to his forces. Having once taken advantage of the opportunity provided by Zaat and attempting a rebellion, he could not just appoint them as regular soldiers and thus had designated them war slaves under the Imperial Guard’s command.

Orba had no business here. He had already earned the resentment of the slaves by having obstructed the rebellion, and had no intention of possibly aggravating them further by remaining to watch.

On this note, he entrusted their training to Gowen. A man originally a supervisor over sword slaves and versed in drills.

“I’ll leave the rest to you.”

“Aah.”

Orba double-timed out of the parade ground.

Shique, who had stayed behind, took notice of Gowen’s sudden masked snicker.

“What’s the matter?”

“No, it’s just how he said ‘I’ll leave the rest to you.’ That damn little squirt’s position has sure changed in under two years.”

“And he’s gotten frightfully used to it too.”

“The weird one isn’t only him, but me who’s also grown used to these positions.”

“Yeah.” Shique strangely broke into a grin. “I’m no longer surprised by anything he says or does. If I don’t get used to that, it’ll only ruin my health.”

As Shique gave his agreement with a smile, Gowen watched Orba’s retreating figure in the distance.

“It would be good if it was only a problem of getting used to. Lately, he’s been devoting himself too much to being the crown prince.”

That single phrase, heard by no one, disappeared into the blowing sand and wind.

Solon saw the coming of noon.

===Part 2===
‘Emperor Guhl Mephius has stopped smiling.’ Orba had lost count how many times he had heard these murmurings inside the palace.

The former emperor often joked in front of his retainers and filled the halls with his jovial voice—he’d heard. Orba himself had only met with him a handful of times since pretending to be his actual son, so he didn’t know of this ‘former’ emperor.

Most notably, the emperor didn’t so much as chuckle after Zaat’s rebellion. His lips swerved into frowns, and he constantly rest his face against his hands in ill humour.

''I get chills every time he looks at me.''

These whispers he had also heard countlessly.

The emperor worked endlessly towards increasing the imperial family’s—or more precisely, the emperor’s—authority.

“There is no longer anyone who can make a single objection to His Majesty.”

Fedom had muttered shortly before with a near trembling face.

“If these were vassals such as Colyne satisfied with readily following orders, that might be good in itself...however, for prideful nobles like myself who harbour the slightest thought for Mephius’ future, should even that pride be considered a nuisance that we may be dismissed by the emperor, we might as well be dead.”

''There’s Simon Rodloom.''

Orba first conjured that name. At the time of the festival when Orba joined the emperor for breakfast, he had stated his own opinions without fear of the emperor. Whatmore, it was directly after Zaat had been confined.

''If it’s that man, wouldn’t he fearlessly oppose the emperor without thought of personal gain or self-protection when necessary?''

''Hm?—''

Orba twisted his lips, taken by these mysterious thoughts. He would have never believed himself to recognise a Mephian noble even a little bit as a person back when he was a gladiator.

Currently directly in front of Orba, his head bowed continuing his prayers with his eyes fixed on no particular point, was that very emperor, Guhl Mephius.

At the Black Tower, centre of the imperial capital of Solon.

The soldiers assigned as lookouts recognised Orba and gave a bow. They were his guide and proceeded towards the tower’s underground. They passed by numerous people. They were half bare men carrying excavated rocks and rubble. Most were slaves or criminals.

In this underground was a certain Dragon God Mausoleum, currently in the midst of construction. While the Dragon God’s Temple was being built in a location closer to the palace, the entirety of the mausoleum would be transferred here.

The emperor was ahead at their place of destination. He stood before an enormous carving depicting the Dragon God’s form. This was the place they held the rituals to pray for abundant harvests directly before the festival had begun. This painting would also eventually be carved out and be established within the temple.

Orba politely gave words of greeting, but the emperor replied with only a grunt and nod, and occupied himself in issuing orders to the surrounding people.

He waited for a time—a long time.

Ten minutes must have passed, when the emperor stepped forth from the row of people. Orba once again lowered his head.

“I will set out the day after tomorrow.”

“I see.”

The emperor passed by him showing no signs of stopping, but then suddenly halted and peered into Orba’s face.

“You’re growing more and more to resemble your mother.”

“Ha, hahah. I-Is that so?”

Even the famed gladiator found himself dripping in cold sweat. Then the emperor resumed walking again and Orba followed behind.

“It is not only your face. There are many who say you’ve changed into a different person, and it’s them following with such compliments as saying you’ve inherited my blood that irk me so.”

“I only received advice from my men.”

Behind and in front of them were Imperial Guards directly under the emperor assigned guard, but they kept their distance. Within the naturally chilly cave workings, the surroundings fell into an eerie silence as the voices and figures of the slaves grew further.

“Was that also the same with regards to Zaat? You happened to get advice from someone? Surely it wasn’t from me. I wasn’t given a single notice.”

“Yes. N-no, I mean—the one who planned it was me. Only, I was somewhat uneasy over my own thoughts and went to Fedom to receive his wisdom. However, I had consulted him without mentioning Zaat’s name, nor informing him of the situation’s urgency, merely as an assumption,” Orba quickly replied.

“And whose suggestion was it to purposely aim at the time of Zaat’s rebellion? Had I been immediately notified, I could have quietly subdued Zaat without the ambassadors and guests from abroad noticing.”

The emperor stopped walking. There was no path ahead, only a cliff looming 50 metres tall. The dim light of a single candle placed on the walls flickered over the shadow cast on the emperor’s face.

“I do not plan to excuse myself for my actions. I wanted...an accomplishment that would make me be recognized by many. I didn’t consider the lives of the soldiers and ambassadors—It was thoughtless of me. I beg your forgiveness.”

“That’s wrong, isn’t it?”

The emperor flatly concluded. He refaced Orba, who took a deep gulp.

“No, it ''is'' wrong. You don’t trust in ''me''.”

“I-I wouldn’t—”

“You only wanted an accomplishment? If there is a part of you that has changed, it’s how you would even dare mouth such as insolent excuse towards me above all.”

The recesses of his eyes reflected the colour of the flames, and seemed to wrap around his body and soul like a snake. Orba said nothing, only shamefully lowering his head.”

“I see. So a dragon’s child is a dragon. For we imperials who succeed the blood of the Dragon God Mephius, it may be that even you cannot forever stay a dragonling.”

The word’s echo held neither conceit nor scorn. The emperor walked towards Orba who continued facing down.

“However, it seems you take much more strongly after your mother than I. It’s not only your face, but your character. In the end you stray from the Mephius imperial customs and are unable to open you heart to me; you’ve inherited that frail trait.”

After gazing into his face one last time, he passed his shoulder.

“Very well. If you’ve begun to sprout a dragon’s wings, then I’ll have you match up to that expectation and keep Ax Bazgan in place. After two weeks, Oubary’s forces shall join yours. If it’s to protect the fortress alone, those forces should be more than sufficient.”

''Oubary.''

At that moment, a single hot flame lit within Orba’s chilled heart.

Amongst the forces Orba was bringing to Apta, there would also be fifty men borrowed from Oubary’s Black Helmet Division. Oubary himself would be dispatched to the southeastern parts of Mephius along with his 500 men. Several days after Zaat’s rebellion, slaves revolted in the southeastern Kiluro, and he had been tasked with suppressing them.

During the uproar at the Grand Stadium, Oubary had disappeared quite quickly, resulting in doubts and animosity from the emperor and statesmen. It had therefore become hard for him to stay in Solon and he also likely wanted to use this to wipe clean his bad name.

“Use them as you please. You may wield your powers as commander to your heart’s content. In return, I won’t have any complaint no matter the circumstance. Either way, you consider me beneath your notice. Any worry would be meaningless.”

The emperor receded away from Orba into the distance along with his ringing echo, this time it being rich in ridicule. Orba breathed a sigh of relief, grateful he had somehow managed to end this without his identity being exposed. At the same time, an unfamiliar feeling passed him.

''Are fathers...''

''Are all fathers meant to be like this? That they hate and deplore their own sons—or is it because they are nobles that they’re so strange.''

Orba held no memories of his father. However, he did know the faces of everyone in his home village. There were a mountain of adults that looked after him like a father. There were those who severely scolded his troublemaker self, and then also those who laughed, telling him how they were also the same in the past. Back during those days, Orba thought they were all annoying, but now having lost even that, he found the memories even a little nostalgic.

“Father.”

Urged by the heated flame lit within him, Orba suddenly called out to the emperor.

“What?”

Turning around, his face displayed a candid annoyance. Orba slowly raised his downturned eyes.

“If I may ‘use them as I please’, then I take it you don’t mind if I use those forces to take Ax’s head.”

“What?”

“And on the break of that dawn that I may also have the fortress city Taúlia Ax occupies.”

A still, heavy silence weighed on Orba’s shoulders.

Some tens of seconds later,

“You nitwit!”

The emperor shouted as loud as permitted him. And then he burst into a welling laughter.

“You nitwit, I said you could do as you pleased. Go ahead! I’d like to see this dunce of a dragonling that can barely flap his wings try!”

Because of standing rumours that the emperor had stopped smiling, even the distant imperial soldiers had come running in surprise at the sound of his bursting laughter. Stopping them with the raise of his hand, the emperor gave a further sneer and departed.

In the little remaining time before his departure, Orba was drowned in the flood of documents, books, and papers delivered to his room.

These documents listed the names of the commanding officers and captains amongst the soldiers accompanying him. Amongst the members of the Black Helmet Division was Bane’s name. He was someone Orba had incidentally requested when speaking with the assistant commander of the Black Helmet Division over the party’s formation. At that time, the date for Oubary’s main forces to set out was also drawing near, and any conflicting opinions being a waste of time may have been why it was easily agreed to.

In terms of ability, Bane was nothing much. Over the course of six years, his position had stopped at captain, meaning he most likely earned barely any achievements in the ten year war. But for Orba, there was reason for his irrepressible want for him.

And amongst the war slaves, Pashir’s name was of course present. In the days following the founding festival’s ‘Clovis’ Dragon Extermination’ Orba had not met him once, but according to Gowen’s testimony, he was obediently undergoing practice and drills at the time being. Also present, as the war slaves’ steward, was the name of Mira, who’d also attended the sword slaves at Solon’s grand stadium.

The rest he roughly glanced over. At the end of the list were the names of aspiring applicants that either wanted to join Orba’s forces or take on administrative roles in Apta. The majority were of noble descent; names of poor nobles or late sons of prestiged houses.

“Even though they’re the same nobles, they seem to each have their own circumstances.”

The chamberlain, Dinn, brought over a fresh batch of books to him.

“My arms are already swollen.” The boy winced from looking at the mountain of books stacked high in the room.

“Don’t tell me you plan on training even me and sending me out to the battlefield.”

“You said it.” 

Orba took a newly delivered book into his hand and flipped through its pages. It contained mostly the histories of countries neighbouring Mephius and compiled summaries of their current state and situation.

After what happened with Noue and Zaat, Orba fully realised he had absolutely no knowledge on these matters. Information was crucial in battles. He had experienced this first hand in his childhood days, and since then Orba always wanted to gather as much information on hand as possible. Of course, storing up information alone wasn’t enough, but having information provided from others’ thoughts and perspectives would affect the very breadth of his thinking.

“What about ''that''? There’s little of the vital information.”

“Do you mean of the current state of Taúlia and the western provinces? I’ve also been looking for them in as many ways as possible. What currently exist are only second hand copies based on a few books originating from countries to the northern coast. I admit even these books are outdated.”

“Why?”

“Mephian trade with the western world—in other words, the Tauran provinces—is banned. The former Zer Tauran was a country raised by the Bazgans, once Mephian vassals. Even now after Zer Tauran’s collapse, the Bazgan House continues to skirmish with us, and the other provinces are also ruled by Zer Tauran successors.”

“But even then...no, it’s for this reason that he should at least send tens or even a hundred spies over.”

“Please say that directly to His Majesty. I have nothing to do with it.”

“If speaking directly with him would have had any effect, I would’ve learned everything I needed to from the start.”

Orba further flipped through the pages.

''Strange.''

Feeling an inconsistency, he stopped his hands.

It wasn’t about how the emperor hadn’t handed him information on the west.

“Trade with the west is banned? How many years ago was this?”

“More than years, it should be decades, or even over a century. I don’t believe we ever signed a ceasefire or peace treaty since the Zer Tauran days.”

“Reeaalllyy.”

Closing the book, Orba stretched his legs over the table. “Here you go again,” Dinn reprimanded but Orba did not budge. Once he started thinking, he would not break from the forest of thoughts until he came up with his own solution.

Dinn had grown used to it.

“Come along now, prince. Before you turn silent from your thoughts, please state what foods you would prefer. The palace master chef should take even more time, and I’ll have you know I won’t take ‘Anything’s fine’ for an answer!”

Dinn could do nothing but perform his own duties to his best.

===Part 3===
The Solon west gates bustled with crowds coming to see off Prince Gil and his troops.

The group of cavaliers moving headfirst waved their spearflags while responding to the people’s cheers with waves of their hands.

Amongst those selected within the Imperial Guards was Shique. With vexingly good looks for a man, the refreshing figure of him mounted on his horse had particularly fanned the women and children’s heated cries.

As the dragoons under Oubary and the artillerymen under Odyne Lorgo went, the carriage carrying Princess Vileena came into sight along with the clattering sounds of its wheels. The joyous cheers as Vileena smiled and waved her hands out the window were noticeably high.

And as a new group of horsemen appeared behind as if guarding her rear, the streets were filled with a series of stirs different from previous ones.

Saddled on his gallant white horse, was Mephius’ crown prince Gil Mephius. His silver armour lavishly reflected the sun’s rays as if emitting a powerful radiance. And contrastively to his side was a black horse. Mounted was the iron masked gladiator. The pair was sent a frenzied applause.

“Gil-sama!”

“Prinncccee!”

“Look, it’s the ‘Clovis’, Orba!”

The combination of the young prince who rescued the country from a rebellion and his faithful masked warrior was a story worth passing down and heightened their popularity amongst the people.

Gil had limited himself to releasing one hand from the reins and lightly raising it, but Orba, probably unable to withstand the storm of cheers, wildly waved both arms, and suddenly stood straight up with both feet on the stirrup while having his horse do a light jump. Because the response was tremendous, he got carried away and did it multiple times, and in the end was nearly about to slip off the stirrup and fall.

“You idiot!” The mounted Gil—of course, this was the real Orba—shouted at him with a flushed face. “Behave yourself.”

The scolded Orba—the Imperial Guard Kain, who could also be said to be Orba’s body double—dejectedly dropped his shoulders. The cheers completely turned into a downpour of laughter.

“Well, I guess this could also be a form of extravagant publicity as we set out.”

Above the ramparts enclosing the gates was also the figure of Fedom Aulin.

He was the lord of Birac, but ever since he had disguised Orba as the prince, he had yet to return to his land even once. Although his family had also come to Solon for the festival, even when it was time for his wife and children to go back, he had insisted on staying in Solon, saying ‘I still have work to be done’.

“The prince has raised his name from his campaign against Ryucown and the incident with Zaat.” A tall young man, who at a glance appeared to be a boarder, whispered to him from beside. “This trend will make a good impetus for the people. It also denotes the continuation of the imperial family’s dignity.”

“Hmph—There are other ways if they care about their dignity. Look at those troops. They appear to be keeping their interval, but in the end they’re a poorly patched bunch. Former sword slaves acting as imperial guards, war slaves that had only recently attempted rebellion, and a mere hundred nominated soldiers; if an army from Taúlia truly marched in at full might, forget a month, it’s unlikely they’d even last three days.”

Fedom did not see eye to eye with the rumours regarding Ax Bazgan’s suspicious movements. If the emperor Guhl was fully certain that Ax would come attack Apta then he would have reinforced the army a bit more.

''I can’t imagine he would let him die this openly without batting an eye.''

Fedom bitterly clicked his tongue as he heard the yet unceasing cheers towards Prince Gil. What set him impatient now most above all was the piece of news that claimed Guhl’s second wife Melissa was pregnant. It was no more than a rumour whispered within the palace, but if it were to be true, then he would change his stand on how he viewed this treatment towards the prince.

''Curse you Guhl. Do you intend to distance the prince who has gained a rise in popularity from the centre of politics?''

He was irritated. Fedom Aulin was the perpetrator who had concealed the death of the actual Gil Mephius and set up the former gladiator Orba as a substitute. Of course, this was a large crime that if discovered would sentence his entire family and all those serving him to death. He continued his days coming off nights of insufficient sleep rushed by an impatience to get things done even a day sooner.

However, because Fedom originally took the stance of the anti-imperial faction, he required a different faction that would support the prince. He would have to gather those discontented towards the current emperor and ''not'' towards the very system of imperials, and who dreamed of advancement through a new order established under Prince Gil—a strengthened rectification of the country’s foundation, so to speak—if he did not want to end up like Ryucown who invested his life into a futureless rebellion.

Now, when things were finally beginning to take shape after discreetly taking ventures, and on a few occasions with ones dire enough to chill him down to his marrow, that Prince Gil was to be sent far off to the outlands that was also as well the country’s borders.

Naturally, he was not going to give up from this. In Fedom’s eyes, it might even be a good thing if a battle occurred at Apta once. Were the emperor to hesitate sending reinforcements during the prince’s crisis, then that would serve a common cause that might make it possible to remove the emperor from his seat.

''The two weeks before Oubary’s forces join them will be the determiner, will it.''

Then Fedom’s concern was on Orba who was more than likely to go off acting on his own and completely disregard his distresses. Then again, there ''was'' the difference in strength of forces and to add, his own forces was a cobbled together band that he could scarcely hope to take command of, so he shouldn’t be really able to move about as he pleased.

“Still—that rascal, he parted with some strange words.”

Directly before he departed, Orba had made Fedom an odd request. His troops would continue moving towards Apta by foot, it seemed. ‘I’d like you to let our flagship Doom to temporarily anchor in Birac,’ Orba said.

“I’ll also leave a few winged dragon officers along with it. You can just leave the ship as is. They’ll move the ship when I’ll need it.”

“Why would you again do something so tedious?”

“It’s the thing called preparation. Don’t worry, just because you won’t be there doesn’t mean I’ll stop being his body double. The real prince should be remaining in Solon either way. I don’t know who’s targeting him, but you might as well look after him.”

“You seem to have grown quite fond of this game of war, prince.”

Fedom was busy carrying out his own plans.

“Be sure not to let your schemes get the better of you. If all you’re going to do is fortify the fortress’ defences, I won’t say a word. But just you try running rampant with your arbitrary actions and exceeding my patience. At that time...”

“I get it, Lord Fedom Aulin.”

Orba smiled lightly. Fedom had, to be honest, felt a shudder from that smile.

''He resembles him,'' he had thought.

Not the real Gil Mephius. Instead, that moment Fedom felt him the splitting image of the father, Guhl Mephius, despite his appearance being entirely the same as Gil.

Before long the troops exited the gate and the cheers gradually came to a halt.

Fedom also began to leave and quickly called out to the young man who stood at the same spot as him.

“What’s wrong, Hermann. Is there something you’re uneasy about?”

The magician servant, gently turned his head.

The man’s face was expressionless, and Fedom had long been unable to read him. Though there were times he appeared a young man, depending on the angle of lighting, there were times he appeared to far exceed Fedom in age. Fedom perked his fleshy shoulders.

“We also have a mountain of preparations to do. Many of them will require your insight. For the time being I won’t forgive you going off on your own.”

“I do understand, milord.”

Hermann lightly nodded, but, as he was about to make his leave, he cast his glance once more across the walls towards the road the prince and his troops departed on.

''“Hmm.”''

He murmured in a small voice inaudible to even Fedom.

''“‘His’ fate is certainly to move largely riding the ‘gale’. That speed is faster than my eyes can grasp.”''

''But—Oh my.''

''How strange. The ‘gale’ is certainly blowing and I can unmistakably see it’s direction. But the destination of the crucial ‘he’—this single future step, is darkly shut. What could this possibly—?''

In this time of the year, Solon’s skies were clear. The untempered sunlight shone on the prince and his party’s armour and the resulting row of bending lights faded into the distance. Not too long after, they could no longer be seen from even the tallest of Solon’s towers.

“Have they gone?”

As for the emperor Guhl, he had not even gone to see them off and spent the entire time in his personal room performing various miscellaneous tasks.

“Yes.”

The one responding was the former council president, Simon Rodloom.

“The prince is certainly in high spirits. He has unmistakably put his all in adorning his men in uniform.”

“He’s still a child, that one.”

“I quite enjoy it. Rather, it is by outstripping those childish traits one by one that he can steadily climb the steps towards adulthood.”

“You are patient,” the emperor grunted. ”In politics and in parenting both. What will you do about the problem of Rodloom house’s successor?”

“Well,”

Simon smiled bashfully.

He had two daughters; both of which were already married. Normally one would have entered one of the two husbands into the family register, but Simon had yet to decide. He had no particular qualms about their pedigree or personality but…

“I’m afraid if I rush the decision, I’ll grow old all at once.”

“How like you, Simon.”

The emperor nodded in assent without so much a laugh.

''Is His Majesty tired?''

Sometimes his emotions were fierce, such that they were as glaring as the Dragon God’s vigour, and just as frequently, sometimes his responses were like a completely withered flame.

“Two days back, if I remember correctly,” the emperor spoke, taking the chance to close his eyes, “Princess Vileena petitioned for an audience. What reason do you think for?”

“What could it be?...The case between Ende and Garbera, perhaps?”

“That may be. However, she did not touch on it with a single word and expressed her intent to give a farewell greeting. At the end she declared, ‘In the near future, my fathers will number two. May you watch over your health.’”

''—''

In the situation something were to happen to Garbera, how would the allied Mephius move? Thoughts within the imperial court in regards to that were quite varied. As for Vileena, she had likely said it with the implied meaning ‘should that time come I pray you will come to Garbera’s aid’.

“A princess, brave and able to take action. Thoughts wishing Gil had even a fragment of her capacity have also crossed my mind.”

“Your Majesty...”

“I will admit that Gil has grown in his own way. However, he cannot hope to carry the burden of the country as he is. To be a ruler is to sometimes see black as white; to listen to all things but also to not show hesitation against dissent; to speak one’s own words from the very start.”

“There is no one who can lead from the start. Not even the greatest of monarchs and heroes written down in history. I’m afraid to say, Your Majesty, it is not that I am patient, but that you are impatient.”

“I may not have been a good father. I shall also admit to that.”

The emperor said as if to put an end their conversation, perhaps finding it to have taken an unpleasant turn.

There were a mountain of things Simon wanted to discuss with the emperor that needed to be said directly. The case of the Dragon God Shrine was also one of them. But he realised that what stood before him was like a heavy leaden wall, that no matter what words he tried to put forth, they would only be rebound.

''Can you no longer believe in anyone, Guhl?''

He called out to his old friend internally.

''I see, to be a ruler is to live in solitude.'' As Simon looked along the deep wrinkles, so deep almost as if someone carved them into him, and his whitened hair and beard, he saw an aged emperor weary from a long period of solitude, but who was at the same time very stubborn and refusing to separate from his chair.

''It might be that he’s afraid.''

The flash of realisation suddenly hit him. This owed to the emperor’s current appearance, face down and attentively cleaning up the paperwork, being comparable to that of a small, frail old man.

''Afraid of himself who has stopped being an emperor, and his own son who he has stopped loving, be he fool or not. Or perhaps—''

There was no way Simon Rodloom could not be familiar with the fatigue of someone having engaged in the country’s politics for a long time. Simon believed this may have been a premonition of things to come.

''Rule mustn’t continue to be entrusted to hands of the weary. Old blood must eventually be replaced by new blood. Should that time be mistaken, the country will be eaten away by disease from within and before long, perish.''

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| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3_Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter1

2015-03-05T21:10:54Z

MondSemmel: /* Part 2 */

==Imperial Capital Departure==
===Part 1===
A sparrow wandered astray over the stone pavings.

It cocked its head once, twice, perplexed by a feeling of estrangement and then flapped its wings in a fluster.

Immediately following, a gust of wind rushed past as a gigantic shadow soared overhead. At a glance, it might be seen as a living creature. Its long neck, a ferocious face baring its fangs, and its large wings spread at its sides—a wyvern.

Alas, things like winged dragons did not inhabit this continent. Its howl, shrill as the creaking of metal, sounded from the humming of its ether engine, and its skin was the weightless metal, dragonstone, lightly painted over in bronze. Namely, this was the Mephius Empire’s airship.

These man-made wyverns carrying pilots in their bosoms took off from the ground in succession.

Orba looked up to watch them, his hand forming a visor over his eyes.

Flying front was the man named Neil Thompson, and simply being fairly skilled made him stand out greatly above the rest. Neil beautifully tilted the ship’s wings to a turn as the other ships frantically chased after it, like chicks straying from its mother.

But the one Orba hurled words of anger towards amongst them following their momentary return was Neil.

“This is no place to make a show of your theatrics! Pay more attention to the others! You won’t be able to do anything by yourself on the battlefield. Now, have another go.”

Pressed on by Orba—or to them, the first crown prince of the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius, Gil Mephius—the pilots hurriedly launched off to the skies in their ships once more.

“You don’t have to be so snappy, do you? I think they’re doing on the better side.”

Orba roughly shook off Shique who came snuggling onto his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter how well they do for ‘slaves’. You think I can be satisfied with such a level?”

The parade ground near the Imperial Guards’ barracks; a small-scale gladiator arena rebuilt. Small as it may be called, its extensive interior housed an airship runway and to add, was situated beside the dragons’ stable.

“But you know, Orba,” the bronzen faced Gowen spoke, “it’s not even been a month since you started the airship unit. There’s not much you can do even if you’re running out of patience.”

“I wouldn’t have expected to hear that from you. You’re the one who sent me out to kill in under two weeks of teaching me how to hold a sword.”

“There’s no meaning in using slaves as a comparison, is there?” Gowen replied, directing Orba’s words back at him. “There are different circumstances now compared to then. You can’t buy however much of them as you want.”

Even if these former slaves didn’t fall behind soldiers in terms of individual skill, they had trouble cooperating in numbers. And it was because it was Gowen, who was retraining the infantry comprising of the swords slaves from scratch, saying this that these words held persuasive power.

Orba said no more. His face twisted slightly in pain as he moved to cross his arms. His right arm was dressed in bandages and stood hanging.

—Roughly half a month had passed since the disturbance caused by Zaat Quark’s rebellion. Injured from the series of battles during the gladiator’s tournament and to further add, being shot by Zaat Quark, his body naturally had yet to recover. However one week prior, Orba was summoned by the emperor and ordered to head for the southern city of Apta—the land taken in the ten year strife with Garbera and the very fortress city his brother Roan had been drafted to. There was no time for him to allow his body to rest. Just when Shique and Gowen thought he was holing himself up in his room buried under a mountain of books, they’d find him zealously directing the Imperial Guard’s training like so.

“Ah, there you go, quiet again.” Shique shrugged his shoulders in jest. “We get indescribably uneasy when you turn silent. I can’t help thinking that you might be getting weird thoughts again.”

At that time, a lively voice sounded.

“A wonderful sight, isn’t it!”

When he heard this voice which was out of place in this brutish location, Orba’s face tensed for some reason.

Gowen and Shique were slightly amused at seeing this and shifted their gaze taking a smile.

“It pains me to say that it is not anything much for a proper lady to see.”

The one they laid sight on was Garbera’s third princess, Vileena Owell, accompanied by her maid Theresia. Her platinum hair shone a transparent white under the morning sun. She had been forced into the women’s chambers since her coming to Mephius, but with her efforts flying the airship together with the prince during Zaat’s rebellion, she seemed to have been given a relative amount of freedom as of late. Two days ago after mentioning how the Imperial Guards were doing air training at breakfast, she had exclaimed ‘I simply must watch’.

The young girl’s eyes squinted as they followed the airships’ movements, and her cheeks flushed lightly.

''She’s an unusual princess.''

Orba strongly reaffirmed this thought.

After the mission at Apta ended, they would formally become married—as Emperor Guhl had declared, but that was ultimately only said to Gil and not openly announced. With the progress in discussions over the wedding obscure, Vileena was as she had always been, in an insecure position.

“His Highness is a perfectionist after all,” Shique commented, intentionally returning to the previous conversation. “He tells them ‘fly shoulder to shoulder with the Garberan airship platoon’ within under a month of training.”

“I didn’t—”

—say that, he tried to refute, but before he could continue...

“There is always a beginning to everything. Air training in particular comes with accidents. If you do not pay careful attention to the pilots’ condition, the ship’s maintenance and such, then your platoon will assuredly be destroyed before you can achieve its desired growth, your Highness.”

With regard to airships, Vileena was an expert. She spoke proudly in a sharp tone with her childish face.

“But there also isn’t much time left until departure.”

Orba averted his gaze from Vileena who tried to confront him directly.

“Is it not all right if you also perform them in Apta, your Highness?” Shique said. “It’s as if you believe Ax might try to commence war the very day we arrive in Apta.”

Zaat’s rebellion had been quelled by Orba’s hand, but because it happened during the founding festival where a good number of envoys had been invited, news of it reached the surrounding countries. Furthermore, there were reports of suspicious activity from the Taúlia province located southwest to Mephius around the same time.

Taúlia bordered the Aptan region. It was probable Taúlia’s governing general, Ax Bazgan, would target the moment Apta was returned by Garbera and advance his army there.

However, with Zaat’s rebellion, Guhl Mephius was in a precarious situation where he could not trust his retainers, even those serving him longest. For that reason, Guhl had appointed his born son, Gil, to commander of Apta’s troops, deeming it inappropriate to divide his troops to fend off invasion.

“It’ll only be trouble if I don’t get them ready as soon as possible. I’ve realised since Zaat’s incident. No matter how peacefully we may have joined with Garbera, the flames of dissent are always at our feet even within our country’s borders. There’s no harm in being too prepared.”

“Speaking of Zaat Quark, I have not seen Ineli since the incident. Have you met with her since then, prince?”

“Ineli?”

The unexpected name left Orba half startled. “No.” He shook his head. Vileena angrily knit her eyebrows.

“Please also pay some attention to things outside of military affairs. Being taken prisoner by Zaat surely must have given her a fright. Is she not shutting herself in her room? I have been meaning to visit her, but what say you we go together?”

“Well, that is…”

Orba wasn’t sure what to say. As Vileena had mentioned, Ineli was taken prisoner by Zaat in the midst of the uproar. And in front Orba and Vileena who went to save her, she had a gun thrust at her. But what went through Orba’s mind now wasn’t that, but the scene he had seen at the party during the founding festival; the one where Ineli and Vileena glared at one another by the fountain.

The Garberan princess seemed to have already long forgotten their discord, but as for Ineli, he didn’t believe she would be as forgiving. Rather, judging from her personality, being saved by the Vileena she hated and so detested, she would have felt it humiliating.

“I think it’s best if you don’t.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Well, the thing is, if she’s received a shock from that incident, it’s best to gently leave it alone. If either I or the princess go see her, it might bring back the memories and do more harm than good.”

“See, princess? It’s as I told you.” Theresia said. “I am of the same opinion of as His Highness. It’s best to quietly leave Ineli alone precisely if you’re worried about her.”

“What is this. The prince, and Theresia as well, are treating my feelings as if they were an oblivious child’s.”

Her face quickly fell into a sulk and she stomped her small feet against the ground. In fact, it was because it was exactly as she said that Orba was lost for words. She was overall a quick-witted princess albeit young, but when it came to the subtleties in personal relations, she was poorly informed.

Orba unintentionally sent a look over to Theresia.

''It must be tough.''

The princess’ maid was momentarily surprised, then slightly turned her eyes down and chuckled in agreement.

''Damn it!''

Orba was also surprised. He had expressed his sentiments towards Theresia, but it was as ‘Orba’. Not the crown prince. That was probably why Theresia had also been surprised.

“Now,” Orba spoke up in an attempt to try to smooth things over. “I will, then, patiently wait out the airship unit’s results. I, am going to check out the dragon’s situ—”

Orba turned to look at the dragon’s stable by the parade ground, but right at that moment, he saw several figures heading this way. In front, skipping her way towards them, was a petite girl. Coming up to Orba, Ronnie Lorgo stopped and tugging her skirt, made a bow.

“Fare greetings, your Imperial Highness.”

“Aah.”

She was daughter of Mephius’ general, Odyne Lorgo, and thirteen years old. Though a young girl, she had saddled on top a dragon’s back during the founding festival and carried out the coming-of-age ceremony.

“Hurry and come over. Oh Romus, even though you’re not afraid of dragons, you’re helplessly shy around people.”

She loudly called over the young boy timidly toddling behind. As always, his greetings in front of the prince were soft.

“Really, you’re spineless.”

“No, it’s not that he’s spineless, but that milady here is strong,” Orba jested. “Your courage is promising. However, the dragons’ stable isn’t suitable as a playground.”

“Oh my. It’s not that we are strolling around here for no apparent reason, prince,” Ronnie responded disapprovingly in a lady-like manner. “Romus has been coming here everyday and as his senior I’ve gotten concerned for him.”

“Oh? Is Romus aspiring to be a dragoon?”

“He is not, your highness. Romus, you’re really here for the dragon, aren’t you? It’s not that you’re longing to become a dragoon, right?”

“W-what’s that to do with you.”

Romus’ face reddened. There was one other coming from the dragon stable’s direction. The dragon trainer Hou Ran assigned as part of the prince’s Imperial Battalion. It seemed she was looking over the dragoon’s training. Even if she wasn’t, she was usually here at the stable caring for the dragons all day.

“There’s no need to worry about Romus.”

Ran said outright, as if she had heard the conversation from start to end.

“He’s gotten even more used to dragons than Orba. In another half year, he might be able to hear and understand their ‘voice’. There’s little to no chance he will get attacked even at the dragon’s stable.”

Theresia breathed a gasp of wonder. She found not only Ran’s nomadic appearance unusual, but also the combination of her proportional body, dark skin, and pale hair to be strangely alluring.

“If that’s what you say, I’m sure that’s how it is. How are the dragoons’ condition? And have you sorted the dragons we will take with us to Apta?”

“I can somehow manage if I’m with them. As long as they’re within my eye’s reach. No one here has even a fragment of Romus’ talent. More than sorting the dragons Orba will need to sort the soldiers.”

“R-Right.”

“Also, aren’t the dragons we’re bring with us a bit too many to not be using the carrier? With the numbers Orba’s said, it’s more than I can manage.”

“Not using the carrier?”

Shique raised his voice in alarm.

“Why? Marching to Apta in file will take a week. Transporting the dragons and weapons would also be more convenient with a carrier.”

“Because I want to be seen off and cheered by the people.”

Orba’s response was blunt. It was times like these his behaviour denoted a reluctance to voice his thoughts any further. Because Shique and Gowen understood this, they made no further protest, bearing a look that said ''here we go again.''

“''Orba'', is it.”

But Princess Vileena’s attention seemed to be hung on something else. The thought “oh crap” could be read on the prince’s face.

“A considerable amount of trust sure is placed on that swordsman. It was also the case at the founding festival, but it seems he has been tasked with several important duties this time as well.”

“Ah, yeah. He’s...handy.”

Orba gibbered, stealthily sneaking a glare at Ran’s direction. Vileena became slightly indignant.

“However, he appeared to have been injured a good deal from the arena. Although you yourself prince have also suffered injuries, how about you heed your subjects a bit more.”

“Uh, yeah, you’re right.”

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v03 031.jpg|thumb]]

“Despite how strong a person you yourself may be, that is not always the case for others. Above all, prince, your numbers mustn’t diminish any more. If you don’t allow them a word and only have them quietly obey you, no matter how fine a swordsman Orba is, even he will eventually...”

“Ha!”

At that moment, Ran snorted. For an instant, everyone was bewildered by the almost outright scorn. Who this was directed towards they did not know.

“Orba seems to be rather favoured by the princess.”

Her lips swerved into a thin, open smile, and then she turned her back, promptly returning to the dragon’s housing. Romus hurriedly chased after her, and Ronnie subsequently followed in a dash. Orba and everyone else saw them off stupefied.

“That young lady,” Theresia spoke shortly after adding in a cough, “isn’t she somewhat lacking in her manners? To act like that when the crown prince and Princess Vileena are present...”

“Ah. I’m truly ashamed. I apologize on behalf of my daughter’s discourtesy.”

The adopted father Gowen lowered his greying head. It was Orba’s first time seeing him bow down his large frame.

But Theresia also wasn’t truly angry. As evidence of that,

“That young lady,” she said once more, leaving a pause as if add weight, “Is she Sir Orba’s lover?”

“A-Absurd. —Why would you think that?”

“It is no such thing as absurd. I only felt that was how it was.”

“And I’m asking, why?”

“Now why, I wonder. I instead find the prince’s manner of disarray strangely odd. This might even be a harbinger of love for Sir Orba.”

Absurd! Orba muttered once more, facing away. He had known Hou Ran for over two years, but never noticed any attraction towards her. It might have been ''because'' he hadn’t, or that he ''shouldn’t'' have had any, that having this suddenly pointed out disturbed him.

For some time after, Orba and the others inattentively watched over the airship unit’s training. Shortly before the hour of noon, Vileena excused herself and Theresia from the platform. The princess would also be accompanying them to Apta. They had said there was still packing to be done.

When Orba finally thought he could take a breath of air, he overheard some unexpected words from Shique.

“The princess isn’t in too high of spirits is she.”

“Really? I don’t see any big difference from usual. If that’s her in low spirits, then the usual Vileena will be a far tougher opponent than Ryucown and Pashir.”

“Orba...right, you don’t understand the subtleties of women.”

“Does a misogynist have any right to say that?”

“It’s not that I hate them because I don’t understand them. It’s because I understand them too much that I hate them.”

Back at the days when he was a gladiator, Shique was exceptionally popular with women. There were many noblewomen piling up large sums of gold before the slave merchant Tarkas to be his patron. And to each and every one of them, Shique refused and snorted at them.

“Then again, it isn’t really that complicated. She probably knows about the rumours of ongoing tension between Garbera and Ende. Of course, she’s not a princess that wouldn’t grieve knowing of her home’s hardships.”

“It’s hard to say Garbera has fully recovered from Ryucown’s previous rebellion,” Gowen agreed. “It’s the same for Mephius, but at the least we were able to stop it before it occurred. To others, you could even say it’s been put out. But they experienced betrayal from one of their most famed generals. It’s certain to have a lasting effect.”

“I could care less about other countries’ troubles,” Orba promptly parted the remark. He then called the captain Neil back, bringing the training to an end. A separate unit was scheduled for training here after. With Pashir included, they consisted of the slaves from the recent rebellion whom Orba had added to his forces. Having once taken advantage of the opportunity provided by Zaat and attempting a rebellion, he could not just appoint them as regular soldiers and thus had designated them war slaves under the Imperial Guard’s command.

Orba had no business here. He had already earned the resentment of the slaves by having obstructed the rebellion, and had no intention of possibly aggravating them further by remaining to watch.

On this note, he entrusted their training to Gowen. A man originally a supervisor over sword slaves and versed in drills.

“I’ll leave the rest to you.”

“Aah.”

Orba double-timed out of the parade ground.

Shique, who had stayed behind, took notice of Gowen’s sudden masked snicker.

“What’s the matter?”

“No, it’s just how he said ‘I’ll leave the rest to you.’ That damn little squirt’s position has sure changed in under two years.”

“And he’s gotten frightfully used to it too.”

“The weird one isn’t only him, but me who’s also grown used to these positions.”

“Yeah.” Shique strangely broke into a grin. “I’m no longer surprised by anything he says or does. If I don’t get used to that, it’ll only ruin my health.”

As Shique gave his agreement with a smile, Gowen watched Orba’s retreating figure in the distance.

“It would be good if it was only a problem of getting used to. Lately, he’s been devoting himself too much to being the crown prince.”

That single phrase, heard by no one, disappeared into the blowing sand and wind.

Solon saw the coming of noon.

===Part 2===
‘Emperor Guhl Mephius has stopped smiling.’ Orba had lost count how many times he had heard these murmurings inside the palace.

The former emperor often joked in front of his retainers and filled the halls with his jovial voice—he’d heard. Orba himself had only met with him a handful of times since pretending to be his actual son, so he didn’t know of this ‘former’ emperor.

Most notably, the emperor didn’t so much as chuckle after Zaat’s rebellion. His lips swerved into frowns, and he constantly rest his face against his hands in ill humour.

''I get chills every time he looks at me.''

These whispers he had also heard countlessly.

The emperor worked endlessly towards increasing the imperial family’s—or more precisely, the emperor’s—authority.

“There is no longer anyone who can make a single objection to His Majesty.”

Fedom had muttered shortly before with a near trembling face.

“If these were vassals such as Colyne satisfied with readily following orders, that might be good in itself...however, for prideful nobles like myself who harbour the slightest thought for Mephius’ future, should even that pride be considered a nuisance that we may be dismissed by the emperor, we might as well be dead.”

''There’s Simon Rodloom.''

Orba first conjured that name. At the time of the festival when Orba joined the emperor for breakfast, he had stated his own opinions without fear of the emperor. Whatmore, it was directly after Zaat had been confined.

''If it’s that man, wouldn’t he fearlessly oppose the emperor without thought of personal gain or self-protection when necessary?''

''Hm?—''

Orba twisted his lips, taken by these mysterious thoughts. He would have never believed himself to recognise a Mephian noble even a little bit as a person back when he was a gladiator.

Currently directly in front of Orba, his head bowed continuing his prayers with his eyes fixed on no particular point, was that very emperor, Guhl Mephius.

At the Black Tower, centre of the imperial capital of Solon.

The soldiers assigned as lookouts recognised Orba and gave a bow. They were his guide and proceeded towards the tower’s underground. They passed by numerous people. They were half bare men carrying excavated rocks and rubble. Most were slaves or criminals.

In this underground was a certain Dragon God Mausoleum, currently in the midst of construction. While the Dragon God’s Temple was being built in a location closer to the palace, the entirety of the mausoleum would be transferred here.

The emperor was ahead at their place of destination. He stood before an enormous carving depicting the Dragon God’s form. This was the place they held the rituals to pray for abundant harvests directly before the festival had begun. This painting would also eventually be carved out and be established within the temple.

Orba politely gave words of greeting, but the emperor replied with only a grunt and nod, and occupied himself in issuing orders to the surrounding people.

He waited for a time—a long time.

Ten minutes must have passed, when the emperor stepped forth from the row of people. Orba once again lowered his head.

“I will set out the day after tomorrow.”

“I see.”

The emperor passed by him showing no signs of stopping, but then suddenly halted and peered into Orba’s face.

“You’re growing more and more to resemble your mother.”

“Ha, hahah. I-Is that so?”

Even the famed gladiator found himself dripping in cold sweat. Then the emperor resumed walking again and Orba followed behind.

“It is not only your face. There are many who say you’ve changed into a different person, and it’s them following with such compliments as saying you’ve inherited my blood that irk me so.”

“I only received advice from my men.”

Behind and in front of them were Imperial Guards directly under the emperor assigned guard, but they kept their distance. Within the naturally chilly cave workings, the surroundings fell into an eerie silence as the voices and figures of the slaves grew further.

“Was that also the same with regards to Zaat? You happened to get advice from someone? Surely it wasn’t from me. I wasn’t given a single notice.”

“Yes. N-no, I mean—the one who planned it was me. Only, I was somewhat uneasy over my own thoughts and went to Fedom to receive his wisdom. However, I had consulted him without mentioning Zaat’s name, nor informing him of the situation’s urgency, merely as an assumption,” Orba quickly replied.

“And whose suggestion was it to purposely aim at the time of Zaat’s rebellion? Had I been immediately notified, I could have quietly subdued Zaat without the ambassadors and guests from abroad noticing.”

The emperor stopped walking. There was no path ahead, only a cliff looming 50 metres tall. The dim light of a single candle placed on the walls flickered over the shadow cast on the emperor’s face.

“I do not plan to excuse myself for my actions. I wanted...an accomplishment that would make me be recognized by many. I didn’t consider the lives of the soldiers and ambassadors—It was thoughtless of me. I beg your forgiveness.”

“That’s wrong, isn’t it?”

The emperor flatly concluded. He refaced Orba, who took a deep gulp.

“No, it ''is'' wrong. You don’t trust in ''me''.”

“I-I wouldn’t—”

“You only wanted an accomplishment? If there is a part of you that has changed, it’s how you would even dare mouth such as insolent excuse towards me above all.”

The recesses of his eyes reflected the colour of the flames, and seemed to wrap around his body and soul like a snake. Orba said nothing, only shamefully lowering his head.”

“I see. So a dragon’s child is a dragon. For we imperials who succeed the blood of the Dragon God Mephius, it may be that even you cannot forever stay a dragonling.”

The word’s echo held neither conceit nor scorn. The emperor walked towards Orba who continued facing down.

“However, it seems you take much more strongly after your mother than I. It’s not only your face, but your character. In the end you stray from the Mephius imperial customs and are unable to open you heart to me; you’ve inherited that frail trait.”

After gazing into his face one last time, he passed his shoulder.

“Very well. If you’ve begun to sprout a dragon’s wings, then I’ll have you match up to that expectation and keep Ax Bazgan in place. After two weeks, Oubary’s forces shall join yours. If it’s to protect the fortress alone, those forces should be more than sufficient.”

''Oubary.''

At that moment, a single hot flame lit within Orba’s chilled heart.

Amongst the forces Orba was bringing to Apta, there would also be fifty men borrowed from Oubary’s Black Helmet Division. Oubary himself would be dispatched to the southeastern parts of Mephius along with his 500 men. Several days after Zaat’s rebellion, slaves revolted in the southeastern Kiluro, and he had been tasked with suppressing them.

During the uproar at the Grand Stadium, Oubary had disappeared quite quickly, resulting in doubts and animosity from the emperor and statesmen. It had therefore become hard for him to stay in Solon and he also likely wanted to use this to wipe clean his bad name.

“Use them as you please. You may wield your powers as commander to your heart’s content. In return, I won’t have any complaint no matter the circumstance. Either way, you consider me beneath your notice. Any worry would be meaningless.”

The emperor receded away from Orba into the distance along with his ringing echo, this time it being rich in ridicule. Orba breathed a sigh of relief, grateful he had somehow managed to end this without his identity being exposed. At the same time, an unfamiliar feeling passed him.

''Are fathers...''

''Are all fathers meant to be like this? That they hate and deplore their own sons—or is it because they are nobles that they’re so strange.''

Orba held no memories of his father. However, he did know the faces of everyone in his home village. There were a mountain of adults that looked after him like a father. There were those who severely scolded his troublemaker self, and then also those who laughed, telling him how they were also the same in the past. Back during those days, Orba thought they were all annoying, but now having lost even that, he found the memories even a little nostalgic.

“Father.”

Urged by the heated flame lit within him, Orba suddenly called out to the emperor.

“What?”

Turning around, his face displayed a candid annoyance. Orba slowly raised his downturned eyes.

“If I may ‘use them as I please’, then I take it you don’t mind if I use those forces to take Ax’s head.”

“What?”

“And on the break of that dawn that I may also have the fortress city Taúlia Ax occupies.”

A still, heavy silence weighed on Orba’s shoulders.

Some tens of seconds later,

“You nitwit!”

The emperor shouted as loud as permitted him. And then he burst into a welling laughter.

“You nitwit, I said you could do as you pleased. Go ahead! I’d like to see this dunce of a dragonling that can barely flap his wings try!”

Because of standing rumours that the emperor had stopped smiling, even the distant imperial soldiers had come running in surprise at the sound of his bursting laughter. Stopping them with the raise of his hand, the emperor gave a further sneer and departed.

In the little remaining time before his departure, Orba was drowned in the flood of documents, books, and papers delivered to his room.

These documents listed the names of the commanding officers and captains amongst the soldiers accompanying him. Amongst the members of the Black Helmet Division was Bane’s name. He was someone Orba had incidentally requested when speaking with the assistant commander of the Black Helmet Division over the party’s formation. At that time, the date for Oubary’s main forces to set out was also drawing near, and any conflicting opinions being a waste of time may have been why it was easily agreed to.

In terms of ability, Bane was nothing much. Over the course of six years, his position had stopped at captain, meaning he most likely earned barely any achievements in the ten year war. But for Orba, there was reason for his irrepressible want for him.

And amongst the war slaves, Pashir’s name was of course present. In the days following the founding festival’s ‘Clovis’ Dragon Extermination’ Orba had not met him once, but according to Gowen’s testimony, he was obediently undergoing practice and drills at the time being. Also present, as the war slaves’ steward, was the name of Mira, who’d also attended the sword slaves at Solon’s grand stadium.

The rest he roughly glanced over. At the end of the list were the names of aspiring applicants that either wanted to join Orba’s forces or take on administrative roles in Apta. The majority were of noble descent; names of poor nobles or late sons of prestiged houses.

“Even though they’re the same nobles, they seem to each have their own circumstances.”

The chamberlain, Dinn, brought over a fresh batch of books to him.

“My arms are already swollen.” The boy winced from looking at the mountain of books stacked high in the room.

“Don’t tell me you plan on training even me and sending me out to the battlefield.”

“You said it.” 

Orba took a newly delivered book into his hand and flipped through its pages. It contained mostly the histories of countries neighbouring Mephius and compiled summaries of their current state and situation.

After what happened with Noue and Zaat, Orba fully realised he had absolutely no knowledge on these matters. Information was crucial in battles. He had experienced this first hand in his childhood days, and since then Orba always wanted to gather as much information on hand as possible. Of course, storing up information alone wasn’t enough, but having information provided from others’ thoughts and perspectives would affect the very breadth of his thinking.

“What about ''that''? There’s little of the vital information.”

“Do you mean of the current state of Taúlia and the western provinces? I’ve also been looking for them in as many ways as possible. What currently exist are only second hand copies based on a few books originating from countries to the northern coast. I admit even these books are outdated.”

“Why?”

“Mephian trade with the western world—in other words, the Tauran provinces—is banned. The former Zer Tauran was a country raised by the Bazgans, once Mephian vassals. Even now after Zer Tauran’s collapse, the Bazgan House continues to skirmish with us, and the other provinces are also ruled by Zer Tauran successors.”

“But even then...no, it’s for this reason that he should at least send tens or even a hundred spies over.”

“Please say that directly to His Majesty. I have nothing to do with it.”

“If speaking directly with him would have had any effect, I would’ve learned everything I needed to from the start.”

Orba further flipped through the pages.

''Strange.''

Feeling an inconsistency, he stopped his hands.

It wasn’t about how the emperor hadn’t handed him information on the west.

“Trade with the west is banned? How many years ago was this?”

“More than years, it should be decades, or even over a century. I don’t believe we ever signed a ceasefire or peace treaty since the Zer Tauran days.”

“Reeaalllyy.”

Closing the book, Orba stretched his legs over the table. “Here you go again,” Dinn reprimanded but Orba did not budge. Once he started thinking, he would not break from the forest of thoughts until he came up with his own solution.

Dinn had grown used to it.

“Come along now, prince. Before you turn silent from your thoughts, please state what foods you would prefer. The palace master chef should take even more time, and I’ll have you know I won’t take ‘Anything’s fine’ for an answer!”

Dinn could do nothing but perform his own duties to his best.

===Part 3===
The Solon west gates bustled with crowds coming to see off Prince Gil and his troops.

The group of cavaliers moving headfirst waved their spearflags while responding to the people’s cheers with waves of their hands.

Amongst those selected within the Imperial Guards was Shique. With vexingly good looks for a man, the refreshing figure of him mounted on his horse had particularly fanned the women and children’s heated cries.

As the dragoons under Oubary and the artillerymen under Odyne Lorgo went, the carriage carrying Princess Vileena came into sight along with the clattering sounds of its wheels. The joyous cheers as Vileena smiled and waved her hands out the window were noticeably high.

And as a new group of horsemen appeared behind as if guarding her rear, the streets were filled with a series of stirs different from previous ones.

Saddled on his gallant white horse, was Mephius’ crown prince Gil Mephius. His silver armour lavishly reflected the sun’s rays as if emitting a powerful radiance. And contrastively to his side was a black horse. Mounted was the iron masked gladiator. The pair was sent a frenzied applause.

“Gil-sama!”

“Prinncccee!”

“Look, it’s the ‘Clovis’, Orba!”

The combination of the young prince who rescued the country from a rebellion and his faithful masked warrior was a story worth passing down and heightened their popularity amongst the people.

Gil had limited himself to releasing one hand from the reins and lightly raising it, but Orba, probably unable to withstand the storm of cheers, wildly waved both arms, and suddenly stood straight up with both feet on the stirrup while having his horse do a light jump. Because the response was tremendous, he got carried away and did it multiple times, and in the end was nearly about to slip off the stirrup and fall.

“You idiot!” The mounted Gil—of course, this was the real Orba—shouted at him with a flushed face. “Behave yourself.”

The scolded Orba—the Imperial Guard Kain, who could also be said to be Orba’s body double—dejectedly dropped his shoulders. The cheers completely turned into a downpour of laughter.

“Well, I guess this could also be a form of extravagant publicity as we set out.”

Above the ramparts enclosing the gates was also the figure of Fedom Aulin.

He was the lord of Birac, but ever since he had disguised Orba as the prince, he had yet to return to his land even once. Although his family had also come to Solon for the festival, even when it was time for his wife and children to go back, he had insisted on staying in Solon, saying ‘I still have work to be done’.

“The prince has raised his name from his campaign against Ryucown and the incident with Zaat.” A tall young man, who at glance appeared to be a boarder, whispered to him from beside. “This trend will make a good impetus for the people. It also denotes the continuation of the imperial family’s dignity.”

“Hmph—There are other ways if they care about their dignity. Look at those troops. They appear to be keeping their interval, but in the end they’re a poorly patched bunch. Former sword slaves acting as imperial guards, war slaves that had only recently attempted rebellion, and a mere hundred nominated soldiers; if an army from Taúlia truly marched in at full might, forget a month, it’s unlikely they’d even last three days.”

Fedom did not see eye to eye with the rumours regarding Ax Bazgan’s suspicious movements. If the emperor Guhl was fully certain that Ax would come attack Apta then he would have reinforced the army a bit more.

''I can’t imagine he would let him die this openly without batting an eye.''

Fedom bitterly clicked his tongue as he heard the yet unceasing cheers towards Prince Gil. What set him impatient now most above all was the piece of news that claimed Guhl’s second wife Melissa was pregnant. It was no more than a rumour whispered within the palace, but if it were to be true, then he would change his stand on how he viewed this treatment towards the prince.

''Curse you Guhl. Do you intend to distance the prince who has gained a rise in popularity from the centre of politics?''

He was irritated. Fedom Aulin was the perpetrator who had concealed the death of the actual Gil Mephius and set up the former gladiator Orba as a substitute. Of course, this was a large crime that if discovered would sentence his entire family and all those serving him to death. He continued his days coming off nights of insufficient sleep rushed by an impatience to get things done even a day sooner.

However, because Fedom originally took the stance of the anti-imperial faction, he required a different faction that would support the prince. He would have to gather those discontented towards the current emperor and ''not'' towards the very system of imperials, and who dreamed of advancement through a new order established under Prince Gil—a strengthened rectification of the country’s foundation, so to speak—if he did not want to end up like Ryucown who invested his life into a futureless rebellion.

Now, when things were finally beginning to take shape after discreetly taking ventures, and on a few occasions with ones dire enough to chill him down to his marrow, that Prince Gil was to be sent far off to the outlands that was also as well the country’s borders.

Naturally, he was not going to give up from this. In Fedom’s eyes, it might even be a good thing if a battle occurred at Apta once. Were the emperor to hesitate sending reinforcements during the prince’s crisis, then that would serve a common cause that might make it possible to remove the emperor from his seat.

''The two weeks before Oubary’s forces join them will be the determiner, will it.''

Then Fedom’s concern was on Orba who was more than likely to go off acting on his own and completely disregard his distresses. Then again, there ''was'' the difference in strength of forces and to add, his own forces was a cobbled together band that he could scarcely hope to take command of, so he shouldn’t be really able to move about as he pleased.

“Still—that rascal, he parted with some strange words.”

Directly before he departed, Orba had made Fedom an odd request. His troops would continue moving towards Apta by foot, it seemed. ‘I’d like you to let our flagship Doom to temporarily anchor in Birac,’ Orba said.

“I’ll also leave a few winged dragon officers along with it. You can just leave the ship as is. They’ll move the ship when I’ll need it.”

“Why would you again do something so tedious?”

“It’s the thing called preparation. Don’t worry, just because you won’t be there doesn’t mean I’ll stop being his body double. The real prince should be remaining in Solon either way. I don’t know who’s targeting him, but you might as well look after him.”

“You seem to have grown quite fond of this game of war, prince.”

Fedom was busy carrying out his own plans.

“Be sure not to let your schemes get the better of you. If all you’re going to do is fortify the fortress’ defences, I won’t say a word. But just you try running rampant with your arbitrary actions and exceeding my patience. At that time...”

“I get it, Lord Fedom Aulin.”

Orba smiled lightly. Fedom had, to be honest, felt a shudder from that smile.

''He resembles him,'' he had thought.

Not the real Gil Mephius. Instead, that moment Fedom felt him the splitting image of the father, Guhl Mephius, despite his appearance being entirely the same as Gil.

Before long the troops exited the gate and the cheers gradually came to a halt.

Fedom also began to leave and quickly called out to the young man who stood at the same spot as him.

“What’s wrong, Hermann. Is there something you’re uneasy about?”

The magician servant, gently turned his head.

The man’s face was expressionless, and Fedom had long been unable to read him. Though there were times he appeared a young man, depending on the angle of lighting, there were times he appeared to far exceed Fedom in age. Fedom perked his fleshy shoulders.

“We also have a mountain of preparations to do. Many of them will require your insight. For the time being I won’t forgive you going off on your own.”

“I do understand, milord.”

Hermann lightly nodded, but, as he was about to make his leave, he cast his glance once more across the walls towards the road the prince and his troops departed on.

''“Hmm.”''

He murmured in a small voice inaudible to even Fedom.

''“‘His’ fate is certainly to move largely riding the ‘gale’. That speed is faster than my eyes can grasp.”''

''But—Oh my.''

''How strange. The ‘gale’ is certainly blowing and I can unmistakably see it’s direction. But the destination of the crucial ‘he’—this single future step, is darkly shut. What could this possibly—?''

In this time of the year, Solon’s skies were clear. The untempered sunlight shone on the prince and his party’s armour and the resulting row of bending lights faded into the distance. Not too long after, they could no longer be seen from even the tallest of Solon’s towers.

“Have they gone?”

As for the emperor Guhl, he had not even gone to see them off and spent the entire time in his personal room performing various miscellaneous tasks.

“Yes.”

The one responding was the former council president, Simon Rodloom.

“The prince is certainly in high spirits. He has unmistakably put his all in adorning his men in uniform.”

“He’s still a child, that one.”

“I quite enjoy it. Rather, it is by outstripping those childish traits one by one that he can steadily climb the steps towards adulthood.”

“You are patient,” the emperor grunted. ”In politics and in parenting both. What will you do about the problem of Rodloom house’s successor?”

“Well,”

Simon smiled bashfully.

He had two daughters; both of which were already married. Normally one would have entered one of the two husbands into the family register, but Simon had yet to decide. He had no particular qualms about their pedigree or personality but…

“I’m afraid if I rush the decision, I’ll grow old all at once.”

“How like you, Simon.”

The emperor nodded in assent without so much a laugh.

''Is His Majesty tired?''

Sometimes his emotions were fierce, such that they were as glaring as the Dragon God’s vigour, and just as frequently, sometimes his responses were like a completely withered flame.

“Two days back, if I remember correctly,” the emperor spoke, taking the chance to close his eyes, “Princess Vileena petitioned for an audience. What reason do you think for?”

“What could it be?...The case between Ende and Garbera, perhaps?”

“That may be. However, she did not touch on it with a single word and expressed her intent to give a farewell greeting. At the end she declared, ‘In the near future, my fathers will number two. May you watch over your health.’”

''—''

In the situation something were to happen to Garbera, how would the allied Mephius move? Thoughts within the imperial court in regards to that were quite varied. As for Vileena, she had likely said it with the implied meaning ‘should that time come I pray you will come to Garbera’s aid’.

“A princess, brave and able to take action. Thoughts wishing Gil had even a fragment of her capacity have also crossed my mind.”

“Your Majesty...”

“I will admit that Gil has grown in his own way. However, he cannot hope to carry the burden of the country as he is. To be a ruler is to sometimes see black as white; to listen to all things but also to not show hesitation against dissent; to speak one’s own words from the very start.”

“There is no one who can lead from the start. Not even the greatest of monarchs and heroes written down in history. I’m afraid to say, Your Majesty, it is not that I am patient, but that you are impatient.”

“I may not have been a good father. I shall also admit to that.”

The emperor said as if to put an end their conversation, perhaps finding it to have taken an unpleasant turn.

There were a mountain of things Simon wanted to discuss with the emperor that needed to be said directly. The case of the Dragon God Shrine was also one of them. But he realised that what stood before him was like a heavy leaden wall, that no matter what words he tried to put forth, they would only be rebound.

''Can you no longer believe in anyone, Guhl?''

He called out to his old friend internally.

''I see, to be a ruler is to live in solitude.'' As Simon looked along the deep wrinkles, so deep almost as if someone carved them into him, and his whitened hair and beard, he saw an aged emperor weary from a long period of solitude, but who was at the same time very stubborn and refusing to separate from his chair.

''It might be that he’s afraid.''

The flash of realisation suddenly hit him. This owed to the emperor’s current appearance, face down and attentively cleaning up the paperwork, being comparable to that of a small, frail old man.

''Afraid of himself who has stopped being an emperor, and his own son who he has stopped loving, be he fool or not. Or perhaps—''

There was no way Simon Rodloom could not be familiar with the fatigue of someone having engaged in the country’s politics for a long time. Simon believed this may have been a premonition of things to come.

''Rule mustn’t continue to be entrusted to hands of the weary. Old blood must eventually be replaced by new blood. Should that time be mistaken, the country will be eaten away by disease from within and before long, perish.''

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