Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume10 Chapter7 (section)

=== Part 1 ===

Salamand Fogel had been captured. Princess Vileena had been taken back by Garbera. Those two pieces of news flew around Solon at roughly the same time as each other.

Because the information had gotten mixed together, for a time, the rumour was that Mephius and Garbera had fought. Because of a gag order from the emperor, the Imperial Guards who had been present at the scene were vague about what had happened.

The garbled reports naturally made their way to all the other cities and before long, they had also reached Birac. Just as he had when the princess had absconded, Crown Prince Gil Mephius remained calm from start to finish.  Outwardly, that is. Orba’s inner state of mind was a whole different matter.

He had, of course, sent people to the Solon area to try and obtain information that was as accurate as possible, but currently, even the information flying around the capital was chaotic.

Unexpectedly, the one who had taken prompt action, at a time like this, was Gowen. He had taken the initiative to have his men and friends circulate reports throughout Birac that “it was Garbera’s Princess Vileena who captured Salamand,” in order to bolster the spirits of the crown prince’s faction.

Orba heard that rumour through the grapevine. Ever since he had learnt of her departure from Birac, he had somewhat suspected that that was her intention. But it was an action so reckless and thoughtless that he almost wondered if she was planning to die.

''No'' – while his head was almost boiling in anger, Orba’s chest was chilled to the point of being freezing, and with it, there was also a part of his mind that could analyse the princess’ actions. ''She probably would be ready to cast her life aside.''

Having seen through Gil Mephius’ impatience and anxiety, the Garberan princess had taken action to help reduce them. And she had chosen the dangerous and fierce method of leading soldiers and confronting the traitor head-on. Of course, it probably had not entirely been for the crown prince’s sake. That girl had been endowed from birth with the perspective of royalty. It was an perspective that even Orba’s hardships had not allowed him to acquire, he was not even sure he understood, and with which she saw a much wider world and future than he did.

The images of the western queen Marilène and the loyal Mephian retainer Simon Rodloom abruptly appeared in his mind. They had thrown away their own future, as well as the reputation they could have left for posterity, and had sacrificed themselves for what they believed in.

If it came to it, in a sense, Shique and the many soldiers who had died when Orba rose in rebellion were also the same. Vileena Owell might also have become one of them.

And now she was said to be in Garbera. There was a rumour that she considered herself to have fulfilled her obligations towards Mephius and had returned to her own country, but Orba did not believe it.

''As if that idiot would be that reasonable. If she was that wise of a princess, it’d be a lot easier to deal with her.''

He did not currently know the details, so all he could do was continue to gather information from the area around Solon. Now that Salamand was gone, they should be able to regain some momentum. The wind, however, had already changed once, and he was worried that now it would not blow in the direction he hoped for.

In that situation, someone new came to call on Birac. With his young and distinctly virile features, he gave the impression that he was there to volunteer as a mercenary, however he introduced himself as “from the Imperial Guards serving directly under the emperor.” As proof of his position, he produced a handgun engraved with the crest of imperial family of Mephius.

“I wish to meet with His Highness,” he informed the guards at the gate.

Although the soldier who took the gun into custody thought him really suspicious-looking, he had orders to – ''report anything that catches your attention, no matter how trivial it is''. Orba had thoroughly hammered that into his men.

As a result, about an hour after the man had first appeared, the gun had passed into Gil Mephius’ hands. From the looks of it, there did not seem to be any trick. However, contrary to expectations that he was an official envoy from the emperor, the man had apparently insisted that he was “a ''former'' Imperial Guard.”

“I’ll see him.”

“It’s dangerous,” Pashir, who was with him in the room, said without a second’s delay. “He is probably pretending to be disaffected with the emperor so that he can strike you when your guard is down.”

“Even if that’s the case, with you sitting in, it’ll difficult for him.”

Orba wanted information. Even if it was a trap or a lie, the very intention of whoever attempted either was information in and of itself. In this situation, in which waiting was impossible, intelligence gathering was the greatest weapon that Orba could collect, besides there were measures in place to ensure his defence.

The young man who was brought into the room gave his name as Alnakk. Being in his mid-twenties, he was certainly young, but the look in his eyes gave an impression of courage. His right arm, however, was bandaged and in a sling. Probably because he judged it suspicious, Pashir’s vigilance only increased.

“So you’re an Imperial Guard serving my father?”

“That was in the past… Right, it must be about a week since I left Solon.”

“Then it wasn’t that long ago. Why did you come here?”

“The princess of Garbera entrusted me with something for you, Your Highness.”

“For me?” For a moment, Orba’s voice almost rose in excitement but he just managed to bring it under control. “And why you?”

“I accompanied the princess on her subjugation of Salamand.”

Alnakk then explained the sequence of events from the princess’ audience with the emperor, to her leading a hundred Imperial Guards to face Salamand. And then –

“The princess was shot at by a friend of mine.”

“What?” Lying on top of the desk, Orba’s fist twitched. He placed his hand on top of it as though to hold it down. “Say that again.”

“The princess was shot at. The bullet actually hit the horse she was riding on, but she was thrown from it and was, for a while, knocked almost unconscious.”

Since it was essential to bring her to safety as soon as possible, her brother, Prince Zenon, apparently took her to Zaim Fortress. Just before he did so, the princess entrusted Alnakk with:

“This.”

Alnakk carefully brought something out of his breast pocket and placed it on the desk. It was a gold medallion engraved with the flag of Garbera and stained slightly red.

The former Imperial Guard probably noticed the change in Gil’s expression.

“The blood does not belong to the princess. It’s mine,” he noted.

As though startled, Orba drew his eyes away from the medallion.

“I doubt you received Father’s permission to come here.”

“That is why I am a ‘former’ Imperial Guard. I do not have any family, so it will not cause any trouble to anyone.”

He spoke easily, but there was no doubt that he had risked his life by coming here. Even so, his expression was cheerful. Looking carefully, there were tears in his eyes.

“Please be at ease. I was ready to do – sorry – to undertake this even in exchange of my own life. I am truly glad that I was able to safely deliver the medallion into your hands, Your Highness.” His voice trembled.

Having done what he needed to, Alnakk turned to leave the office. Pashir stood next and was about to lead him out when –

“Your Highness,” Alnakk stopped abruptly and turned back.

“What?”

“No, nothing….”

“Say it.”

“I-In that case, please pardon my rudeness. Your Highness, please go fetch the princess sometime soon. I am certain that her intention is not to remain in Garbera. She surely wishes to return to Your Highness’ side. With that…” he said no more.

With an expression that could not even be called a strained smile, Orba waved his hand to urge Alnakk to leave.

The door shut.

Orba’s gaze was fixed intently on the medallion. It was a small thing, no more than five centimetres in diameter. The design was of a horse and sword at the centre, engraved with words meaning “eternal friendship”.

Orba’s eyes slowly became blurry.

''Damn it, why?''

An emotion so strong he could not understand it was burning at a point in his chest. In no time at all, it had sped to his heart and filled it.

''I don’t get it.''

He muttered inwardly.

The princess’ action – no, that wasn’t it. So why was it that the corners of his eyes were burning, why was he practically shaking from emotion?

In the end, Orba was not able to identify what it was.



Pashir led Alnakk through the mansion’s corridors. They had walked in silence until about halfway when Alnakk suddenly spoke.

“I’m surprised.”

Pashir sent him a searching glance. It’s meaning was clearly ''shut up'', but Alnakk paid no attention.

“You’re this year’s Felipe, aren’t you – the runner-up at the gladiatorial tournament. I’ve only just noticed. Staggeringly good with a sword, but more importantly, the ring-leader who challenged Mephius.”

“…”

“You were taken up by Crown Prince Gil Mephius and so avoided execution. And it looks like you’re still following His Highness. So after all, is he that amazingly compelling, that he can fascinate and attract people?”

“Who knows,” Pashir answered shortly. He seemed to take the chance to change the topic. “Enough about me. What are you going to do from now on? You can’t go back to Solon.”

“I’m not big on gambling or women, so the pay I’ve gotten until now will hold me for a while. After that, I might look for a position in Birac.”

“You’re not going to apply to be a mercenary?”

Pashir still had his suspicions about the man’s real intentions. He took into consideration that Alnakk might have forged a connection to the prince thanks to the medallion so that, using it, he could then act as a spy or an assassin. However, Alnakk shook his head.

“That’s… well, I’m also strong. I’m strong and I piled up achievements by taking one life after another, but being made an Imperial Guard actually took me away from fighting. Before, when there was talk about fighting breaking out in Nedain and how we might be ordered to march to the front any day soon, I suddenly got so scared it was unbearable. I’m not fit for war anymore.”

A crease appeared in Pashir’s brow. If what he said was true, this man was one hell of an eccentric.

“Hey there, Pashir. And this gentleman is?” Miguel, another eccentric of Pashir’s acquaintance, called out to him from the other end of the passageway.

This former gladiator had taken part in the revolt against Mephius along with him. Although he could have left when the prince’s Imperial Guards were disbanded, the young man had given as reason for staying that “this seems more interesting.” As a result of which he had gone through the unpleasant experience of almost being executed in Apta. You might have thought that he would have had enough by then, but he was still here in Birac, again with the position of an imperial guard.

“Everyone was making a fuss about an official envoy having arrived from Solon.”

“I’m nothing that grand,” Alnakk gave a wry smile. “I just came to make a personal delivery.”

“What? And here I thought we were finally heading for a large-scale battle.”

Blond-haired, blue-eyed Miguel Tes might look effeminate, but the truth was that he was an attention-seeker who was driven by the ambition of one day having his name resound throughout the whole world.

He was currently lamenting the fact that he had not done anything particularly noteworthy during the recent battle at Tolinea. Especially compared to Pashir, whose feats had been outstanding: he had come to the crown prince’s aid when he had been in peril, and had then mowed down enemies at the vanguard. Miguel was jealous and envious of Pashir’s achievements.

“Is it true that you’re an Imperial Guard directly under the emperor’s control? Everyone there’s the hand-picked elite, right? How strong are they?”

Confronted with Miguel’s persistent inquisitiveness, Pashir cleared his throat. Because of the way he had come calling, it was inevitable that Alnakk should be a topic of gossip. Still, they should not be loudly talking back and forth where there were eyes to see and ears to hear.

Just then, Alnakk suddenly halted.

“Miss,” he called out.

Pashir and Miguel’s eyes moved to one side. At a bend in the passageway was a young woman who looked like a lady’s maid.

“Miss Layla, it’s you, right?”

He was about to rush towards her, but the woman he had called Layla went so pale they could see it even at a distance and said, in a faint voice, “y-you have the wrong person,” before hurriedly turning around and leaving.

Alnakk ran after her for two or three steps, then stopped. Miguel tilted his head to one side.

“Is that a popular pick-up technique in Solon?”

“It’s nothing like that,” Alnakk answered with a serious expression.

“An acquaintance?”

“She… She looks a lot like one.”

This time, it was Pashir doing the asking and Alnakk who was giving short answers. He had indeed known Layla Jayce. Her father, Rone Jayce, had been his superior officer for a while and he had been invited to his house several times. He remembered being introduced to Rone’s daughter, and being told that she would soon be getting married.

Rone was a taciturn and stern superior, but at those times – and at those times only – his face was that of a gentle father. Then, he and his family had abruptly disappeared. And that, right after his daughter’s wedding ceremony.

The matter had never been officially announced however.

Naturally, all sorts of speculation had flown around. There were theories that he had been sent on a secret mission to a foreign country; that he had run away after committing some kind of crime; or even that, having provoked His Majesty’s wrath, he had been secretly executed.

And now, Layla was in Birac. Alnakk did not believe that it was a coincidental resemblance. That she had run away had only strengthened that conviction.

That being so, however, she must have her reasons for not wanting to meet an acquaintance from the past. It was, after all, abnormal for her to have vanished right after her wedding ceremony. So Alnakk had preferred not to question her.

Miguel had already lost interest and was asking Alnakk all sorts of things about the current situation in Solon, but Pashir, noticing Alnakk’s conflicted look, gazed warily at the direction Layla had disappeared.