Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter3 (section)

=== Part 1 ===

Although isolated within the enemy’s formation, Eric naturally did not just stand by with his arms crossed. While sending a messenger to Dairan, he picked the uninjured soldiers and the best out of those who were injured but still sufficiently mobile, and explored ways to descend from the higher ground to the enemy lines.

They were preparing to retaliate against the enemy once reinforcements had arrived from Dairan. As Eric himself had said, if things went well, they would be able to attack the enemy from both sides. If there was a way to climb down behind the besieging enemy soldiers, they would use it to attack from the rear. If that was impossible, then their tactic would be for every platoon to charge down the hill.

It was around then that their camp suddenly erupted with noise.

“Ah!’

“My lord!”

Flames were rising up in the far distance.

From Dairan’s direction.

It was obvious that Allion’s army had launched an assault on it. For a second, Eric and the soldiers accompanying him were stunned. This situation was impossible. Dairan, against whose solid walls the nomadic riders seemed to bounce back off every time they attacked – Dairan was burning.

''Because of my incompetence…'' Eric’s shaking hands clenched into tight fists that trembled even harder.

For the prince, Dairan was far more his home than the capital, Safia. And while his home was being attacked, he found himself in a position where he could no longer hope for reinforcements from Dairan. Since things had come to this, there was only one path open to Eric’s troops.

To prepare to die without surrendering.

Like the tip of a single spear, all they could do was to concentrate their forces on ripping into a single point of the enemy lines. Nothing else.

Naturally, Prince Eric himself had to return alive either to Dairan or to Safia. If the worst happened and Dairan fell, if its people and soldiers were slaughtered to the last, as long as Eric survived, even if he was the only one, there would still be a chance for revenge. If Eric died here, however, that would mean the annihilation of the Grand Duchy of Ende itself.

Therefore, while they would be pouring most of their force into their surprise attack, it could be no more than a decoy. The decoy corps would fight with the all the power of desperation until it was utterly destroyed, during which time, the prince, accompanied by a few guards, would withdraw from the frontlines.

“My lord, please give us your orders.”

“Please allow me to demonstrate my prowess in the vanguard.”

“Ha, ha, ha, what’re you saying, you greenhorn who was living easy in the capital? I’m sure the prince will be kind enough to let this old croak show off my skill as a Dairan warrior one last time.”

Every last one of them volunteered to be part of the decoy unit.

Even Belmor, covered in injuries and unable to walk unaided, stood before the prince, using a spear in place of a cane.

“May the spirits of Heaven and Earth manifest their power and forever protect you, Lord Eric, next Grand Duke of Ende,” he said, his eyes clear and bright.

Eric wept.

There was nothing he could do but shed tears as he accepted their desperate resolve. Things were different from when he had fought in Dairan as an individual warrior. Eric now represented Ende itself, and his life was no longer his alone.

A few dozen minutes after flames had broken out in Dairan, four hundred soldiers descended the hill, calling upon the names of the spirits, spears, swords and guns in hand.

Less than half of them were still fit to wield steel. Some dragged one of their legs behind them, others had to lean on horses, and others still had to advance by crawling along the ground.

They soon collided with those of Allion’s troops that were stationed to the south side. The sound of gunfire immediately filled the surroundings.

Meanwhile, Lord Eric and the fifty soldiers protecting him attempted to break out on the west side.

Lance Mazpotter, who was in command of the encircling troops, reacted swiftly as well.

“It worked.”

Lance had predicted that once Dairan was set ablaze, the enemy would definitely descend from the high ground. And furthermore, that it would be as a decoy to allow Lord Eric to escape alone. Therefore, when he heard battle cries resound overhead, Lance gave the first instructions to shoot even as he promptly sent a signal to the airship unit.

Many of Allion’s airships, and especially those that seated two people, imitated the form of giant birds of prey. The motif was apparently that of the giant birds that appeared in myths from the Ancient Magic Dynasty. The soldiers on the back seats held up lights. While maintaining a distance between each other, several ships revolved in the sky.

Lance’s raised eye watched each of the twinkling lights. Before long, a light flying to the west drew an ‘8’ with its trail.

“There!” Lance cried out, and broke into a run towards it, accompanied by a hundred riders. With a force like the wind, he easily left the bloody battlefield behind.

His target was obvious. Lord Eric’s head.
 


Meanwhile, eight kilometres east of Dairan and at around midnight, a commotion also broke out all at once at the mountain pass where the allied Garberan and western forces were confronting Allion’s army. The reason was the same as for Eric’s troops: brilliant flames had risen from the direction of Dairan.

Hearing the uproar, Zenon Owell almost came tumbling out his pavilion and, for a moment, he also stared in shock in that direction.

Lord Eric had not notified Prince Zenon of his intention to lead a raid that night. This had been to prevent information from leaking as much as possible, but now that they were caught in an enemy trap, nothing could have been more harmful than that decision.

“Rouse the soldiers! Ready weapons!”

Waking up from his momentary trance, Zenon started yelling so hard that his mouth seemed to take up his entire face. With the help of the squires who accompanied him as knight apprentices, the prince donned his armour.

Just as Zenon had predicted, cries of “Enemy attack, enemy attack!” soon rose as Phard Chryseum drove his warhorses from the east. The assault on Dairan had clearly been his signal.
He moved with all the ferocity of a raging bull, with such terrifying force that it was hard to believe he had patiently been sitting still up until now. He rushed madly ahead, looking as though he would smash through anything that stood in his way, be it man, horse, or boulder.

Zenon was forced to make a decision. If they remained idly to one side, Dairan would be caught in a two-pronged attack between the forces currently assaulting it and the troops led by Phard. If the city fell, it would, of course, spell defeat for the allied forces.

“Prince Zenon!”

Gunshots, shouts of encouragement, and simple screams reverberated throughout the mountain pass, so that it was already impossible to hear what the person next to you was saying. Yet among it all, yelling in particularly loud voices, spurring on their huge horses, were the two commanders, Moldorf and Nilgif.

“Leave the rear to us.”

Both displayed their teeth as they laughed, spears in hand. Zenon Owell nodded immediately. The brothers’ smiles broadened.

“Pull back, pull back!” Zenon cried. He swiftly reorganised the first unit, centred around the riflemen. “First unit, take up position at entrance of the pass. Cover the retreat of the following troops.”

He called together each of the platoon commanders that he could see, and ordered them to stay in position until the first unit had completed its escape.

“Afterwards, each captain is to withdraw according to their own judgement. The western heroes are serving as the rear guard. Knights of Garbera, you have to repay their brave actions at all cost!”

The clouds of dust kicked up by the battle were already wafting towards Zenon’s face.

On the opposing Allion side, General Phard Chryseum was part of the vanguard at the centre of those dust clouds. The many and heavy-looking iron balls hanging from his battle staff hummed as he whirled it around. Usually, when that kind of weapon was used from horseback, the grip was shortened to make it easier to use with one hand; but Phard merrily swung what an ordinary man would be hard-pressed to use even two-handed. Around him, the heads of western soldiers were blown away.

In battle, he raged like a storm. As Phard ferociously pressed closer, painting a whirlpool of blood above his head, even the western warriors, renowned for their bravery, and the Garberan soldiers, imbued in the spirit of chivalry, flinched and prepared to flee.

“Boring, Boooring,” Phard laughed, and his breathing wasn’t even uneven.

The woman’s profile on the underside of his cloak flapped in and out of sight. Was there even a single enemy that survived after having seen it?

“So Garberan knights only amount to this much? You’re not worthy of holding a spear. Hurry on back to town to write poetry for the ladies.”

“Huh?” Phard’s narrow eyes, smouldering from the feast of blood and slaughter, opened wide.

An enemy was hurtling his horses right at him. The rider’s figure cut straight through the dust raised by Allion’s army, and with each sweep of his spears, he mowed down several of Allion’s iron-clad cavalry that were galloping in front of Phard.

“Oooh!” he roared in admiration at the enemy’s strength, seeing someone approach right before him without slowing their movements in the slightest.

Phard swept his war staff diagonally upwards. At that same moment, his opponent’s spear cleaved through the air. Spear repelled staff then jabbed a further two, three times to knock back the iron balls that were about to smash directly into the opponent’s face.

Both horses stopped abruptly, their forelegs suspended in the air. For just a second, Phard and the western cavalryman’s faces came close to one another.

“Tell me your name.”

“Moldorf, Kadyne’s commander of the Tauran army.”

“Got iiit!” Phard howled and kicked at his horse’s flank.

He was not trying to escape, but to put some distance between them since he had realised that his own weapon was not suitable for close combat.

Aware of what he was trying to do, Moldorf was of course in hot pursuit. He thrust his spear forward repeatedly. Phard, however, shortened his grip on his staff and the iron balls repelled the spear.

Allion’s army, meanwhile, continued to advance forward, but met with resistance from Nilgif’s elite cavalrymen. They rode freely through the narrow mountain pass, sometimes charging, sometimes scattering left and right, fighting hard and constantly impeding the larger army’s progress.

Nevertheless, the  allied Garbera-western forces were compelled to retreat, whereas Allion’s troops simply needed to continuously attack and advance. Inevitably, there was a difference in their energy and momentum.

The clouds of dust sent flying under the feet of the horses and infantrymen gradually moved west, and the position in which the allied forces had established their camp was violently trampled underfoot by Allion’s army, along with all the flags from the various countries.
 


At the same time, in Dairan, the city’s soldiers were concentrating their gunfire on Kaseria’s forces which were drawing up to the front of the fortified mansion.

Although Kaseria was currently sheltered behind a building, waiting for the onslaught to subside, he had the curious impression that – ''bullets can’t even graze me when I’m winning''. Perhaps holding those kinds of beliefs was a type of strength in this kind of mêlée combat.

While Kaseria was giving his riflemen orders to counterattack, the cannon was successfully set up. Before long, the gun barrel roared and belched out vast quantities of black smoke.

“Guah!”

Dairan soldiers were blown away by the explosion, and the gate to the mansion collapsed.

Kaseria allowed his men to rest for a moment, then gave the order of assault. Naturally, he was running in the vanguard. His horse soared over the rubble that had once been the gate then, for a second, Kaseria tilted his head to the right.

From the other side of the whirling dust, a spear came hurtling, humming through the air. Aiming for the instant when the spear was fully extended towards him, Kaseria stretched out his hand and calmly took hold of it.

The first prince of Allion did not often get to play like this. On the battlefield, where even the tiniest miscalculation could prove fatal, he deliberately placed himself in unnecessary danger to confirm for himself just how much he transcended and overwhelmed his surroundings.

In the case of this spear, if he had not waited for the very instant when it had lost its momentum, his wrist would have been blown flying into the air. He succeeded magnificently, however, smoothly grabbing the spear then swiftly turning its tip around to thrust it through the chest of an enemy on the ground.

The soldier died without uttering a sound, and Kaseria’s horse tramped over the corpse. It was then that, sensing someone’s gaze on him, Kaseria once again turned his neck.

The place was something like the mansion’s front garden. Ever since the era of the Ancient Magic Dynasty, this land was known to have a unique sense of aesthetics; so even though Kaseria was royalty from Allion, which had originated from that same dynasty, the arrangement of the rocks inserted into the landscape of the Ende-style garden looked strange to him.

A small figure stood amidst the light tendrils of smoke that were still drifting about.

Thil.

She had been running indoors searching for her little sister, when it occurred to her that Reen might have gone rushing out of the mansion, and so she had gone to look in the front garden. It was at that moment that gate had been bombarded.

She was almost blown away by the blast, but she somehow managed to not be swept away by crouching down and clinging to a rock. It was as she was standing, coughing violently, that her and Kaseria’s eyes met.

Kaseria Jamil’s lips curved into a smile that could only be called gentle.

He was a man who certainly did not dislike children, perhaps because, at heart, he had a childlike personality. Whenever there was an event at which his youngest relatives gathered, he even took the initiative to organise games like hide-and-seek in the palace.

The little girl who appeared within the clearing smoke looked clever but also, as youthful as she was, her appearance held a promise of one day being able to excite a man’s instincts.

''Oh, she’ll grow up to be a beauty'' – thought Kaseria. Even as he thought so, he pulled the spear out of the Dairan soldier that he had stabbed just a moment ago. The sensation of flesh and gore felt good to the hand.

''No, she would have grown up to be a beauty. If she hadn’t met me''.

''It’s too bad''.

''But it can’t be helped. Since, unfortunately for her, she met me''.

He was curious.

He wanted to see how red this little child’s blood would be.

She had been fated, in the future, to be loved and raised like a princess, but he would be tearing that fate down –

On the battlefield, the shackles that held back desires of every kind fell loose. Thoughts that flashed through his mind as nothing more than mere curiosity instantly connected to instinctive desires that could not be suppressed.

Kaseria Jamil feared that part of himself.  At the same time, whenever he stood on the battlefield, he felt a joy that could not be compared to that moment of fear.

Kaseria brandished the spear.

Thil could only stare at the sight in shock. Her thoughts were frozen, and she could neither run nor scream. Her trembling lips emitted a sound that was not quite a voice. She could not form her sister’s name, or call for her mother and father.

In the next second, the spear thrown by the first prince of Allion drew an arc in the air.