Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter8 (section)

=== Part 1 ===

Lord Eric of Ende had also already cast himself into the free-for-all fight.

Although the armour of the surrounding Endean soldiers was lined up to shield him, one after another gasped for breath, then fell at Eric’s feet, spitting up blood. At first, Eric had wielded an axe but, with an enemy blade approaching, he had cast it away and used his sword to repel the enemy’s blow
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Meanwhile, the ferocity of Allion’s Prince Kaseria had not abated in the slightest.

Opposite him, Ende’s soldiers were, of course, trying to kill the enemy commander-in-chief; but just when you thought that Kaseria was only looking ahead of him, his body would suddenly twist to avoid a spear coming from the right, or sometimes, he would slash backwards while his horse was in the very act of jumping left.

Was a direct confrontation between the two commanders-in-chief already close at hand? Kaseria was moving ceaselessly, constantly killing enemies. Slender though he was, he did not seem to know fatigue.

Although Eric himself was an outstanding warrior, in this situation in which he had been driven to a wall, his impatience was growing out of control. All the more so as the flames rising from Dairan were still glowing red in the distance. And that impatience was robbing him of his physical stamina to a remarkable degree.

Then –

“Nooow!” came a high-pitched yell.

It was Kaseria. As soon as he had gauged that one side of the enemy line had collapsed, he charged into the crack. His cloak billowed behind him like an ominous banner, dark crimson and almost slimy from the enemy blood it had absorbed.

“My lord, go to the rear,” cried a soldier standing by his shield, but he had already retreated as far as he could. Then, the soldier who had cried was dealt a blow to the head by Kaseria, and collapsed without another word, his throat pierced through.

“Got you!” Kaseria called out, his entire face gleeful.

“No, Now I’ve got ''you''!” Eric yelled in return.

Sword crashed against sword.

“Dairan will fall, Lordling,” laughed Kaseria.

Eric was a master swordsman, and it was because he had been hoping for it that the prince of Allion laughed. Partly to provoke the enemy to impatience, but also simply because he found this kind of exchange fun.

“The men will all be enslaved to Allion. The women will be given to the soldiers on the spot. The children should sell for a good price in the coastal countries.

''Never'' – Eric’s only response was a fierce glare. He was only barely able to repel the iron sword that aimed downwards towards his shoulder. Next was the crown of his head. Somehow, he managed to defend against that too, but Eric’s posture was unsteady.

Every single blow seemed to reverberate within his entire body, stinging through his flesh and bones. Since Kaseria’s build was not large, his sword did not have ‘weight’, but his unerring aim towards vital spots, coupled with the speed with which he unleashed it, gave the weapon a ‘sharpness’ that the sword of soldiers who took pride in their own strength did not have.

''Even though we’re descended from the same dynasty…''

“Exactly,” Kaseria laughed again, as if had been reading his mind. “That’s why Allion will be taking it. Land, fortune, culture… and people.”

Kaseria’s sword had been forged by Valkess, Allion’s greatest craftsman. Said in life to have been loved equally by the spirits of flames and of water, it was claimed that, if wielded by a talented owner, the swords created by that master blacksmith could cut through boulders without receiving a single nick.

And now, Eric’s sword snapped right in half. Kaseria struck his next blow without even pausing. Eric desperately drew back his head, but his shoulder was sliced into.

It was to his credit that he did not cry out, but he would not be able to sustain another blow from the sword that Kaseria was raising overhead.

Kaseria’s – Allion’s victory was fast approaching.

Just as he was thinking so, Kaseria sensed a ‘presence’ surging like a wave behind him. One that he knew.

There had been one or two of Eric’s men who had come rushing up when they had realised the danger that their young lord was in, but one of them had been dealt a blow with an axe for having turned his back on his opponent, while the other was too far to make it in time.

“Lord Kaseria!”

From beyond the mêlée, a messenger was crying out as he galloped towards him. His attention caught by that, Kaseria found himself obstructed by soldiers who had interposed themselves between Eric and him.

“I’m here!” Kaseria called in annoyance.

“Enemy reinforcements from Dairan – It’s a raid!” The messenger’s answering voice came through a curtain of swirling dust. “Mephian forces. A large number of enemy riders are closing in and they’re flying Mephius’ flag!”

“Mephius?” the same groan came from both Kaseria and Eric. Moreover, the image of the same man flashed through both their minds.

And in the next instant, Kaseria Jamil lost himself in delirium.

It felt as though a sharp piece of iron had buried itself in his forehead at some point, and it was now unexpectedly giving off heat, as though to remind him of its existence.

''Is it him?''

When he had been on the verge of checkmating Dairan by taking its inner keep, that man had stopped him. And on top of it, that man had brought a sword down on him.

''It’s him!''

For the second time, that man appeared just as he was about to end things. Humiliation and anger once more heated that iron fragment. And with it, he could not hold back his laughter. It seemed as though the man had only chased after him to offer Kaseria an easy chance for revenge.

He turned his back on Eric. In a flash, he was whipping his horse and, without giving his men a single order, he forced his way through the confused mass of enemies and allies. He drove away any obstructive soldiers with a sword swung left and right. Be they from Ende or from Allion, Kaseria currently made no distinction between them.

The ‘presence’ that he had felt coming from behind him had undoubtedly kicked up that cloud of dust that was making straight for him. Just then, the ground’s surface started to glisten white. With pale light as its backdrop, the approaching troop had that young man in its lead.

Almost unconsciously, Kaseria grabbed the torch that one of the common soldiers hurrying behind him was carrying, and lifted it above his shoulder level. He saw himself as a guidepost for the enemy.

“State your name!” he called out sharply. “I am Kaseria Jamil, first prince of the Kingdom of Allion. If you want my head, then state your damn name.”

“Gil Mephius, crown prince of Mephius,” replied his opponent. Compared to Kaseria’s voice, his tone had a quiet calm that seemed to soak into you.

Yet in his eyes burned the unmistakable flame of fighting spirit. He cast aside the spear that was under his arm and, still on horseback, seemed about to draw his sword.

“Oh, Mephius’ prince?” Kaseria too quickly threw away the fire.

The flame was still tracing an arc in mid-air when Kaseria urged his fine horse to lunge forward. Gil Mephius did the same.

The scattered sparks flying from the discarded torch seemed terribly slow.

In the sky, the nebulous light of dawn was starting to erode the darkness.

In that moment, on a battlefield where the fighting had turned into a free-for-all and chaos had reigned, the ‘wind’ in which was mixed the fighting spirit of friend and foe alike suddenly stopped blowing.

It was like a scene from a play: from the right, Kaseria eagerly leaned forward, spurring on his horse while, from the left, Gil likewise bent forward, his horse sprinting.

Foaming at the mouth, both horses rushed wild, their eyes starting and squirming, and each reflecting the oncoming figure.

In an instant, the sword belonging to the commander-in-chief of Allion’s troops flashed, and the sword belonging to Mephius’ commander was swung.

Sparks flew from the clash of steel.

Even as they were passing by each other, they struck again.

Once distance divided them, both turned.

They would clash again.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v12 305.jpg|thumb]]
This time, both slowed their horses’ steps when they were within point-blank range of one another and exchanged strikes and thrusts.

Coincidentally, the torch which Kaseria had thrown away earlier was still lit and at their feet as they crossed swords.

The two blades gleamed scarlet, bathed in the light of the flames, and trailed an afterglow behind them as the collided again and again.

The power and skill both competed with was astonishing. The two of them were well-matched.

“Kuah!” sounds like the cry of an ominous bird escaping from his throat, while Kaseria freely sprang about.

Replying voicelessly, Gil Mephius’ sword repelled it.

Gil was fighting no defensive fight however. He attacked as soon as he saw an opening. From the right, from the left, from overhead, from below. Yet his opponent’s vital points were already no longer there. His head pulled down, his chest pulled back, his sword raised, Kaseria too skilfully parried.

At first, Kaseria felt a heat at his forehead as though his brain was being broiled.

Fury.

Hatred.

He felt that if he left this man alive here a second time, then he would never sleep peacefully again. That iron fragment that pierced deeply into his forehead would forever more project this man’s scornful smile before him. Whether in the middle of making love to a woman or simply while sleeping, every time that mocking smile would come to his mind, Kaseria would leap out of bed screaming, and only by whipping the backs of hundreds of slaves, and maybe occasionally beheading them, would he be able distract the ache in his blood amidst the rising screams and pillars of blood.

Although it had only been a one-time chance encounter, that was how deeply-rooted the prince of Allion’s conviction was.

Yet, blow after blow, as he took his enemy’s attacks and had his own strikes repelled, while the countless sparks flew before him, even Kaseria’s fury and hatred vanished like the mist along with the ring of steel colliding with steel. Thoughts and emotions lost their shape, their meaning lost all use, and Kaseria himself was now no more than the sensation of steel being swung and engulfed in battle.

Unaware even of his own breathing in this fight that he had wholly cast himself into, somewhere at the back of his mind, Kaseria thought that this was just like ''that'' time.

It was just like the day that he had first grasped a sword.

From the time he had been born, nothing had ever fulfilled him. He had been constantly irritated. Feelings that he could not identify raged inside him like a tempest and, so as to not miss a single opportunity to release them, he snarled at everything he laid eyes on.

When Lance Mazpotter had been assigned to him as a sword instructor, Kaseria had vehemently protested. He would rather have bitten off his own tongue than be bound by another’s orders. And then, Lance thoroughly trounced him. And just like now, every time Kaseria had attacked to the very limits of his strength.

Back then, Kaseria had also experienced the feel of losing his own form. Fury, irritation, pride – all had vanished within the sparks raised with each beat of the clash of steel. Was that how so many cultures, once considered great in this world, had faded?

Since then, Kaseria had gone to the battlefield, and fought in the vanguard for no other reason than to taste again the excitement and exaltation of that almost unattainable sense of unity with the sword.

Of course, Lance was still his mentor. In terms of simple skill with the sword, he was a step above Gil Mephius, with whom Kaseria was currently clashing. With Lance, however, there had been no ‘intent to kill’ for a long time now.

With Gil, this was undoubtedly a struggle for survival. Which was why he was pulled into this whirlpool of murderous intent born from conflict. Even his feelings melted as he became one with that whirlpool and seemed to be swallowed up by is centre.

Meanwhile, Gil Mephius – or rather, Orba – had also fallen into the same mental state.

Competing like this in power made this moment feel incomparably sweet. He was entranced, his body was almost shaking from the delight of being re-awakened to the feeling of throwing himself in that gap, no wider than a single thread, which lay between victory and defeat, between life and death. He forgot about the crown prince’s mask and about the Grand Duchy of Ende, yearning to be absorbed in the world of the ‘sword’.

Just like Kaseria, the flesh and soul known as ‘Orba’ were already collapsing, and the dark blood that was seeping out as they did so drew a spiral to which he gave himself, feeling himself being absorbed into the whirlpool of violence.

And yet –

As he parried Kaseria’s sword for perhaps he tenth time, he felt a scorching heat at the back of his head.

The dazzling sun was overhead.

Cheers rained down incessantly.

Orba’s breathing was a little disordered.

Which was also when he noticed for the first time that someone’s hand was touching his shoulder. Suddenly, forcefully, that hand pulled him back, as though to keep him away from the whirlpool of violence.

''Shique.''

Orba started, wide-eyed. Was it an illusion born of the dust cloud conjured by the wind from the swords? The owner of that invisible hand was the beautiful gladiator, Shique.

No sooner did he wonder if a ghost had come to him than it turned into Gowen’s brawny arm before just as quickly transforming into the soft, white hand of a young girl.

Each time all of those arms seemed to pull Orba to them, scene after scene of those countless death matches he had experienced were seared into his mind even as they were torn from it.

''Right… That’s right…''

With the whirlpool approaching right before him, Orba realised anew.

That fighting, sword in hand, was his only way to keep on living. That had been true, both in the arena and after he had become the crown prince’s body-double. The instant he let slip the split-second chance for victory, he would be stretched out as a cold corpse. Now, however, this was not his fate alone. Once before, at the forest of Tolinea, he had realised that the fight was not his alone.

The moment he realised that, Shique’s face, which had become blurry from the flurry of dust, broke into a smile. Gowen nodded. The girl, looking elated, let go of his hand. The thunderous black blood stopped drawing a spiral within Orba.

And with that, his five senses, which had been sharply tied together in their focus, now flew loosened and extended in all directions.

The next second, Orba almost imperceptibly shifted his horse’s position, purposely escaping to the front. Kaseria saw an opening in his opponent. He immediately had his horse leap to fill the gap so that he could slice the space where Orba would move to.

A fresh surge of fighting spirit instantly battered against him.

Pashir had charged, spear in hand. Waiting ready in the rear, he had realised that Orba had left that gap for him.

The attack pulled Kaseria back to himself. He hurriedly jerked backwards and watched, astounded, as the spear whizzed by right before his eyes.

“Coward!” Kaseria howled.

Even though he had finally achieved that feeling of ecstasy in which it felt as though his body and mind would melt, it was as though he had been doused with cold water just as he was reaching its peak.

Atop his horse, Orba smiled scornfully.

“So young.”

“What!”

“As long as I take your head, there’ll be no question of cowardice. I’ll just have it advertised that I fought Allion’s prince fair and square in a duel, and magnificently killed him.”

For all that he was younger than Kaseria, Orba had, in a sense, lost his youth, and what he had said fit in with his way of doing things.

Although Kaseria’s face was flushed, having come back to his senses, he could grasp what his own situation was.

At exactly that moment, Lance Mazpotter came galloping up, having been searching for the prince’s whereabouts.

“Pull back, pull back, Prince,” he shouted as he had his horse rear bolt upright. “If you don’t pull back, you’ll have to face me too, Kaseria. I told you earlier. I’ll haul you away even if I have to drag you. Do you want to look that pathetic, Kaseria!?”

Kaseria Jamil had suffered his second defeat that day. And at the hands of the same opponent. Roaring something unintelligible, he fiercely kicked his horse’s flanks.