Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7 Chapter1 (section)

=== Part 1 ===

It was about five years since the previous empress, Lana, had died of illness. Usually, the elders of the Dragon Gods’ faith would attend to the funerals of the imperial family, however, Emperor Guhl Mephius did not invite them to Solon on that occasion. The war with Garbera was at its height, which was partly why there was no state funeral and the inhabitants of Solon merely wore mourning clothes for a week, while Guhl himself immediately went back to commanding the army.

None of which was particularly surprising. Empress Lana was not familiar with those kinds of ancient Mephian traditions, and Guhl was not by nature inclined to respect history and customs.

And yet…

Since about three years ago, he had been changing. At the time, the war had been dragging on with no end in sight, and the border areas were constantly being taken and retaken. To bolster the people’s fighting spirit, Guhl had sworn an oracle at the Dragon Gods’ shrine: “Until the head of the Garberan king is presented before me, I will never sheathe my sword.”

At the time of that ceremony, Guhl was, for some reason, unusually particular about observing old traditions. He invited the elders a month before the oracle and confirmed the procedure with them, he collected history books and old tomes while immersing himself in reading them, and he seemed to be going around in a general frenzy to ensure that not a single thing would go wrong during the ritual. And thus, so it was said, it was at this time that the once-estranged Emperor and elders grew closer.

Which brings us to the present.

A building which seemed to symbolise the relationship between the Emperor and the Dragon Gods’ faith had been erected in Solon: an imposingly large temple which was not to be outmatched by any in the western lands of Tauran, where the Dragon gods’ faith was still deeply-rooted and permeated the lives of the people.

That day, a commemoration ceremony for the building of the temple was to be held from the early morning onwards. Only nobles and officers were in attendance. Since the previous evening, soldiers armed with spears and guns had been surrounding the perimeter of the temple at a circumference of several kilometres, so that not only could commoners not enter the building, they could not even watch the proceedings.

Exquisitely carved pillars ran from the entranceway to the interior part of the shrine; while in front of them, on either side of the long staircase, Mephius’ courtiers were lined up. All of them were wearing hooded, ankle-length cloaks. These had been sent to each individual residence about a week earlier. They were patterned after the long robes that the elders usually wore and were apparently meant to be the formal attire that people were to wear whenever they visited the temple.

When they had first seen each other’s appearance they had found it oddly amusing, yet not a single chuckle had slipped out; and after that, they had spent over an hour standing stock still, their backs ramrod straight.

Beyond the stairs, Guhl Mephius was proceeding towards the Dragon Gods’ shrine, which had just been transferred from beneath the Black Tower to the interior part of the temple, and which was where the current elders were in the middle of conducting a ceremony.

The nobles and officers who were awaiting his return all had stiff expressions. In the past few years, the Emperor had done a complete turnabout and had become obsessed with ceremonies and rites, so if something occurred to even slightly spoil his mood during this celebration, who knew what kind of punishment it might bring down.

Not far from the temple were Empress Melissa and her daughters, Ineli and Flora – in other words, the people closest to the Emperor, and nobody wanted to let them see or hear anything unnecessary. Still, after being forced to endure the strain for so long, a few people had started whispered conversations if only to distract themselves from it.

“There was a rumour that Lord Gil’s funeral would be held after this ceremony, but at this rate, it looks like it will be put off again.”

“Even though the funeral of a son of the imperial family would surely have been an appropriate first ceremony for the temple.”

“Appropriate or not, don’t go speaking so rashly. If anyone with ill intentions heard your words, who knows how they might twist and spread them around.”

“Ah n-no, that wasn’t what I meant, my lord…” The elderly noble went pale and shook his head.

Nobody even smiled at the fact that a noble with years of service to Mephius would be so panicked at being criticised for such innocuous words. Such was the current state of things in Solon.

“Why is it being postponed like this?”

“First things first, Oubary’s execution should be held before the funeral. But even for that, there’s no date yet.”

Oubary, who had assassinated Crown Prince Gil, was currently being held in Solon’s dungeons. His immediate family, and even most of his relatives, had also been arrested. With still no indication of when his execution or Gil’s funeral were going to be held, the commemoration for the building of the temple had come first.

Normally, there would be nothing unusual about a few of the retainers giving their opinions, but now there was no one who would give counsel to the Emperor. Among the influential figures who were lined up there, Simon Rodloom, who should have been at their head, was still under house arrest. Additionally, and although there were probably none among those present who knew about it, most of those who were dissatisfied with the Emperor were currently gathered in the south, in Kilro.

“His Majesty had been pleased with the Prince’s more recent actions. And it was just then that he was assassinated. Perhaps the truth is that he cannot accept it yet.”

“Yeah. If belief in the Dragon Gods can ease His Majesty’s grief even just a little, we need to respect that.”

It was with those and similar excuses that they justified the cowardice of their tacit approval of the Emperor’s way of doing things – or rather, of their inability to voice their opinions.

It was at that point that the Emperor appeared. Nobles and officers alike immediately stopped talking, and nervousness flashed across their faces.

“It’s been hard on you all,” Guhl Mephius addressed them, a long staff held in his hand. He had only recently started carrying it around: it had a crystal ball at its tip which was said to symbolise the all-seeing eye of a Dragon God. Thanks to its fine craftsmanship, invisible to an observer, when light was shone on the crystal, it was refracted by means of minute grooves and curves, making it appear to be almost wrapped in flames.

Immediately after Guhl, staff in hand, had spent a short while with the crowd, who was offering him their congratulations, he started to walk away from the temple. A celebratory banquet was scheduled to be held after this in Solon’s main palace.

Imperial Guards acting as a guard of honour stood on either side of Guhl while behind him followed a group of elderly men with dark brown skin – the elders. It was with mixed feelings that the retainers bowed their heads and watched them file by.

At that moment –

“Your Majesty!”

Someone seemed to slide to their knees before the Emperor. It was a young noble who had been standing at the furthest position from the temple.

“Raymond, you insolent…!”

Whoever it was who had called out, they did not need to do so; even without it, the honour guard were about to remove the noble called Raymond with their long-handled spears. He almost seemed to be clinging to the soldiers’ feet, but he did not even seem to notice as he made his plea to the Emperor, who had slowed his steps somewhat.

Raymond stated that he normally worked in Nedain, a fortress between Birac and Solon, where he served the domain-lord Jairus and oversaw the area’s villages. An incident had occurred there: a slave in a certain merchant’s household had murdered his master and escaped. He was still only a boy, and this had been right after the slave revolt in Kilro. He had apparently been going to join the uprising, but because the merchant had connections with nobles, his pursuers had been relentless.

Wounded to his leg, he had managed to flee to a neighbouring village. The villagers had felt sorry for the young slave, and they had fed and sheltered him instead of notifying Nedain. Less than three days later however, the lord of Nedain had learned of his whereabouts and had sent a military unit to the village.

The villagers were given no chance to explain themselves, Raymond cried. The soldiers set fire to the village and killed the villagers as they tried to escape.

“Raymond, shut up. Shut up!”

That rough shout came from the very same person who had rebuked him earlier – the lord of Nedain, Jairus Abigoal.

The domain lords watching the scene quietly exchanged glances. They could somewhat sympathise with Jairus’ feelings. If a problem arose on the land that they governed, then naturally it became a matter of the domain-lord’s responsibility. Nowadays, who knew how terrifying an ending lay in wait for those whom the Emperor branded as “incompetent” and “useless”?

Fearing a repeat of Kilro, Jairus had gone overboard in hunting down a single slave. But for Raymond, who frequently made the rounds of the villages and who was friendly with the villagers, that was unforgivable.

“It must be contrary to the laws of Mephius. Your Majesty, please open an inquiry – Your Majesty!”

Raymond’s face was almost touching the ground when Jairus, crimson-faced, rushed up to him and kicked him in the jaw.

“A bastard like you dares to speak of the laws of Mephius in His Majesty’s presence? Cretin!”

Jairus stamped swiftly on Raymond’s head and back. And while kicking him in front of everyone, in support of the abuse, he expounded on the question of Raymond’s lineage.

He was from what had once been a powerful family in a territory ruled by Garbera. Even before the ten-year war, there had been skirmishes with Mephius and, about thirty years ago, the territory had fallen under Mephius’ control during what had been none other than the current emperor, Guhl Mephius’, first military campaign.

In less than a decade, the land itself had been recaptured by the then king of Garbera, Jeorg Owell, however, Raymond’s family had thereafter remained in Mephius, where they had just barely managed to attain noble status. But in a country with a history as long as Mephius, newcomers were given the short end of the stick. On top of that, Raymond’s family had, for generations, been followers of Badyne.
“Defiling this auspicious occasion… it’s easy to tell that you just want to spit on the Dragon Gods’ faith, you bastard.”

Jairus took advantage of the difference in position to vilify Raymond. Unable to oppose him, Raymond simply kept repeating his plea of “Your Majesty”.

Guhl Mephius spared a single glance towards the young noble who was grovelling between the soldiers and Jairus, then swiftly raised his gaze and threw a glare at the lord of Nedain. Jairus’ skinny frame instantly quivered.

“Please leave the rest to me. I would not wish to bother Your Majesty,” he said in a trembling voice.

With that, it was over. Or at least, as far Emperor Guhl was concerned. The emperor with the impressive white beard did not so much as nod; instead, with an air of utter disinterest, he started walking away again.

“Wait – Your Majesty, please wait!”

Raymond’s sorrowful voice echoed behind him.

Following after the Emperor, as though it were the most normal thing in the world, were the elders. Everyone else kept their heads more lowered than they needed to be.

Which meant that because most people were looking down, no one noticed how the elders and Empress Melissa exchanged a brief glance.
 


Despite the unforeseen incident at the commemoration ceremony, the banquet after had proceeded smoothly.

It was being held in the audience hall of the main palace, which had been freed up for the occasion, and was accompanied by the ever-wildly popular gladiator matches. The deaths and life-blood of humans had thus been chosen as the first offerings to the temple. No expense had been spared to bring in famous gladiators who had then taken each other’s lives with sword and spear.

Guhl had only watched a few rounds before leaving his seat. He then waved his hand at the courtiers who had stood up to see him off –

“It’ll be easier to get into the swing of things without me around. Enjoy yourselves from here on,” his teeth had gleamed as he laughed.

It was the first time in a long time that he had shown a smile in public, but the answering smiles from the retainers were somewhat stiff.

Before long, Empress Melissa also left her seat, as though following after him. One of the guests wiped the sweat that was dripping from his chin with the back of his hand – Folker Baran, one of the twelve generals and a man known to have nerves of steel.

“That was like being around Varsa, the ancient king whose gaze turned people into stone,” he said in a low aside.

While pretending to have fun at the banquet, a number of nobles wore clouded expressions as they glanced around the hall. Slaves were cleaning away the blood spilled by the gladiators. The dead were still being dragged away with hooks.

“If Lord Rodloom was here, it would have led to another dispute, wouldn’t it?” Someone muttered softly as they gazed at the ribbons of blood trailing along the palace floor. Gladiator matches and sword dances – Mephius’ other specialty – were typically held in other halls or buildings, this was probably the first time in history that matches were performed in the audience hall.

They could almost hear the elderly nobleman protesting against the great audience hall being defiled by blood.  

''I don’t understand…'' Many among the retainers were probably feeling the same bewilderment. ''His Majesty is reviving ancient traditions on the one hand while at the same time trampling over historic customs without batting an eyelid. Exactly like an infant testing the limits to see at what point his parents will tell him off''.
 


The night had grown late.

“Your decision, my lord?”

In the Emperor’s bedroom, Melissa had wrapped a thin robe around her naked body and was snuggling up to Guhl. In the lamplight, her golden curls gleamed against the pillow. Smiling girlishly, her slender fingers traced along the Emperor’s chest. Who knows what sweet nothings she was murmuring?

“As long as the Garberan girl is here, that country won’t be able to interfere. And Ende’s internal disputes are coming to a head.”

Her whispered words touched directly on national affairs.

Guhl contemplated the undulating amber liquid in the wine cup that Melissa was holding out to him. He was not, by nature, an emperor who approved of women meddling in politics. Yet there was no anger in his eyes, which were filled with a light so dull as to appear listless.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. My lord, have you not allowed that terrible criminal to live precisely because you too were anticipating this?” Melissa giggled, her eyes sparkling. “No… Perhaps, His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince’s assassination was…” her murmured words faded away.

Guhl was looking at his wife from the corner of his eyes. Simply from that, Melissa had started shuddering.

“You talk as though it were your own plan, but this too is all a ‘divination’ you’ve received from the elders, huh?”

“O-Of course,” Melissa seemed to be struggling to regain her smile.

His eyes dark, Guhl tipped the wine cup towards him. On the third time, his hand suddenly stopped and he once more looked down at his own face reflected in the liquid.