Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume10 Chapter4 (section)

=== Part 2 ===

Malchio Le Doria had passed away.

Ende bordered both Mephius and Garbera, and was a country with a long history. He had been its Grand Duke.

Malchio had been an extremely commonplace ruler with no outstanding achievements to his name, although, taken otherwise, that also meant that he had committed no spectacular mistakes. When the war between Mephius and Garbera stretched on for ten years, he said nothing and did nothing. There were rumours that the nomadic tribes that periodically threatened the northern border area, Dairan, were receiving support from Zonga, which was even further to the north, so the relationship with Zonga had deteriorated somewhat; but even then, Malchio had simply gently chided his retainers and the matter had been settled peacefully after he had dispatched an envoy to them.

And thus, while there were voices that praised him as – ''a benevolent ruler who has brought peace to the country'', there were others that said – ''his principle of avoiding trouble at all cost is really irritating''.

Ende had inherited a flourishing culture from the Magic Dynasty. In painting and poetry, literature and architecture, it would allow itself to be second to no other country. The people however were not wealthy. Because of that, when the war had been going on for ten years, there had been those who were of the opinion that Ende should align itself with either Mephius or Garbera, and enjoy the bounty of being one of the victorious countries.

In fact, Grand Duke Malchio, who was known for his moderation, had once, and only once, taken a decisive stand. When there had been an offer to have Garbera’s Princess Vileena marry his second son, Eric Amon Doria.

Essentially, Ende did not like to accept foreign blood. It boasted that it was directly descended from the Ancient Magic Dynasty which had once nearly ruled over the entire world.

Malchio, however, knew that he did not have much longer to live. At the time, his condition had been such that for every three days of work, he would spend one day bedridden. And so, he had thought – 

''I’ll take a gamble on this.''

Preparations for the wedding were pushed forward in secret. Even the army had been reorganised in anticipation of Mephius marching on them at some point in the future. And then, the proposal had been withdrawn by Garbera itself. His two sons – Jeremie, the eldest, and Eric, the one who was supposed to marry the princess – had openly voiced their fury at having Ende’s pride and history being dragged in the mud. Malchio himself however had not been particularly bothered by it.

''Ah well, that just means that I’ve lost the gamble.''

When, as a way of apologising, Garbera had sent the second prince, Zenon, as an envoy to Ende, Malchio had given him a warm reception and had exchanged vows of everlasting friendship with him.

But neither of his two sons had been satisfied.

When General Ryucown rose in rebellion in Garbera, Malchio’s eldest son, Jeremie Amon Doria, had secretly offered him assistance. Then later the younger brother, Eric, as a way of “punishing” Garbera for its lack of courtesy, had taken his troops and clashed with a combined Mephian-Garberan force in the vicinity of Zaim Fortress. For a while, he had been one step away from cornering the Garberan troops led by Prince Zenon.

The Grand Duke had already been bedridden at the time and was unable to control his sons’ actions. It was rare for him to even summon them to his bedside. Rumour had it that he was not even conscious most of the time.

Ende’s courtiers worried over whether to support the older or the younger of the brothers, endlessly wavering and hesitating over their decision. Of the two, the one who was more deeply familiar with the culture and customs of Ende was the prudent Jeremie. On the other hand, the somewhat quick-tempered Eric had proven his dynamism and military leadership during the long years he had spent in Dairan, fighting the northern nomadic tribes, but he was unfamiliar with the customs of the Court.

A shadowy and swordless feud spread throughout the country. Everyone hoped to be among those who would lead Ende during its next era; and in order to remove any obstacles to their ambitions, some used brute force to get rid of opponents, while others used their riches or words to gather  allies.

The brothers harshly criticised each other and each continued to proclaim their right to be the next Grand Duke.

Their father’s voice, which should have been remonstrating with them, was nowhere to be heard.

Everyone foresaw that the time was near. And because they foresaw it, they were frantically running around, gathering like-minded allies and desperately trying to gain the trust of the prince that they had decided to support.

And when the time finally came, it did so very quietly.

Since the morning, the populace had anxiously been glancing up at the sky. In the distance, they could see Safia’s palace. Separated from the capital by a vast lake and set atop a hill, the palace usually seemed to glitter with an almost divine radiance; but that day, it stood there looking lonely and somewhat sad.

The flag of the Magic Dynasty fluttered near the highest point of the palace. It denoted the legitimacy of the grand ducal family and seemed to be flapping particularly violently. Just before noon, a bell tolled, indicating that the ruler had passed away.

The people let out wails of lamentation. All recited the names of the spirits as they prayed that the Grand Duke would sleep peacefully, and that Ende too would continue to be at peace.

The next morning, the Grand Duke’s closest aides summoned the chief retainers to the Swan Shrine – also known as the Water Shrine – which was frequently used in ceremonies.

A great crowd of the nobles gathered in Safia were present. Naturally, the two princes, Jeremie and Eric, were also standing aligned on the crystal-covered floor.

Once he judged that the time was right, one of the aides started to read the will left by the Grand Duke.

While the river could be seen flowing below through the transparent crystal, the thread of tension was stretched taut above. Some of the people there were so pale that it looked as though they might collapse at any moment. While Jeremie played with his braided hair, Eric had his arms crossed, and both were waiting impatiently for this moment.

“The name of the next Grand Duke of the Grand Duchy of Ende will be…”

What the aged attendant said next seemed to reverberate through every nook and cranny of the palace…

“Eric Le Doria.”

Instantly, the shrine was in an uproar.

The two princes stood as stiff and still as though a spell had been cast upon them, so that looking at them, it was impossible to tell who had won and who had lost. At the aide’s prompting, Eric hesitantly took a step forward. The elderly aide, who stood before him, bowed his head.

“From today onwards, you will throw away the name ‘Amon’ and call yourself by this new name. From today onwards, you will not be a private person: your figure, your voice, your thoughts, in all of these, you will be Ende. Your age and the years you have lived no longer mean anything. You shall shoulder the burden of the Magic Dynasty’s history, of its past and origins, and, under the protection of the Spirits, you…”

“Preposterous!” Prince Jeremie cried out. His somewhat flat face, which he usually improved with the use of cosmetics, now held unconcealed fury as he pointed a thin finger at his younger brother. “This miscreant is suspected of having forged Father’s words when he rode his warhorses towards Garbera. Who can say that is not what happened this time too!”

There might have been some who agreed with him, but Jeremie’s voice simply echoed unanswered within the Water Shrine. He was a man who could read a situation. In fact, he could do so far better than his younger brother. Grinding his teeth so hard he looked like a different person, he whirled around with the force of a gust of wind and left the shrine. His loyal followers hurried after him. There were less than ten of them.

Of course, many of the others there had also been Jeremie’s followers. Those of them who remained behind looked pale for a moment, but Ende had a long history and its aristocrats were proportionally cunning.  Even as Jeremie was still leaving, their raised voices mingled with the cries of joy from Eric’s supporters and they looked, for all the world, as though they had long been dreaming of the day when he would become Grand Duke, raising their hands and their voices to offer him their congratulations.



That evening, in order to prepare for the ceremony in which he would be enthroned as the next Grand Duke, Eric was once again inside the same Water Shrine where the official proclamation had been made. Without eating or sleeping, he was to kneel on the wide crystal floor and pray ceaselessly.

It was a ceremony in which he was supposed to listen intently to the silent speeches from the Spirits who protected Ende, and watch their congratulatory dances from behind his closed eyelids, then emerge reborn in body and mind as the Grand Duke.

Time dragged slowly by and Eric felt as though he were melting into the darkness.

''The Grand Duke.''

''I… am going to be the Grand Duke?''

Although he had fought for it body and soul, the thought that, as of tomorrow, he would be shouldering the responsibility for the entire country simply did not seem real. His heart even felt somewhat chilled.

''Am I really worthy?''

Eric’s body had been forged in battle, yet the doubts that welled up within him made him tremble. He had never felt that way when he had been competing with Jeremie.

''Ende has a long history. A man like my brother might be a better suited to stand at the top of it after all. Wouldn’t it fit me better to assist him by staying in Dairan and continuing to ride alongside my friends there?''

It was so quiet that his own heartbeat was making his ears pound. The ceiling was studded with jewels that shone dimly under the effect of ether, filling the room with a faint phosphorescence. Their glow was reflected in the water that flowed below, throwing Eric’s agonised expression into vivid relief.

''What’s with me being this weak?''

The faces of the two men he had met in Garbera suddenly flashed through his mind: Garbera’s second prince, Zenon, and Mephius’ crown prince, Gil.

Both of them were young. Gil Mephius so much so that he could still be called a boy. Yet in spite of that, and without a single trace of fear, he had confidently negotiated with both Zenon and Eric.

When he heard that Gil had died, he had not been able to believe it.

But at the same time, he had thought – t''hat kind of man probably makes enemies easily among those who are on the same side as him.''

But then, sometime later, that self-same Gil had resurrected and split Mephius clean apart. Reports of that had, of course, also reached Eric. He did not know whether it was an impostor or the real one. When he had first heard the rumour, he had figured that it was almost certainly the former, but now, he thought –

''It’d be interesting if it was the real one''.

The boy who opposed the current regime, and who was so dangerous to it that even a retainer had aimed for his life, was now marching on the capital while gathering more and more allies to him.

He was ill-bred and uncouth, and yet... Eric felt that there was a strange similarity between that figure and he himself, who was now standing at the top of Ende, a country which clung to systems so archaic that mould was growing on them.

''It’s my duty to get rid of that mould.''

Eric straightened his posture and took a deep breath, alone and defiant in the darkness.

''When it was obvious that I would become a political opponent, my brother was willing to unleash dragons on Dairan simply to push me aside. That’s the kind of man he is. If I’d been one step late, who knows how many innocent people would’ve been torn apart by their fangs. There’s no way I’m leaving the country to a man like that.''

His emotions settled down.



However, early the next day.

Eric went out to face the morning of his coronation with unclouded feelings, but at around the same time that he had been finishing the preliminary ceremony, a huge uproar broke out within the capital, Safia.

“What!”

When he received the initial report from soldiers who practically tumbled at his feet, Eric’s expression went rigid. Jeremie Amon Doria had done the worst thing that Eric could possibly have imagined.
Just before dawn, he had taken action with just a small handful of troops. And had used force.

If Jeremie had attacked the Water Shrine, where Eric had gone into seclusion, he would probably have been able to accept it and would have thought – ''Brother, if this is the way to prevent a lingering grudge, come at me to your heart’s content.''

Instead though, Jeremie had seized the opportunity afforded by Eric being secluded in the Water Shrine and had penetrated to the highest area of the main palace, where the flag bearing the emblem of the magic Dynasty was kept. And he had stolen the flag which should have been proudly hoisted into the morning wind to preside over the coronation ceremony.

The dozen or so soldiers who guarded the flag were the first victims. Puzzled and suspicious, they had approached Jeremie to question him but, right at that moment, the First Prince had taken out some powder from at his breast and scattered it in the air. Inhaling it, the soldiers starting coughing and choking violently, causing their steps to become unsteady. Which was when soldiers under Jeremie’s command had cut them down.

Flying the flag, splattered with the blood of his victims, Jeremie had fled Safia and was attempting to cross the border.

This was as much as Eric knew but, at almost the same time that the palace was being thrown into a complete upheaval, a similar disturbance was occurring in the Bureau of Sorcery, which normally remained detached from worldly concerns.

The doors of the underground storehouse, which the Bureau had jurisdiction over, had been thrown open and a number of ‘vessels of sorcery’ taken. These had been excavated from ancient ruins and had been handed down since the Magic Dynasty; and there were some among them that not even a prince could take out without the grand duke’s express permission.

And with them, Hezel, a sorcerer affiliated to the Bureau, was equally nowhere to be found. The director of the Bureau of Sorcery, Wodan, flew into a towering rage.

Naturally, Eric ordered that the borders be blockaded, but Jeremie seemed to have gotten help from a sorcerer and had been swift to cross the border by airship. He was headed northwest to Zonga, a country with many ports…

With no time to hold the coronation – and anyway, without the Magic Dynasty’s emblematic flag, the ceremony would have no legitimacy – Eric organised a pursuit unit. Given his personality, Eric would have liked to personally lead the chase, but since there was a chance that some of his brother’s men might still be in Safia, as the next grand duke, he had no choice but to remain in the capital.

He immediately sent a letter to Zonga but, as it was a country which had once been a large commercial power thanks to its flourishing trade with the northern coastal countries, it still retained the haughty personality of those bygone days. It feigned indifference towards the petty squabbles in the central part of the continent.

''Damn you Jeremie, you’re really good at being prepared''.

He must have even planned what to do in case he was not chosen as the next grand duke. His determination was impressive, but it was also for that reason that Eric believed that his brother was better suited to being an aide than the grand duke himself.

“If you prepare a way out beforehand, then you don’t have the capacity to be a ruler,” he said, putting his thoughts into words. Still, that also meant that now that they were openly enemies, Jeremie was not an opponent that he could afford to underestimate.

The silent power struggle that had long been unfolding in Ende was finally at an end. But what had replaced it was a conflict that would ring with the clash of weapons and the roar of gunfire. Which meant that there would be blood and victims.

“He can’t possibly be intending to ally himself with Zonga and invade us, can he?”

What worried Eric more than Zonga, however, was where the flag of the Magic Dynasty was. In a way, that was sure to have a far greater effect on Ende’s future than Jeremie’s existence would.



Speaking of Jeremie, the former First Prince who had fled his country, he felt just as strongly as Eric did – or perhaps he felt it even more intensely – that his stealing the flag was the worst possible outcome.

By way of Zonga’s ports, he got into touch with the powerful eastern country, Allion.

“Eric is not worthy of carrying on the lineage of the Magic Dynasty. I have the flag of the Dynasty with me. Let us now unite our purposes under this banner,” he wrote in his letter.

Jeremie remained in Zonga and, two weeks later, a reply from Allion reached him there.

In this letter, and in the name of safeguarding the history and authority of the Magic Dynasty, the First Prince of Allion, Kaseria Jamil, promised to send him troops.

Specifically, troops from the division under Kaseria’s direct command, which was famed for mercilessly slaughtering its opponents. He would bring a fleet with two thousand of them to Zonga.

Holding the letter, Jeremie’s slender body began to tremble.

His heart was seized with a feeling of remorse so strong that anyone suddenly drawing close to him would have seen it flickering in his eyes.
  
Inviting in Allion’s king meant a future in which Ende would either be trampled underfoot or annexed. Allion needed a foothold in the centre of the continent. Ende’s current internal dispute was certainly something that they viewed as advantageous.

But the response had been too fast.

Jeremie’s hands fell to his side as he suddenly realised something – ''It can’t be that Hezel had already laid out the groundwork?''

The sorcerer was a long-time acquaintance of his and, when the First Prince had decided on his drastic course of action, it had also been on his advice.

Could it be that the man had connections to Allion from the start? By nature, he was someone whose passion for the study of sorcery was like his life’s blood. It was to the point that when he had heard that a sorcerer claiming to be Garda had appeared in the west, he had headed off there alone to gather information, without bothering to get permission from either the Bureau of Sorcery or from Jeremie himself.

With that in mind, he might be hoping to create a situation in which the two countries which had split away from the Magic Dynasty would be united as one, allowing him to study the history books and grimoires from both.

Nevertheless –

''At this rate, I will forever be known as a failure. Even if it’s only for a fleeting moment, I must become Grand Duke and leave my name behind in the records of Ende’s rulers.''

Such was Jeremie’s decision.

What had already happened could no longer be changed.

Not even the greatest of sorcerers could do so.