Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume10 Chapter7 (section)

=== Part 2 ===

This time around, he invited the four people for supper.

The four in question were Folker, Zaas, Yuriah and Walt. As usual, Orba had no intention of diving right from the start into the real issue, but then, the people present should have had a fair idea of what this was about. When they were roughly halfway through the meal, he asked – 

“Have you changed your minds?”

“Of course not!”

It was Zaas who had come right out with that answer. The other three remained silent, although not for the same reasons, and the quality of each of their silences differed from the others. Folker had his eyes closed and seemed plunged into thought, Yuriah looked bewildered, and Walt sullen.

When the other three people failed to back him up, Zaas irritably got up from his chair and glared at them as though they were enemies.

“That’s fine,” said Orba. “Zaas, you’ll be free to leave tomorrow. Nedain, Solon – you can go wherever you want. Head back to your room and hurry up with your preparations.”

He had spoken so easily that Zaas was at a loss for words. He had vigorously risen from his chair as a way of forestalling Gil Mephius’ smooth-talking attempts at persuasion, so losing his target left him confused. Instead, it was Folker who, opening his eyes, asked – 

“Is that alright?”

“If he hasn’t changed his mind, then there’s no help for it. Would you have preferred me to say I’d kill you if you didn’t obey me?”

“If nothing else, that would have been easier to understand.”

“Yeah, I’d probably think that too if I were in your shoes. But then, that would mean being the same as my father. And in that case, if I were to take Solon, there wouldn’t be any great difference in Mephius’ future… What is it?”

Orba scowled at Zaas. Still standing in front of his chair, Zaas Sidious looked completely at sea.

“W-What do you mean?”

“I told you to go back to your room. It should go without saying that I can’t stand to feed freeloaders any more than this. Leave at once.”

Zaas opened his eyes wide and goggled at him. He could not stop himself from muttering something but then soon strode out of the dining room and left, swinging his shoulders with a deliberately jaunty air.
Folker seemed to laugh slightly, “what a harsh thing to say to young Zaas.”

“He’s also a general in charge of an entire division. Next time we meet, he’ll probably have become a more formidable enemy,” Orba gave a reply that was not really a reply, then, “how about you, all of you? Have you made up your minds to help me?”

“Regarding that… say I were, hypothetically, to agree,” Folker retracted his smile and asked, “would you, Your Highness, trust us, we who had pledged our allegiance to His Majesty until just the day before?”
“Saying that retainers shouldn’t serve two masters sounds good, but…”

Orba brought Zaas’ plate in front of him and ate the meat that was still on it. After that short interval passed, “That’s the same as saying that you want to blindly trust someone and thrown away your own ability to think. Right, you might as well say that you want to turn yourselves into slaves. I want retainers who think with their own heads and use their judgement to decide whether to swing their swords. Naturally, there will be times when I won’t be able to tell you everything. I might be sparring with the information I share with you, or even give you an order and simply tell you to trust me. Or maybe even simply tell you to fight and die for the country.”

“…”

“But say, for example, His Majesty the Emperor – in order words, your current liege – were to give you an order like ‘believe in me and die for the sake of Mephius’ future’, would you obey? Would you be able to die believing that Mephius would definitely be a better place thanks to your death?”

Folker, Yuriah and Walt felt, with just a slight difference in its intensity, that a sword was being thrust into their chest.

“Then,” Folker leaned forward a little, “if it were Your Highness, could we go to our deaths feeling at ease?”

“That is for you to decide.” Orba’s attitude was like someone pushing away a hand that clung to him. “Perhaps nobody can say that for now. But, if you can look at me now and think that you place enough trust in me as a future ruler, then…”

“Then?”

“Lend me your help. I promise to become a ruler that you can entrust your lives to. And I want you to use your strength to help me become that kind of ruler.”

Folker suddenly opened his eyes wide and bent his neck backwards, exactly as though a flint had struck his forehead.

''What do you intend to do after waging war on His Majesty?'' – It was the answer to the question that Folker had previously shot at him. When he had first been asked that, Orba had not been able to return a clear answer. However, the images of Simon, Vileena, and all the many others who had died in past battles had finally shown the way for him and become a light shining at his feet.

Meanwhile, ever since he had been taken captive in Birac, Folker had spent each day prey to inner turmoil. He did not believe that Mephius was currently fine, and at times he even felt a certain danger from the emperor, Guhl Mephius.

However, he had constantly been plagued with doubts about what would happen to Mephius “afterwards” if he were to criticise the emperor or openly go to war with him. Gil Mephius, the heir apparent, had been known as a feeble-minded youth and, just when he seemed to have started to garner some fame for his heroism, he had passed away from the world of the living. The imperial lineage could not be relied on, yet there did not appear to be anyone within Mephius who would be capable of ruling the country. If it really came down to it, Simon Rodloom, who had recently passed away in an accident, had been a very capable politician who had been deeply trusted by the retainers; but even so, it was uncertain whether he would have been able to carry the country. Above all, it had always been clear that he himself had no intention of doing so.

''In which case…''

In which case, even if it was under a reign of terror, even if it was under a dictator, the country was at least still held together.

No, it was probably not only Folker. Even though Mephius had lost countless able and talented people in the long war against Garbera, there were still plenty of statesmen and military men left who worried about their country’s future. Did most of them not probably feel the same way as he did?

When Emperor Guhl obstinately wanted to continue the war with Garbera; when he forcibly dissolved the Council and concentrated all power in the hands of the imperial family; when slave revolts broke out throughout the country; and also, when he decided on an armed invasion of the west… There were many then who asked – ''is this really alright?''

And who had come to the conclusion that – ''there’s no helping it ‘for now’.'' He himself had half-convinced himself of it.

While Folker Baran had been spending his time here in Birac, he had of course continued to think about it, but in the end, he had still reached the same conclusion. However, each time he did so, a voice in his heart asked –

''But'' now. ''What about now,'' now ''that time has started moving?''

The thought smashed Folker’s skull with the weight of a steel sword and gouged out his heart with the sharpness of a spear.

Indeed, this was ‘now.’

Crown Prince Gil Mephius had revived and revolted against his father, Emperor Guhl.

With only a small force, Gil had magnificently smashed through the army that the emperor had sent to suppress him. And, obviously enough, Folker himself had been defeated.

According to recent information, he had heard that the Garberan Princess, Vileena, had personally gone to reason with and drive back a scoundrel from her native land who had intruded upon Mephian territory.
The young – or rather, the almost childlike – pair had now taken action. The old shell was being broken and new life was arising.

And thus, now.

Now, indeed.

Folker Baran drained his glass of its remaining water.

He inhaled, exhaled.

A sense of being refreshed spread to every corner of his chest.

“Understood.” Folker stood up as he spoke. He struck his right fist against his chest and clicked his heels together. “I, Folker Baran, will henceforth abandon my allegiance to the emperor and devote my life to Crown Prince – no, to Mephius’ future emperor, Lord Gil Mephius.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v10 339.jpg|thumb]]
In that instant, Walt leapt to his feet with the force of a gale. He parted his thick lips, looking ready to denounce Folker as an enemy…

“Likewise, I, Walt, will also devote my life to you.”

He stood in the same posture as the commander of the Black Steel Sword Division.

“L-Likewise, Yuriah Mattah.”

Setting aside Yuriah – the commander of the Bow of Gathering Clouds Division – who appeared to have been unable to hold out in that atmosphere, Walt’s decision was probably also the end of result of anguish and careful deliberation, and the gaze he turned towards Orba no longer held either animosity or desire for revenge.

“Good,” Orba also rose to his feet.

One after another, he took their fists in his hand and brought it to his own chest. It was the Mephian-style oath between lord and retainer.

Still wearing the mask of Gil Mephius, Orba said, “I will hold fast to your lives. To use them or throw them away depends on me. However, do not forget that you have eyes to ascertain how your lives are used, mouths to speak to me, and heads to think.”



After their discussion was over, Orba returned to his own room. With him were, of course, the guards that Pashir had assigned. This evening, one of them was a familiar face.

Miguel Tes. At the time of the Founding Festival, he had crossed swords with the masked Imperial Guard, Orba. Naturally however, he had not noticed that his current target for protection was the opponent he had fought against back then.

Pine torches and lamps had been lit all along the corridors. Perhaps because it was cloudy, the day had darkened early. The wind carried a hint of moisture and, unusually for the area, the temperature had dropped, so there might be rain coming.

He returned to his room. Miguel and the other guard stood on watch at the other side of the door.

“A change of clothes.”

Normally, Dinn, his page, would immediately have rushed up. The room was strangely silent.

''Has he gone out?''

Orba was about to continue to walk in without giving it any more thought when suddenly his feet halted. His nose twitched. As for why –

''The room smells different'' –  he sensed.

What, specifically, was different, he did not know. But his deeply-rooted survival instinct had been aroused.

There was clearly something different mixed in with the air he was used to smelling. Someone unfamiliar had set foot in the room. His eyes were suddenly pulled in a particular direction.

The desk he used for reading and writing. A carefully folded letter had been placed on top of it. He walked towards it and spread it open.

In that instant, the innumerable plans, stratagems and future expectations that he had built up from making Folker and the others his allies all soundlessly collapsed and vanished.

''I know about you'' – it said.

''It continued: Tonight, at the hour of the Two Dragon Eyes, I will be waiting at the old tower in the southwest corner of the estate. Come alone. If you do not, I will cancel this evening’s appointment and will instead spread Your Imperial Highness’ secret to the four corners of Birac.''

For a while, Orba did not move a single muscle. The beating of his heart seemed to strike directly in his ears. As for the “secret”, there was only one he could think of.

That he was not Crown Prince Gil Mephius.

It was so very obvious that a somewhat bitter smile flashed across his face. His expression quickly tightened though. It was equally obvious that he could not allow his real identity to be revealed at this stage of the game.

''Who is it? Who could know about it?''

To tell the truth, he did not have the confidence to say that his disguise was so flawless that nobody would be able to see through it. When he had been in Solon, he had tried to pay attention to even the smallest things, but after temporarily disappearing then reviving in Apta, he had certainly often overstretched himself. He had even taken a spear and fought at the front lines. He had undoubtedly done things which would have been inconceivable of the former Gil, who had been known as a fool.

If one were to suppose that he had, for example, deeply knowledgeable retainers, capable subordinates or strong backers, then what he done until then was still just barely within the realm of possibility. His action of heading towards the front and most dangerous place in battle, however, was something that those who knew the former Gil would find difficult to believe.

Moreover, there was something else that was unclear.

''Do they know as far back as my being a sword slave and that the replacement happened at the time of the wedding ceremony with Vileena; or do they simply mean that the Gil who showed up in Apta is an impostor set up by Rogue and the others to oppose the emperor?''

If it was the former, it meant that they had all of Orba’s secrets in their grasp. If it was the latter, there was a high chance that it was at the level of their having suspicions.

Orba was of course not the real Gil, however the ''current'' Gil was the same as the one who had taken part in the pre-nuptial ceremony at Seirin Valley and who had been involved in everything since then. The circumstances around that were complicated and Orba’s own thoughts became tangled.

''I just don’t know.''

The tower at the southwest end of the estate must once have been used as a watchtower. Orba had a good knowledge of Birac since he had gone walking about a lot while staying there. After the extension works, the tower had become unnecessary and the lower floors were now used as a storehouse. It was a place that practically no one went to after the sun had set.

How many people could lie in ambush? It was not a very big tower. Even if the roof was made use of for lookouts, you could not fit in more than five or six soldiers.

''Right.''

Orba had made up his mind. It said to go alone. It had not been thirty minutes since he had seen the letter. And this had not given him much time in the first place. If he had been given a day or even half a day, he might have been able to come up with a plan, but as it was, every second counted.

Having set his mind, the tension that had been piercing his body and heart was replaced by the feeling of being full of energy. The sensation of having turned into a beast prowling in the fields looking for prey was oddly nostalgic.

It was a lot like the time he had been strutting around in Solon wearing the faces of both a gladiator and a crown prince, walking a tightrope on which he had to stay one step ahead.

''I can’t die'' – he thought. If he died, his slave brand would be discovered and his companions would be treated as no more than despicable traitors.

This time, his real identity might already have been discovered, which meant that – ''I’m already as good as dead''. Orba smiled at the strange thought that was.

Unlike his earlier, bitter smile, this one was somewhat ferocious.

''This time around, will I be buried as a corpse, or will I survive to rise again?''

It felt as though this was the crucial moment to go through here in Birac, where time had held fast. When he placed his sword at his waist, Orba’s mind tasted something close to ecstasy.