Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter1 (section)

=== Part 2 ===

The troops led by Zenon Owell took up position at a point eight kilometres east of Dairan.

The way was barred to the north by cliffs projecting out onto the sea, and to the south, by steep, craggy mountains where almost no vegetation grew, so this mountain pass was the only road through which an army could march along. Allion’s second wave of troops, which was moving from the east via the country of Ryalide, could naturally only approach Dairan by following this route.

Prince Zenon of Garbera had hastened to bring reinforcements. He commanded a thousand two hundred soldiers from his own Order of the Tiger, three hundred from the Order of the Badger, and about seven hundred from the western allied forces.

After conferring with Lord Eric, the next grand duke of Ende, they had undertaken the responsibility of halting Allion’s second wave of troops, which was advancing along the overland route.

Their opponents numbered three thousand.

The enemy held the numerical superiority, but they could not possibly have foreseen that Garbera would take part in the fighting. One glance at the white flag of Garbera that was currently flying above Zenon’s head, and maybe they would lose their fighting spirit…

While he was not actually optimistic to ''that'' extent, neither did Zenon believe that the fighting would become particularly fierce. The enemy was facing a long-distance campaign, and simply maintaining their supply line was a huge cost in time, effort, and money. Even if they called on Ryalide’s assistance, they could not be planning to remain stationed there for any long period of time.

''And if we can just block their way…'' In other words, if they could prevent the enemy from joining with Kaseria’s main body of troops, anchored to the north in Zonga, then Zenon estimated that they could win the war.

After taking up position, they had erected palisades against horses and dragons, and had installed three canons on high ground. Airships had also been flown to scout out the surrounding terrain.

A few days passed. It was now around the time when Lord Eric was still waiting impatiently for Kaseria’s troops to make a move.

The riders sent out on reconnaissance returned, fiercely lashing their horses. They had caught sight of Allion’s army.

“They’ve arrived?”

Zenon had been in his pavilion, reading through some old books that he had brought from his own country, but hurriedly put on his armour when he received the news.

“Finally, huh.”

Outside the tent, Moldorf and Nilgif, the Red and Blue Dragons of Kadyne, already had their horses lined up and their long spears at the ready. The end of Moldorf’s lance was divided into three prongs.

“By the way, I still haven’t heard,” his younger brother, Nilgif, spoke in a carefree tone, “what about the enemy general?”

Even though war was close, Zenon grinned involuntarily. There were two reasons for that.

The first was because he remembered how Nilgif, although technically taking part in the war meetings, had spent each of them with his eyes closed and his arms folded. One might have believed that he was plunged deep in thought, except that the quiet, even breathing coming from him within less than five minutes had attested to the fact that he was asleep.

And as for the other reason – it seemed to him that when Nilgif asked “what about the enemy general?”, he was not particularly enquiring about the enemy’s personality or about what kind of tactics he used, but simply wanted to confirm “who is it I should be aiming for?”

Putting on his helmet, its plume casting a shadow over his virile features, Zenon answered in an even voice.

“According to the scouts, the enemy commander-in-chief is Phard Chryseum. He uses his mother’s family name, but, apparently, he is Prince Kaseria’s older half-brother. He is said to be a fearless commander who has taken to the field a countless number of times and, every time, he’s torn through the enemy’s vanguard and left behind mountains of corpses.”

“Oh, sounds fun!”

“Don’t be pushy, Nilgif,” his older brother reproved him. “We’re fighting in a foreign country. We might be here as reinforcements, but this is a gathering of many powers and acting however you want by yourself might completely disrupt command. In this war, I won’t let you rush off ahead of me.”

The three companions spurred their horses forward to the front lines. It looked as though the enemy had started setting up their battle formations less than two kilometres away, down the mountain pass.

The enemy – Allion’s forces – was also receiving reports from its scouts.

“The flag of Garbera?” growled Phard Chryseum. Since he was sucking the meat from a rib, his voice sounded strangely stuffy.

Beneath the battle flags of famed commanders flapping in the wind, his black cloak swayed gently. A woman’s profile was embroidered in silver thread within its lining. Although his build was chubby, the two arms protruding from his armour were magnificently muscular and he was a man who gave off the same feeling of oppression as a small mountain. He was practically baby-faced and habitually wore his fluttering golden hair tied back.

With a pop, he pulled the bone out from his mouth then licked his lips that were shiny with grease.

“It’s gotten interesting. Garbera’s all about that, isn’t it – those chivalry guys. I always wanted to see what it was like.”

“Please wait.”

The man who stopped him as he seemed about to immediately rush off was so thin he almost seemed to exist as a contrast to Phard. In his blue hooded robes embroidered in red thread, he was unmistakably one of Allion’s non-combatant military sorcerers. His face looked as though only a thin layer of skin was stretched over his skull.

“What, Morga?”

The man did not flinch even as Phard glared at him in displeasure.

“We have not yet completed our preparations. If you would wait but a short while, I will open a ‘passageway’ so we can communicate with Prince Kaseria.”

“As usual, that sure is convenient,” Phard’s manner changed abruptly. He seemed to be the kind of man whose interest switched with dizzying speed to whatever was in front of him. “Can I talk to Kaseria directly?”

“It would take time… No, not just an hour or two, but the time to prepare adequate facilities and ether supplies. And on top of that, you would need to receive training in sorcery, Lord Phard.”

“Talk about needing patience,” Phard’s forehead creased into a frown. “If you want to train your arms, just carry something heavy. If you want to strengthen your legs, just run while doing so. But I can’t even guess how you’d train to strengthen yourself in sorcery.”

Although he was grumbling, Phard seemed willing to wait for the ‘sorcery’. Crunching on the bone with his sturdy jaws, he swung a heavy battle staff and started whirling it above his shoulders as though it were as light as a feather, probably intending to kill some time. Near the tip of the staff, a considerable number of iron balls hung from chains. They made a humming sound as they spun, and the nearby soldiers yelped and scattered away from their general to avoid being hit.

Morga left quickly and entered the tent reserved for his preparations. He was something like a staff officer attached to Phard; in Allion, it was not unusual for sorcerers bearing that kind of role to accompany troops.

As soon as Phard grew tired of swinging his weapon around, he retired to his pavilion and went to sleep, wrapped in the same black cloak. Loud snores could soon be heard from there, although something very like sobs were occasionally mixed in with them. His attendants had often witnessed how he would press his cheeks against the embroidered woman’s profile, practically wailing as he did so. Incidentally, the embroidery apparently represented Phard’s mother back in her younger days. While you would be forgiven for thinking that they had been torn asunder by her early death, she was still perfectly healthy. It was just that this huge man of nearly thirty missed his mother.

Night fell, soon followed by the dawning day.

At breakfast, Phard appeared for all the world to have utterly forgotten the previous day’s conversation and to be about to give the signal to attack, when the sorcerer Morga knelt by his side and started giving his report.

“Oh?”

What Morga was conveying were Kaseria’s instructions, which they had only received late that night. Had they been using airships or fast horses, it would, of course, not normally have been possible to communicate so quickly; this was the work of sorcery.

“This is enemy territory and ether is scarce, so we cannot open a ‘passageway’ here,” said Morga.

The further they were from Allion, the longer it took to prepare and the shorter the messages that could be transmitted, but for most people, who were not well-versed in sorcery, it was certainly a means of communication that defied common sense.

In any case, Phard listened to the instructions from Kaseria, nodding frequently.

“My little brother really is smart,” he gazed in the distance towards where the enemy had pitched their camp. “It’s fun to fight head-on, but killing a ''fleeing'' enemy also makes for an exciting battlefield. Both get my blood pumping. Right, we’ll wait.”

He flopped down and set his custom weapon beside him.

“Ooi, you lot! No war for now. Have a drink.”

Wine casks were immediately opened. His men looked as though they were going to waste no time acting on Phard’s generous suggestion and filling their wine cups to the brim.

“Hmm,” after a moment of deep cogitation however, “if we’re going to be waiting for the enemy, we might not have enough to drink. Wait, wait, you lot! No alcohol. No, it’s not that I won’t hand it out. Let’s have a kabat. Only the one who wins gets to drink a cup.”

Kabat was an ancient form of combat from the Magic Dynasty that had been handed down in Allion. A circle drawn on the ground was used as an arena. The contestants grappled bare-handed, and the winner was the one who pushed his opponent backwards on the ground or out of the circle. Trained soldiers usually performed in front of crowds of spectators at festivals held several times a year.

“Don’t worry about it being your superior officers. If I catch anyone going easy, I’ll come and be their opponent.”

While Allion’s camp was displaying this peculiar turn of events, in the opposite camp, Zenon Owell was puzzled at the enemy having halted their actions.

Having heard that battle was drawing near, Nilgif was so wound up that he seemed unable to sit still, and he was incessantly putting horses through their paces nearby. Had Zenon not been the commander of the allied forces, he too would have wanted to start at once.

While Nilgif was getting excited, his older brother Moldorf was like a boulder as he sat cross-legged. He carried a spear under one arm and looked ready to spring into action at any time, but his expression was as tranquil as could be.

He handed the kumis he was holding to Zenon, who happened to pass by.

“You should calm down.”

His attitude was entirely like that of a commander, and it was with mixed feelings – part astonishment, part envy – that Zenon took the alcohol.

“Nothing will come of you getting as impatient as the men are.” He jerked his chin towards where Nilgif was rebuking a subordinate even while galloping his horse. Although he was a considerable distance away, it felt as though the dust he was sending flying had enough force to reach them.

While looking at the scene, Moldorf seemed to be saying with some self-derision that he was used to this. Zenon let slip a chortle. After which he dropped down next to Moldorf, who glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

“There’s maybe no point asking now, but I heard that Garbera and Ende had clashed near their border. And then, not that much time later, here you are rushing to help them.”

“I have the same kind of question. I had heard that the west was a land of never-ending conflicts. And yet now, you’ve joined hands and come to Ende’s assistance.”

“That would be thanks to King Ax, the leader of the Confederacy, being so capable… and also, to Mephius.”

“Mephius?”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v12 045.jpg|thumb]]
“You don’t need to bring up the history of Taúlia to know about the long state of tension between Tauran and Mephius. The one who broke through that like it was nothing and suggested an alliance was, of course, that Crown Prince.”

“Of course,” Zenon chortled softly again. “The mastermind who pushed you into marching with our troops. That thoroughly irritating brat.”

“Exactly,” Moldorf washed down his drink with a gulp then laughed loudly. “Even though everything he says sounds upright, does he himself even actually believe any of it?”

“He seems like the sort of man who’s a reliable ally but a dangerous enemy.”

“We’ve actually crossed spears. Well, to be precise, it wasn’t the Crown Prince himself but one of his men who was probably acting on his orders, but anyway...”

“Oh!” Zenon Owell’s eyes gleamed with interest.

Moldorf told the foreign prince about the battles in the west and, while he was describing one of the scenes, he added, “he’s certainly a dangerous man, but, well, it’s nothing to be too worried about. Sure, I was defeated once, but if there’s a second time, I’ll win.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a child. And it’s because he’s a child that he pulls off all these things that adults wouldn’t think of. But once you know that, an adult has ways of dealing with kids.”

“Ha ha ha, I see. I definitely caught a glimpse of immaturity when I talked with that crown prince in person.”

“It’s fine while he’s green,” Moldorf heaved a sigh reeking of liquor, “his immaturity is just about his only charm. But once he becomes an adult and loses even that charm, I’m worried he’ll become the kind of foolish ruler who doesn’t trust or confide in anyone.”

“Hmm, well, it’s another country’s affairs so I can’t really say it with confidence, but…” Zenon’s bright smile was very like him, “on that point, I’m fairly sure things will be fine.”

“Hmm?”

“Because you know, that crown prince has got my little sister with him.”

Having said that as though it answered everything, Zenon put the leather flask to his mouth for the first time. It smelled strange, but he drank deep without worrying about it.