Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter2 (section)

=== Part 2 ===

Although Kaseria’s charge had slightly modified the plan, there was no doubt that Allion held an overwhelming advantage.

The Ende side, however, showed unexpected perseverance. Although at first their soldiers had dispersed, now that Allion was trying to push forward, Ende was rallying to counter-attack with equal vigour.

The Dairan platoon led by Belmor Plutos noticeably stood out, and there were many soldiers who stood their ground thanks to his actions.

From the outset, Allion had not been able to perform a particularly organised strike, and once it turned into a mêlée and free-for-all, it was impossible to tell who had the upper hand, and who was at a disadvantage. Ende had its surprise attack turned against it, but Allion, who had not believed that they would be able to put up this much of a fight, was equally dumbfounded by their perseverance.

“Shit!”

“Move, you damned small fry! Where’s Prince Eric?”

“Oh, small fry, am I?” Belmor laughed as the tip of his spear whirled and jabbed into the enemy soldier’s neck. “Five!” he called out, both to give himself encouragement and to show his mettle to the enemy.

''What the…'' – Another purpose was to attract enemy hostility and disgust, and to lure their attention to him.

His spear broke as he slaughtered the sixth.

However, he wrested the spear from the hands of an enemy who had leapt forward, then swung around and jabbed an approaching soldier in the face.

“Seven”

It was a hard fight.

Belmor roared with laughter as his beard was dyed in enemy blood, one strand at a time.

He was in a kind of ecstasy. The enemies’ movements seemed awfully sluggish. The spear he wielded seemed as light as the weightless metal made from dragonbone, and it effortlessly pierced through enemy flesh. He felt as though he would be able to fight for a full day, a full two days, without stopping.

''It’s as though every one of the spirits has entered my body. No, rather, the spirits are using my flesh as a medium to protect Ende’s future.''

Aba, the Spirit of Wind, dwelt in his hands and feet; and Villar, the Spirit of Flames, was lodged at the centre of his body, where an inexhaustible will to fight burned strong.

The spirits were breathing life into his spear, his armour, and even his cherished horse; all seemed to come together to construct the warrior that was Belmor Plutos.

“Eight!”

From the distance, Kaseria Jamil heard Belmor’s shout.

The charge was not advancing as he had anticipated, and he was starting to feel irritated.

“Eric, where is Eric of Ende?” he drove his horse forward, violently mowing down the soldiers who stood in his way.

Although his frame appeared slender, his fighting-style was fearsome. He twisted left and right, his spear flying wild and vigorous. Ende’s spears weren’t even grazing him. His horsemanship was as bold as it was skilful; one moment, he spurred his horse to where he could most efficiently slaughter his opponents, and the very next, he had driven it to where their blows had no hope of reaching him.

Lance Mazpotter, then known as the “One-Eyed Dragon of Atall”, had once been deeply impressed by his brilliance.

Kaseria had already been thirteen-years-old when Lance first met him. On top of that, he had only ever held a sword in play. Lance was convinced that, as an instructor, he would not be able to make anything out of such a novice.

As for Kaseria, he wasn’t in the least bit enthusiastic. Or rather, he hated this man called Lance who did not cave in before him. When they had met along the palace passageways, Lance had not given way to him, so they had collided head on. Kaseria had hit his nose and gone tumbling. “I’ll kill you! One day, definitely, without a doubt!” he had bawled.

And in actual fact, when he had first grasped a sword and started training with Lance, Kaseria had attacked him again and again with the intention of taking his opponent’s life.

The result went without saying, but in the process, a huge change occurred within Kaseria. Once he had steel in his hand, it was as though he had been familiar with swords from the moment of his birth, or perhaps it was the sword which had chosen Kaseria. The boy who lost interest in any toy within three days, and who broke them as soon as he received them, was completely absorbed in this new game called swordplay.

Lance was equally entranced. Like parched ground absorbing water, Kaseria’s body absorbed every one of his teachings. He had never had such a student before. Lance had three sons and had trained them all himself, but although they had some skill, they all fell far short of their father.

''This kid…''

At the end of their whole-day training, Lance was exhausted. That was how deeply engrossed he had been. Kaseria’s power of absorption was nothing ordinary. He was like a bottomless hole.

''… has an inborn talent''.

Lance, a man who shone more brightly than anyone on the battlefield, who truly felt alive there, sensed it clearly.

''He’s overflowing with talent for destruction and slaughter''.

Lance did not believe in fate, but it was enough to make him think that the reason why Kaseria had not picked up a sword before now was so that he could be the one to train him.

''He hasn’t picked up any bad habits, I’ll hammer my style into him completely.''

That was nine years ago.

Kaseria Jamil was Lance Mazpotter’s masterpiece.

It was while he was advancing and bringing down a rain of blood on the battlefield that he heard Belmor’s voice. When he saw his figure in the distance, he immediately realised that this warrior was the heart of the ''rear guard''.

For all that he had gone rushing out, Kaseria was no mere fool. He had already ordered his men to cut off the path of retreat to the south. It was probable that Eric had escaped northwards.

''If I get this guy out of the way…'' Then Eric would be right within reach.

Kaseria smiled astride his horse and pulled on the reins once more. If his master, Lance, had been there, perhaps he would have stopped the prince from charging towards Belmor.

''That guy has gone berserk'' – he might have said.

“If you see a man on the battlefield who is noticeably berserk, even if he only has a small build, don’t go near him. I’ve only seen it a few times in all my life but, very occasionally, there are warriors who will fight like demons when death is upon them. In that moment, those guys can brag of being the strongest in the world, and they’ll take scores of enemies with them, without even noticing that they’ve been shot through the heart. You understand? The trick to surviving the battlefield is to basically work out how not to die yourself by keeping an eye out for dangerous situations and enemies..”

But Lance was not at his side.

Kaseria’s sword had already tasted blood. Although he was normally calm and collected, once he saw carnage on the battlefield, there was no turning back. A red fog seemed to cloud his mind, and that dark red impulse urged his body forward independently of Kaseria’s will and reason.

“Move, move!”

Kaseria spurred his horse onwards through his hesitant subordinates. Those of his allies who were too much in his way were kicked down by his horse or received a blow from his spear.

Belmor had also noticed the signs of an enemy galloping towards him like a gust of wind. Someone who wore a helmet that projected forward like a horse’s head. Belmor’s feelings were close to being friendly towards this enemy who was breaking through to the centre of the terrified Allion soldiers.

“Come!” he gave a single roar and took up position to intercept him. The charging enemy thrust out a spear without any further warning.

In Belmor’s current state, he could read each one of his enemy’s movements, point by point. From his opponent’s position, posture, and speed, he could predict how he would move and from what angle he would attack. A skill cultivated through experience.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v12 089.jpg|thumb]]
It felt as though the trajectory of the opponent’s spear was tracing a visible ‘line’.

Belmor was about to draw back his own spear to counter-attack while avoiding that ‘line’.

But at that moment, Kaseria’s strike deviated utterly from the predicted ‘line’. He could not hit him.

Kaseria swung the part of spearhandle that he was holding in a sweeping side blow. Struck by a heavy blow to the helmet, Belmor reeled on top of his horse.

The blow was not one that could lead to a fatal injury but with that one strike, Belmor Plutos felt like he had been dragged back down to earth. The Spirit of wind which was supposed to be dwelling in his limbs, the Spirit of flames which was supposed to be roaring and blazing brightly at the core of his body… – vanished abruptly.
 


“Thil?”

Hearing herself being called, Thil turned in surprise to the quilted mattress beside hers. Reen was peering up at her older sister from the edge of her blanket.

In Dairan, the night was still quiet.

“You’re still awake?”

“You too, Thil.”

Darowkin’s daughters talked in a whisper so as not to wake up their mother who was asleep in the same room.

Thil, the older sister, couldn’t sleep well after going to bed, and every time she woke up, she prayed to the spirits. To the many spirits that dwelt in the earth, water, fire and wind, of course, but soldiers also had a custom of naming each spirit that sprang forth from every component of their weapons and armour. So she was mentally reciting the provisional names of the spirits that resided in her father’s and in Lord Eric’s equipment – the spirits’ true names were known only to those who held the armaments.

Eric and Darowkin had naturally not told the two very young sisters about what would be going on that night, but although she was only nine, Thil was still the daughter of a Dairan warrior.
She had a premonition that – ''there’ll be a battle tonight''.

Judging from the mood enveloping Dairan, it would be a large-scale one. Their mother must have sent her two daughters to bed especially early because she didn’t want them to become unnecessarily anxious.

“It’s alright,” Reen grinned, showing her white teeth. “Father taught me how to hold a spear before. So even if the enemy comes, I’ll protect you, Thil.”

“Silly,” the sensitive Thil immediately felt her eyes fill with tears but she forced herself to smile. She pulled the blanket over her little sister. “Now, sleep tight. Since I’ve prayed to the spirits for you too.”



Around about that same time, Eric had taken refuge at the hill northwest of the fort.

Having called a roll-call for each platoon, it was established that they numbered less than five hundred. It was believed that half of their force had been killed in action, had fled, or were even now fighting hard to defend the entrance to the valley.

In short, they had been utterly routed. The young future grand duke of Ende felt like pummelling his fist against the ground.

It was at that point that Belmor Plutos, passing through the narrow path to the valley, arrived at the hill. Or, to be more accurate, that he was carried in.

When he first saw the friend that he had studied swordsmanship and competed with since childhood, Eric uttered a groan wrested from the depths of his throat.

“Belmor.”

“I failed,” blood oozed from his head as he spoke. A spear must have struck him in the thigh, because it looked as though he could not walk unaided. It was clear to everyone that his life would be in danger if he did not immediately receive medical treatment.

“What are you saying? It’s thanks to you going on a rampage that I’m here, safe and sound. This fight was Belmor Plutos’ win.”

“The enemy…”

“Once we take up formation on this high ground, they won’t be able to break through so easily,” sweeping his gaze around their shadowy surroundings, Eric made a point of smiling. “Sir Darowkin will bring reinforcements at some point. We’ll take that time to charge and catch Allion in a pincer attack.”

“Aye,” Belmor’s face had lost all colour, but he too smiled. “My lord, please keep in mind that you mustn’t act hastily out of concern for the likes of me.”

“I know.”

“No, Prince Eric: you are unspeakably kind. That kindness could become fatal to you. If ever I see you worrying about me more than necessary, I will rip open my own chest to die.”

Eric fell silent.
 


Meanwhile, Kaseria Jamil and Lance Mazpotter had joined up at the entrance to the valley.
Having removed his helmet, Kaseria’s hair was standing on end. His skin was sweaty and flushed, and his eyes were brimming with fiery bloodlust.

Seeing Kaseria so full of enthusiasm, Lance glared at him with his good eye to keep him in check. Just as Eric had said, the terrain was advantageous for the enemy. Even if their side had the greater numbers, there was a fear that they might suffer considerable losses in vain.

“Have the cannons brought over. They’re sure to smoke out the enemy.”

“That’ll take time. Reinforcements will arrive from Dairan.”

Kaseria ground his teeth and his expression made it clear that he wanted to wallow once more in a sea of blood as quickly as possible, and that every second counted. Thereupon, however, he hit on an idea that would not have occurred to some mere foolhardy daredevil.

“Or how about… What if we attack Dairan?”

“What was that?”

“Loosen the net encircling the south for a bit, and let an enemy messenger get through. Dairan will send reinforcements as soon as they hear about the prince’s plight. That will reduce the city’s defences, right?”

“Right...”

“I’ll lead a unit beforehand and go and hide near Dairan, then launch a surprise attack on the troop of reinforcements.”

“…”

“Afterwards, we’ll set Dairan on fire. In which case, Eric will go down as having abandoned the land that supported him. How about it, Lance?”

If Lance had been an ordinary military staff officer, he probably would not have expressed agreement. It was clearly a plan that Kaseria had come up with simply to give him an excuse to fight some more. It was, so to speak, an end to justify the means.

However, while Kaseria could be called twisted, it was Lance himself who had raised him that way.

“An interesting idea,” he said. “If Dairan goes up in flames, Garbera will be lured into taking action instead of keeping our second wave of troops in check to the east. Once Phard’s unit arrives, we’ll be able to sweep them all up in one go.”

“That’s my master for you, quick on the uptake.”

“However,” Lance tossed a warning at the prince whose entire face had lit up with joy, “don’t take your time attacking Dairan. If you can’t deal with the enemy reinforcements quickly, leave at once. If you’re too slow to return, I’ll come and fetch you myself to haul your ass back.”

“I get it, I get it!” as though to show his agreement, Kaseria once more covered his head with the tight-fitting helmet. “Then, I’ll be heading off first. When I send you a signal by airship, unfasten the net to let their messenger out.”