Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter5 (section)

=== Part 2 ===

Lance Mazpotter galloped at the head of the cavalry unit.

Although he was past his prime as a warrior, he still cut a very dashing figure as he leaned forward and drove his horse onwards. With the light from the airship acting as a signpost, he was in the middle of chasing down Lord Eric of Ende.

Judging that they were closing in, Lance held a spear beneath one arm. He was managing the reins with one sturdy arm, and his single eye gleamed sharply at the signs that bloodshed was once more imminent.

But then, the unexpected occurred.

A messenger soldier caught up with Lance –

“What, His Highness?”

Hearing the report, Lance had no choice but to stop the horses. Kaseria Jamil’s attack force on Dairan had retreated.

When he looked back towards the south, faint flames and white smoke were rising under the starlight. The attack should have been a success. Once the enemy camp had been set alight, the blaze stocked Kaseria’s fighting spirit and lust for slaughter, and those would not be satisfied with such a short time to rampage.

The situation was unclear.

“Aaye,” Lance was a man who had experienced innumerable battle fronts. He was not so ambitious or impetuous that he would lose his judgement over the bait dangled enticingly in front of him.

“Messenger, lead us to His Highness. All of you, come!”

Coming to a snap decision, he forcefully hauled his horse’s head around and set off after the messenger.

Prince Kaseria Jamil of Allion, meanwhile, was also on horseback, riding hard as his body was jolted up and down.

He was nowhere near as calm as Lance. The sense of slaughter he had just experienced in Dairan and the reverberation of cannonfire were like a trail he drew behind him, his eyes were still hazy from the “bloodlust, his muscles demanded their next victim as soon as possible, and beneath his armour, his breathing was ragged and rough.

But above all else –

''That man…''

More than for the crimson blood, more than for the dying screams, more than for the pitiful trembling, which traveled through his sword to his muscles when the steel ran through his victims, that was what the prince of Allion was strongly crying out for in his mind.

That dark-skinned Mephian warrior who had fought with him on equal terms.

His form was constantly etched into the underside of Kaseria’s eyelids, the response to their clash of steel still lingered in his arm. Not only had he not been able to bring him down, he had been wretchedly driven away.

Looking behind him, he saw only the lingering trails of dust that they had kicked up, and there was no sign that the enemy had left Dairan in pursuit. Kaseria spat out spittle and curses.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

''If they’d gotten cocky and chased us, we could have ambushed them.''

He could not understand why they were not giving chase. But because of it, Kaseria thirsted for blood all the more. Only by immersing himself in battle as soon as possible would he be able to drive that swordsman, who he had not been able to defeat, from his mind.

And at that moment, Kaseria Jamil got lucky.

North of Dairan, soldiers were waiting by the river with lights to guide them across, but in order to shake off any enemy pursuit, he had deliberately taken a different and more tortuous route, which was when they unexpectedly came across another party.

It was Lord Eric’s unit, which had only just descended from the high ground with their comrades’ charge acting as their screen.

At first, Kaseria had not even imagined that the lord of Ende was among them. But when he saw the shadowy figures of what seemed to be enemies –

“Halt where you are!” he cried, and charged without letting them answer.

“Enemies!”

“Protect the Prince!”

It was the other party’s shouts that made him realise it. He did consider that it might have been a feint to lure them, but judging from the spirit with which they all steadfastly raised their swords, axes and spears, and took up defensive positions, he decided that it was not a lie.

Kaseria instantly broke into a smile. A smile that could almost be called innocent.

“Is Lord Eric there? My name is Kaseria Jamil, First Prince of Allion,” he roared, and from horseback, he struck out with the sharp tip of his blade.

His opponents loudly accepted the challenge.

“Woah, this is our chance to win.”

“Thanks be to the spirits for their divine grace. Slay Kaseria!”

As though echoing their fervour, Kaseria and his troops gained even greater impulse.

Shielded by his comrades, Eric Le Doria for a moment stared, dumbfounded, at the mounted warrior who seemed about to cleave his way straight to him.

''That’s Kaseria?''

Like a young branch shaken in a storm, even though he was on horseback, he was moving constantly, bending left and right, spurred on by his own recoil, and unleashing sword thrusts in rapid succession. He was unquestionably skilled, but –

''Isn’t he like any other hothead?''

Eric had let his comrades sacrifice themselves to allow him to leave the battlefield. His blood was boiling feverishly. He grabbed his own spear and raised it to eye level. The tip was pointed straight at Kaseria Jamil, who had just beheaded another Endean soldier.



By now the battle front had stretched out so wide that no single person could have been able to grasp a complete picture of it. All around, it had devolved into confused mêlées.  Wherever a drawn blade gleamed, a sharp spear retaliated, armours clashed against each other in a crash of noise, and cries of every description echoed through the night.

Ende and Allion both originated from the same Magic Dynasty. Although the form and names differed somewhat, the same belief in spirits was handed down in both, and voices could be heard on all sides calling to the spirits for protection.

The horses’ hooves and the infantrymen’s feet sharply tilled the soil, and fresh blood watered it incessantly like red rain.

The ‘wind’ was blowing confusedly. Just when an allied unit seemed to be pushing forward overwhelmingly, carried from behind by the ‘winds’ of victory, the enemy, which should have been scattering, would unexpectedly met with allies, causing the ‘wind’ to suddenly shift and blow in the faces of the previous victors.

Even a man like Lance Mazpotter was toyed with by the chaos. He had been riding to join up with Kaseria’s forces, but the messenger, who had been serving as their guide, had lost sight of their destination. Which was only to be expected given that Kaseria had followed his instinct and changed his course this way and that, until he eventually ran into Lord Eric’s force, which Lance himself had originally been chasing. Even the prince’s messenger, who should have alerted his allies to this fact, was wandering hopelessly around the battlefield, looking for someone somewhere that he could notify.

Lance was made to feel that he was on a fool’s errand. Clicking his tongue, he was wondering whether he should call an airship and send out scouts when he spotted a group approaching from the south. He realised that they must be reinforcements sent out from Dairan.

Although naturally, he didn’t go so far as to grasp that this was a unit comprising Mephian soldiers, he could tell at once that – ''there’s not that many of them''.

He did not have eyesight that could see through the darkness, but he was a man who had spent most of his life at war. He understood instinctively from the sound of hooves, the clank of the harnesses, and the amount of wind they kicked up.

Which meant that Kaseria had not just recklessly gone charging in the dark. The enemy should have sent out reinforcements upon receiving the messenger from Lord Eric, and there should have been more of them. Was it thanks to Kaseria that the enemy numbers had been thus reduced?

Lance decided to go out and meet these newcomers from the south so as to prevent the frontlines from becoming even more chaotic. On the other side, they also noticed this group which had quickly moved into a line to block their way.

They were roughly equal in number.

Kain, who was leading the Mephian forces, could have chosen to step back at that point.

“Who goes there?”

“Orba the Iron Mask, spearhead to His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Gil of Mephius!” but the path of retreat was cut off the moment he answered Lance’s call.

“Mephius?”

A look of surprise swept over Lance’s face. He had not expected that not only Garbera, but also Mephius, which was supposed to have a tense relationship with it, would show up here.

“Turn back now,” Kain shouted as he drew his sword. “We proceed forward in honour of His Imperial Highness Gil. This cannot be what Allion expected. To retreat here will bring you no shame.”

Perhaps he unintentionally sounded so old-fashioned because he was aware that he was putting on a show.

“I’m much obliged for your concern,” Lance, however, remained perfectly calm.

The enemy’s numbers were about the same as their own and there was no sign of reinforcements coming to back them up, so he took a firm grip on his spear and put himself at the ready.

“In my ignorance, I do not know the name ‘Orba’, but you have all the appearance of being a brave known throughout the three countries. I, Lance Mazpotter, will personally keep you company,” Lance was all the more a gentleman when he was on the battlefield.

He had decided to take on this unit so that Mephius’ participation would not affect Kaseria’s main force. With that in mind, he should spread out his position and cut the enemy off from the north, then, if more reinforcements arrived, they could gradually pull back their line of defence.

Seeing that he had not been able to shake the enemy, Kain steeled himself. If the flag of Mephius was to fly undaunted, then he no longer had any other choice but to move forward.

“Kain,” Gilliam whispered in his ear. “This guy’s good. You’d do best to stare him down and hint that reinforcements are coming. Dairan is nearby. The enemy won’t want to be kept in one place for too long, so they’ll be quicker to get antsy.”

Before becoming a gladiator, Gilliam had seen active service as a soldier. He had a far better understanding of the subtleties of the battlefield than Kain did. Kain also knew what Gilliam was getting at, but –

“What it is? You’re the spearhead to the Crown Prince of Mephius, aren’t you? I said I’d keep you company. So aren’t you coming?”

When he heard himself being ridiculed, he could not stay silent. He was not the usual ‘Kain’. He was currently wearing the iron mask.

''It’s fiiine, I just need to prod them a little and the enemy will retreat, right'' – he answered Gilliam in a low voice then raised his sword high.

“Well then, here I come!” he shouted as he kicked his horse’s flanks.

Lance drove his horse forward at the same time. With the riders galloping from both sides, they soon collided.

Their weapons did not cross.

Kain’s sword never reached as Lance’s spear struck him in the chest.

He fell from his horse.

“Splendid.”

Lance said in a loud voice as he turned his horse around and returned to where Kain had hit the ground.

“Is what I’d like to say, but…” he smiled down from horseback, like a father looking a son who was not very bright, “let it be known throughout Mephius, famous for its might, what happened to the Crown Prince’s spearhead. I, Lance, have taken Orba’s head.”

Gilliam did not even have time to shout at him to stop.

After his spear, he now took his sword – a slender, crescent-shaped blade that he had often used when he served Atall – adjusted his grip on it, and dexterously slashed out.

As blood spurted, Kain’s head fell with a thump.

He did not cry out once before he died.

All the colour had drained from Gilliam’s face. Before his eyes, Lance snapped his fingers. An enemy soldier noiselessly drew up and crouched down, stretching his hand out towards the iron mask. He probably intended to pluck it off as a war trophy.

At that moment, as though erupting from the ground, voices resounded all around Gilliam. Pouring from the mouths of the Mephian soldiers were wordless roars, cries, noise, curses…

“W-Wait!” Gilliam turned back but, once again, he was not in time to stop what happened.

Orba, the swordsman in the iron mask, was the subordinate that Crown Prince Gil Mephius trusted the most. Whenever Prince Gil undertook some heroic activity, Orba would unfailingly take part in the fray. Even with his outstanding swordskills, he was often entrusted with undercover missions, never feeling the need to advertise his own achievements any more than necessary, and never voicing a word of complaint. 

Among the Mephian soldiers, there were those held the belief that – ''he is the very ideal of a warrior''.

Orba had been defeated.

And mocked.

And now, they were about to strip him of his mask. That was showing contempt for every shred of dignity that he had in life.

It was hardly surprising that the Mephian soldiers let out a roar and started to charge. Leaving Gilliam behind, they hurled their horses past him.

Clicking his tongue as he did so, Gilliam spurred his own horse forward. He could feel the blood going to his head. Or, perhaps because he had known Kain for a long time, he might have been even more worked up than any other of the soldiers.

As a result, the front lines were extended to this point which vaguely coincided with the northern border.