Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume2 Chapter2 (section)

===Part 2===
The exchange between the emperor and Zaat in the Dragon God Shrine spread within the Main Palace in the blink of an eye. And there was also the matter with Kaiser Islan. Everyone doubted the emperor’s way of doing things, but on the other hand, they had resolved themselves to tread cautiously so that they would not be caught in the crossfire.

The arranged founding eve festival celebration had been held as planned and went without incident. There, Orba met with Princess Vileena. It had been ten days since they last met where he received the ‘scolding’ in his own room. She wore a white, high-collared coat and a Garberan-style skirt with the hem spreading out, and piled under then were Mephian-styled trousers and boots. Theresia had gone through painstaking efforts to coordinate it, unbeknownst to Orba. In the presence of surrounding eyes, the two exchanged greetings as if nothing had happened. And then they were done. Their eyes never met after.

''Hmph.''

Vileena was angry exactly because the prince adopted such an attitude.

The Imperial Guard delegates who had come along, Shique and Gowen, had no choice but to smile wryly.

“His highness accomplished his first campaign in stride,” Shique said shrugging his shoulders. “But when it comes to love, he is like that naïve boy before his first campaign.”

“Even those old-timers would lose face when conducting themselves as such. Just what I’d expect of our prince.”

Orba disregarded the two as they belittled him within earshot. Then, Gowen lowered his voice, “Putting aside the issue with the princess, it seems lots of things have been happening behind my back.”

“What do you mean?”

“In a Solon bar, I met War.”

War was originally one of the sword-slaves from the Tarkas group and had participated in the battle at Zaim Fortress. Of the eighty remaining sword-slaves, sixty-two had offered their service into the Imperial Guards. The rest, including the giant gladiator Gilliam, were more than adequately rewarded by being set free. War was also one of those who should have been set free.

“That’s reassuring. Is he doing fine?”

“Hmph, he’s quickly grown senile. When I called out to him, he acted like he didn’t recognise me. There must have been some circumstances, so I brought him to a place with just the two of us before I asked questions. It appears to have been the ‘prince’s order’.”

“What order?”

“It seems to have been to become a Mephius mercenary. One under  the commander during your first campaign—the one called General Oubary.”

He wanted to hear more from Gowen, but with Ineli and Baton’s appearance, he had no choice but to put it on hold. Forcibly making a smile he was unaccustomed to, he called out in a manner natural for the prince.

Naturally, Ineli and the others wanted to hear about the situation with Zaat Quark, but Orba couldn’t say that everything said by the rumours was all there was to it.

“Everyone is saying that His Imperial Majesty planned to revive the Ryuujin Faith again, just as he did in the western provinces of Tauran.”

“It’d be good if it does no harm. I’d be troubled if I had to change my lifestyle. Would he possibly go as far as to prohibit certain foods?”

“You sure are being realistic, Princess Ineli.”

“Baton, you twit.” Even though she scowled at him, Ineli couldn’t help but giggle. “It is because we are dealing with my father that who knows what will become of his thoughts. Isn’t that right, your highness?”

Afterwards, Orba conversed here and there with those who came to greet him. As the only one of the senior statesmen present, Fedom was just as busy as the prince. So it fell on Dinn the page to constantly whispering the names of those who greeted the prince into Orba's ear in his stead. It was by all means, an endless task.

Before long, they were alerted of His Imperial Majesty’s grand entrance. Emperor Guhl Mephius, along with Empress Melissa, made their appearance. Guhl gave a short glimpse at the prince. He might have done so now, but wouldn’t even meet his eyes at the time of the ritual at the Dragon God Shrine.

“Gil. You appear to have improved considerably.”

“I have.”

That was everything to the father-son exchange.

“Has your face not thinned?”

The remark had come from obligation as the empress, her face no longer hidden.

She was approaching the end of her thirties, yet her attire and features slightly resembled that of a young girl; lined up against Ineli, they could be seen as nothing but a pair of sisters.

“To take part in battle is not the only role that men of the imperial family hold. Like your father, you must constantly keep a watchful eye and throw your chest out. Is that not right, your majesty?”

The emperor only slightly raised his brows.

Once the party had started and the countries’ envoys were invited to join in the ceremonies commemorating the founding of Mephius, they began to offer their greetings. Naturally, there were envoys visiting as guests from Ende and Garbera, Arion from the east, and to the north—the group of city-states along the gulf coasts making up Zonga, and the lone islands such as Balor found further to the south.

And to each, their own specialities, forming large piles of clothes, spices, condiments, bizarre musical instruments, designed furniture of varying sizes, armours decorated with jewels; amongst them, what caught Orba’s eye was a Garberan envoy.

The man who had introduced himself as Noue Salzantes seemed past his twenties. He had deep black hair and almond eyes that held a strange charm. In terms of appearances, he could be compared to Shique in handsomeness.

As a Garberan, he should have harboured some ill feelings towards the prince, but Noue offered his greetings while smiling without batting an eye.

“On behalf of the king, Ainn Owell, I offer his apologies for the hardships the subjugation of Ryucown may have caused your Highness. We would like to express our heartfelt gratitude for Mephius’ assistance. The people of Garbera will never forget the kind deed and camaraderie you have shown us.”

Orba stared fixedly at Noue’s eyes. He was truly fit to be a civil servant, and did not look to be one who would personally wield a sword. With these thoughts, Orba’s interest in him faded.

More noteworthy was the gift Garbera presented to the prince, consisting of three of Garbera’s airships, that caught his interest. He was already in the middle of organizing an airship squadron from the few capable in the Imperial Guards. The airship itself had fighting potential, but above all, held great value in being used as a messenger in a battlefield. He gratefully welcomed the gift, which he had hoped to get his hands on as soon as possible.

After that, Noue also expressed his salutations toward Princess Vileena. They were acquainted. The Salzantes House was one of Garbera’s distinguished families. Moreover, Noue was recognized for his wisdom.

“It has been a while since we last met, Princess. You can be rest assured of the stagnant state of affairs.”

“Is father in good health? And what of grandfather?”

“Yes, they are,” Noue made a smile bordering that of guileless innocence. “It is the talk of the palace that the princess had issued an appeal towards the soldiers in Zaim Fortress.”

Vileena turned red. According to Noue, her father, in a strained laugh mixed with grief had said,

“From the start, she was never a person to sit down quietly and do nothing regardless of place.”

And her grandfather had said, “same as always,” with an openhearted laugh. “Even as she lived alone in my estate, in the coming day, the princess would be up to her usual mischief, and then suddenly disappear again, to have rescued a child from a burning house with an airship, and day after day, gossip of her venture would jump all around back to here. And as I thought she was just about ready to come of age and be fit for marriage, from far away, past the country borders, I hear of such news. If such talk of the princess has not died down, then this old me also cannot yet allow myself to be assaulted with illusions of the tiny Vileena running all ‘round.”

Vileena covered her eyes.

“Is that so…”

Vileena muttered, as her lips moved to form nothing less of a smile. Gripped with an undeniable yearning, her eyes became teary. Having heard the words of her loved ones, even if it was second hand, she could not help but long to be near them. She had been here nowhere to the extent of years, but thoughts of how she had come to be so far away began to be made anew.

Once the delegation of introductions, which had lasted for some time, was over, the festivities began. It was a sword dance. One of Mephius’ trademarks, several swordsmen were singled out and chosen to dance with a real sword.

“Look, that is the Clovis contender, Pashir.”

“Those are some amazing muscles. I want to sleep with those big, strong arms wrapped around me, if not even once!”

“Who do you intend to place your bet on, milord?”

The sword-dance performed on the eve of the festival involved the selection of participants in the gladiator tournament. The nobles would witness their sword dance in person, and place their bets on who could seize the same position Clovis or his aide Felipe held, as a form of side entertainment.

Pashir was also a name Orba had heard of. His eyes followed the nobles’ pointing fingers, and instantly,

''Ooh.''

He let out a gasp of surprise when Pashir the gladiator looked directly at him. With a massive body, he was certainly an unyielding gladiator. With deep black hair and a moustache, his whole body teemed with energy. He immediately looked away. Was it by chance that he had looked his way? At the very least, the gaze he held was not one that held respect towards the nobles.

Finally, with the loud beat of a drum, all twelve members began their sword dance.

They formed a circle and pointed their swords to the centre in unison, and then kicked off in all directions. They trod their steps, and just as the man on the right appeared to be struck overhead by a sword, the man to the left parried the blow before his chest. With their feet, they swung only with their full strength across the air, each clash occurring with precise timing that produced a steady rhythm; and as the drum beat louder and faster, the clashes gave chase.

And soon enough, they looked throughout the hall for those possessing high skills, and on discovery, would provocatively swing their sword. This too, was a kind of custom, where the provoked could join in on the sword dance. The women dressed in light garments would take in hand the respectfully offered swords, and enter into a new ring containing several swordsmen. The clattering of the weapons had further made it rowdy, where a single mistake in their pacing could result in the loss of a life, but the atmosphere produced by the blades had unwittingly drawn people in.

Before long, the aforementioned Pashir had separated from his dancing circle. Roaming the spacious hall, he began his search for people to provoke.

“Come to me, oh respected swordsman.”

“No, come to me!”

The soldiers who took pride in their skill and the young nobles shouted out. In an air of arrogance, Pashir passed by each of the men in turn, and then stopped his feet.

A faint commotion was raised, as the inquisitive eyes all focused on one spot. He stood directly before Prince Gil. Pashir directed a single, quiet glance towards him, but the violent passions hidden between those confronting pair of eyes had caught Orba’s attention. He was without a doubt, a man in his thirties. Of course, he was also experienced.

''Oh?''

A heated sensation welled up within Orba’s body and crossed his head. He was throbbing with resentment for being holed up in the room for so long. And also flowing out, was resentment at the continuous unaccustomed battles. The desire to take part in a real battle pushed its way out.

But he certainly could not brandish a sword in such a situation. Having received such a hesitant reply, Pashir’s face filled with scorn. Orba’s blood raged through his head.

“Your highness, leave this to me.”

From behind him, Shique stepped forward. He had read Orba’s feelings from behind. Orba was inflicted with a light feeling of bashfulness, but it would be foolish beyond a doubt to reveal his true character here. As the emperor had, he calmly nodded. It was not considered disgraceful to send a proxy in your place, if you were invited into a sword dance.

The hall erupted. Shique, at first glance, had a beautiful face that could be mistaken for that of a girl’s. The combination of him and the boorish Pashir was a sight to behold. With a smooth motion, Shique nimbly drew the sword from his waist, and lined his sword against the tip of Pashir’s sword.

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v02 083.jpg|thumb]]
They started off slow. Both cautiously and slowly let their swords meet, but eventually, they judged the other as an opponent of worthy skill and immediately increased their speed. As if they had settled their starting warm-up rally, they began to display movements no less inferior to those of the other sword dances..

Once Shique turned to the right, Pashir would move to the left. Pashir bent his back and readied to swing his sword, and Shique, familiar with this move, drew a large, showy arc that collided with his blow. Pashir quickly pulled back the sword he had just swung. The opponent kept sending out an unceasing, daggering look. Shique pretended to switch to defence and then commenced an attack sweeping towards Pashir's feet.

Pashir deflected the attack, as if he had anticipated the move, quickly switching back to the offensive. Neither were stuck on offence or defence. Offence was defence. Defence was offence; it was no doubt the ideal swordplay.

Orba opened his eyes in wonder. He could tell they were both serious. Serious, meaning there was no hesitation in killing the other party.

There were several instances where lives had been lost from a sword dance, and in most cases, the assailant was not charged. It was accepted as a formality, and the shed blood would be offered to fulfil the prayers for an abundant harvest.

After several rallies, the sound from the drum came to a dead stop, and simultaneously, the two swords engaged in mid-air also came to a stop.

The centre hall burst into unstinted applause. As Shique wiped off his sweat, he responded to the acclamations with a smiling face.

“That was pretty good.”

Orba said to Shique, who had come back to his side. Judging the comment went both ways, Shique shook his head.

“Look at that, he isn’t even sweating. He hasn’t gotten serious yet. ‘Strong-armed Pashir’. I’ve heard of his name, but to think he was this good.”

“And you also weren’t wielding your prided dual swords.”

Though he said so, Orba marvelled at Pashir’s skill. The aching in his blood had grown since before. But he was no longer a sword-slave. He held no obligation towards others, nor could he be forced to kill others out of duty.

“He’s very talented, but I doubt Tarkas would really want him,” Gowen said in a low voice.

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“He’s certainly strong. Strong, but plain,” Gowen readily concluded. “He won’t excite the crowds. That’s right, Orba. You’re also like that.”

Orba nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders. As he was troubled by his heated blood, he failed to notice Noue Salzantes attentively watching him.



Soon after, the party in the inner palace met its end. However, the nobles, officers, and particularly the young couples prepared to set out to town, as if to say the real festival was only just beginning. They were already in a festive mood for the festival that would begin tomorrow. From amongst them,

“Things have become interesting.”

More exultant than anyone was Fedom Aulin, who had invited himself to the prince’s room.

“What could be so interesting. Did you see your own face as you were being borne through a mirror or something?”

“The situation with Zaat Quark. The head of the anti-imperial faction was forcibly placed under house arrest. This will surely create a commotion.”

It must have been something big, for him to ignore Orba’s retort..

“And there’s also the situation with Kaiser. The misgivings towards the emperor will grow stronger and stronger. There is a possibility danger might also befall the crown prince. I’ll have you act as a body double a while longer.”

''Tch. Fuckin’ grazing the issue.''

Fedom had just forcibly tied the knot on the unnatural absence of the real prince. Orba just barely restrained himself from mentioning the occurrence with the ‘right of the first night’. He did not have enough information. Fedom was no friend he could confide in.

“You did well today in front of his majesty and his chief retainers. No one would have thought you were a gladiator. It seems this was the better of results.”

“You resemble Tarkas.”

“What do you mean?”

Orba turned the other way, without offering a response. In his good humour, Orba immediately moved on to talk of others. 

“Is the news that Kaiser will be executed true?”

“I don’t know. It depends on how his majesty feels. That is not something of your concern.”

“Can’t you somehow mediate for him and get him out?”

“What?” Fedom stared at Orba with startled eyes, short of any good humour. “When I said to ‘behave like the prince’ I did not mean to ‘''be'' the prince’. Keep your head out of politics. I don’t know what ideas you were given, but you better get rid of them immediately. Or better yet, focus only on the things you were assigned to.”

Afterwards, Fedom hurriedly returned to his residence within the palace and called out the name ‘Hermann’ at the entrance, as if he had no spare time to even tidy the dirt off his shoes. Hermann was a magician that looked after and lived in the same manor as Fedom. However, a maid had rushed over to inform him that Hermann had been absent the past few days.

“Again?”

Fedom let out an irritated groan, but it wasn’t a necessarily urgent matter. It was just what Hermann had said a few days ago that bothered him.

“Soon, without fail, a change in fate shall occur. You shall be without setback until then. You need only focus on preventing the double’s true colours from being revealed, my liege. Currently, the prince’s death has left a hole in the web of fate, and it’s true form—the golden mean<ref>The desirable middle between two extremes, one of excess and the other of deficiency</ref> so to speak, is in the midst of mending itself. To that end, a vast ‘gale’ will break out. The ‘gale’ will, without doing anything, swallow up a great many people. Please wait patiently for now. Amongst the countless that will be blown away from and vanish under the ‘gale’, my liege will ride along the ‘gale’ as a friend. So long as you wait, you will certainly be invited to join the ‘gale’ towards fate’s destination.”

He only wanted to get a clearer understanding of those prophetic words..

In Mephius—or rather, in its sphere of civilization, it was rare for magicians to be employed by leading aristocrats. They were almost never seen in public. There were even fewer of them than the prized species of dragons, Geysers or Ma’Duks, though there were also cases such as Ende and Arion, where the officially accepted magicians took part in politics and commanded in battle. These two countries were special exceptions, having statesmen that succeeded the lineage of Magic King Zodias.

Particularly in Mephius, which prided in having the strong spirit of warriors, they prejudiced against those who wielded unfound powers. An example would be the historically well-known magician Garda, hailing from the western provinces of Tauran, whose customs were rather similar to that of Mephius. As a priest of the Ryuujin doctrines, he exercised free usage of black magic in ether, ruling over the former capital Zer Illias. Even now, mention of his name instilled fear.

Fedom never personally professed of Hermann. Three years ago, Hermann had unexpectedly visited Fedom who, strangely pleased with the fortune-telling he had performed, let him live a life void of destitution since then, only providing for him without knowing where he usually went.

He knew the true identity of Prince Gil, and thus could be considered an existence that acted as Fedom’s Achilles heel, though Hermann himself was the one who originally foretold that a mere gladiator would be able to act as the prince’s double. There was no harm in keeping him alive until Fedom had achieved his own ambitions.

''And that future isn’t too far away.''

Naturally, such thoughts made him feel self-important. Even the words of his wife welcoming back her husband, fell on deaf ears. He gave a light nod, and then continued his thoughts within his burning red face.

''Because the emperor is so foolish as to strengthen his authority at the end of a ten-year war, anti-imperialist sentiments have increased. The imprisonment of Kaiser Islan, and the placement of Zaat Quark under house arrest have only fuelled their flames.''

It was the long awaited opportunity. Fedom had no intention of patiently waiting until the emperor, Guhl Mephius, personally stepped down from the throne. He may have been approaching the verge of old age, but as of yet was still in high spirits, and it was’nt guaranteed that he would select Gil Mephius the First as his heir.

Having seen the favour he held toward his second wife, Melissa, there was a possibility that Ineli would marry a distant relative of the Imperial House and her husband made successor to the throne.

''If I can bring together the anti-imperial faction with this, I can move freely in the future.''

Within the faction, there numbered many like Zaat, who were anti-emperor rather than anti-imperial, but it was not yet the time to call for change. The local populace aside, many in Mephius followed a conservative way of thinking. Fedom had assessed there was not enough momentum to dissolve the country’s system at this instant.

They may not have been able to bring themselves to abandon the long standing history of the empire; however, the opportunity opened by the doubts raised on whether the emperor’s actions were detrimental to the country’s future would play crucial.

''First, I must gain more allies. There is no problem with the prince’s popularity. Rather, it would be convenient in the distant future to give off the impression that he is an imbecile. Most important is that I maintain a resolute will.''

''Boldly, but cautiously.''

At times when pursuing large goals, taking a large gamble was also necessary. He had already placed his hand. It was a gamble where his and all his relatives’ lives would be in danger should they discover he had set up a sword slave as the prince. He would ride the flow—this ‘gale’ as Hermann called it, and then quickly and keenly make his next move.

In spite of the late hour, Fedom prepared his wine and retired to his study. He wrote the various names of the lords in his notes, as he consumed the wine like it was water. His mind was clear, not the least bit drunk, but intoxicated with excitement, as he once more pictured how the future would play out.