Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume2 Chapter5 (section)

===Part 2===
Two Baians, one size larger than those used in the previous ceremony, were brought out in front of these two men. Their horns glistened and their body brimmed over with energy; these dragons were fully ready for battle.

Orba and Gash moved in opposite directions, severing contact with their eyes. Gash’s body was cleanly shaven. Variously coloured tattoos were imprinted throughout his body. It may well have been a trait of those who lived in the remote regions, or possibly done for appeal when he was marketed as a sword-slave. In terms of physique and appearance, he was similar to Verne, whom Orba fought back at Ba Roux. What differed him from Verne was the way he smacked his crimson tongue across his lips. He held a glint of unlevelled cruelty.

Now they would get on dragonback with the Baians This too was likened after the hero Clovis, who fought on the battlefield saddled on a dragon.

Orba had little experience riding a dragon.

''What’s worse is—''

Orba gazed up at the Baian beside him without finishing his thoughts. He was unable to hold back his feelings of unrest thinking about the fight that was about to follow. It wasn’t only because he was unfamiliar with riding on a dragon’s back. It was because he did not plan ''only'' to win.

On the signal, both of them saddled onto their Baians. After settling himself onto the saddle, he stuck his feet into the stirrup, and took two different spears from the guard into his hand. The first was a dragon lance, a ten-metre long hilted lance. This lance bolstered a considerable weight, such that while riders readied themselves, the spear would be tucked under their arms and fixed onto the saddle ring to the side. The other spear was an ordinary one, two metres long. And strapped on his other hand was a small buckler.

“Begin!”

In accordance to the command, several sword slaves released the chains wound around the dragons’ legs and neck. Orba’s Baian gave off a roar that flipped one of the slaves off his feet.

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v02 207.jpg|thumb]]
“Charge!”

On the other end, Gash sprawled down against his dragon as it began its charge.

Orba struggled to assert control over his dragon. The Baian stood on its hind legs, and even now was trying to shake him off. Even as Orba tried to rein in his dragon, Gash headed straight for him. No longer having enough time to dodge the assault, Orba decidedly laid his body down and clung tightly to the dragon’s back. In an instant, his body suffered a blow as if struck by a giant fist. He could feel his bones cracking beneath his skin, and his clenched molars seemed ready to snap off at any moment.

Naturally, Gash, having initiated the charge, was quick to recover. He whirled up the tip of his dragon lance that had grazed the flank of the dragon carrying Orba, and on distracting Orba, struck with his other spear.

Orba managed to repel it with his shield. His attack foiled, Gash endeavoured to gain one point in his favour. However, his dragon thrashed its body furiously causing him to lose his stance.

“Tch.”

His Baian swung its claws and tail, and shook its neck as if it wanted to sink its fangs into the opponent’s throat. Orba and Gash both exchanged a blow with their spears. They were in a scenario akin to fighting on a boat floating on a turbulent sea, where the best tactic was to sweep the opponent off his dragon instead of taking the enemy’s head. However, this discrepancy came as all but nigh as their lances clashed time and time again. Based on the sole premise that he survived up to now, Gash was greatly skilled. He was also experienced in handling dragons. And the dragon given to him was one ‘thoroughly’ trained, whereas a single lapse in judgment by Orba would lead to his death.

Orba frantically clung to his Baian regardless and while focusing wholeheartedly on defence,

“That’s all you’ve got?” he barked.

“Gash, killer of a hundred men, you’re not fit to don the helmet of Clovis. The people also want you dead. Go fuckin’ die and feed yourself to the dragons<ref>Orba literally tells him to get beaten to a bloody pulp and end up as dragon fodder.</ref>.”

Gash dropped down from above, and he thrust up towards Orba with his spear. Orba received the blow with his shield while his body was being tossed back and forth.

Almost simultaneously, Orba’s Baian stretched out its neck. Gash pointed his dragon lance up towards the dragon about to bare its fangs. He waved his lance left and right after the dragon’s head.

“Kid,” Gash bellowed through his ground teeth. “You say that when you possess only this level of skill? I’ll have you eat those words!”

Gash kicked the side of his Baian, and once his dragon had pulled back, made a dash towards a corner of the ring. Blood pulsed violently throughout the muscles of the men and their dragons. Both sides had sustained countless wounds either from the opponent’s spear and the dragon’s fangs, or possibly both.

By the time Orba realised Gash’s intent to charge a second time, he was no longer able to have his dragon give chase. The distance was already a far cry away.

A gulp sank through Orba’s throat. Should he take on the next encounter or not?

Everyone in the arena watched in breathless silence, likely bearing that same thought.

''Here it comes –''

He raised up his dragon lance, and taking a confronting stance, gave a cry loud enough to split his iron mask.

On the other end,

“Eyyaaaa!”

Gash’s piercing voice reverberated through the air.

Lying face down, he began his charge. The light sent from the tip of dragon lance struck Orba’s Baian in the eye. For a second, the Baian tried to flee and Orba’s spear swerved.

“You fell for it!”

Just before the dragons collided a second time, Gash slipped his feet out of his stirrup. Orba, caught in the ensuing collision, was knocked off his dragon.

His back slammed against the ground. Gashed furiously swooped down on Orba, who for a moment lay limp like a lifeless doll.

Orba rolled on the hard ground and dodged it by a hair’s breadth. He quickly lifted his body up.

However, there was no weapon in Orba’s hands. He was still disoriented from the collision.

The dragons violently pit against one another behind him. Gash repeatedly delivered a series of attacks, under the veil of the clouds of dust.

Within the nobles’ seating area, Vileena instinctively averted her eyes.

Though he wore a mask, it was possible to tell he was still dazed. His movements also appeared unsteady. Driven by a sudden impulse and forgetting she sat beside the emperor, Vileena’s mouth gaped open. As Gash’s spear was about to pierce through his mask,

“Orba!”

A voice roared down like thunder, projecting below the seating area and away from the gates.

Orba instantly opened his eyes and in a series of nimble movements, provokingly circled around the pursuing Gash. With each thrust of the spear, a blast of air struck against Orba’s mask. Blood ran down his neck and shoulders.

Soon after, Orba’s feet came to a halt. Seeing this chance, Gash diagonally lunged from a predictable location. It was easy to see through his projected path. Orba dodged his lunge, and while taking hold of the extended arm, kicked him in the knee and threw him forward.

It was already impossible to tell which dragon belonged to whom, but one of them had finally pinned down the other and was about to bite into it from above. The pinned down Baian struggled to push off the dragon and swung its tail, striking Gash in the chest. <!--Alt: The swinging tail of the Baian, struggling to push off the dragon pinning it down, struck Gash in the chest.-->

Coughing up a spurt of blood, this time Gash was the one to stagger backwards. His variously coloured tattoos were dyed in a bloody red.

Orba picked up the spear that Gash had dropped on the ground. And showing no hesitation, he performed a single thrust into the heart.

A chill ran through Orba as he felt the spear make its mark. Blood splashed his mask as he pulled the spear out. For a short time, he stood still in silence, not wiping off the steaming blood off his mask.

The people encircled around the ring clapped their hands and stamped their feet, whilst Vileena collapsed onto her chair and heaved a big sigh of relief. She didn’t notice her breathing had stopped until just now.

“Vileena-sama, it’s about time you let go of my hand.”

Theresia said. She had unconsciously squeezed Theresia’s hand. Coming back to her senses, Vileena did as told, and saw a distinct red outline where she had been holding.

“It appears to be the princess’ win.”

As he said this, the emperor stood up from his seat. Reassuring the frantic princess who also attempted to stand up to see him off, he said,

“Should you find something you desire, do not hesitate to say so. A Mephius emperor does not stray from an agreement.”

From a seat facing opposite them, “Oh?” Noue let out this single remark. He was not the least impressed by the situation at hand. Though he claimed himself an avid captive of the gladiator games when he spoke with Simon, he was a man who did not hold interest in anything except the art of conquest and warfare—or to be more precise, held no interest in anything where he could not employ his resourcefulness.

''So his name was Gash. I’m fairly certain he was invited to participate in the plan...Well, no matter. It’s not as if I require them to be skilful. With so much as the discharge of rebellion, the pus<ref>Pus here symbolizes the wounds inflicted onto Mephius caused under poor rule.</ref> collected within Mephius will catch fire and spread undeterred.” 

However—Noue’s worries turned towards a different direction. Prince Gil was not present amongst the nobles in the seating area opposite him. He had gone as far as come to Mephius to learn more about Gil. However, it was impossible even for Noue and his foresight to draw upon these fragments of knowledge with his seldom encounters with Gil. But that no longer mattered now. As long things went the way he imagined them and produced the results he desired here in the lands of this foreign country, it would attest that his ability of foresight had not rusted. As a result, Noue had lost most of his interest in Gil.



As Orba made his way back to the gate, he passed by Pashir, who would be participating in the following match. Compared to last time, their positions now reversed. Moving forward in an unsteady gait, right before their shoulders met,

“Why?”

Orba asked.

“Why did you call out my name?”

“Ho? So you heard it.” Without slowing his pace, he continued, “Then it looks like I’ve successfully returned the favour.”

“Favour?”

“Not to you. To the one you serve, the prince.”

Not saying another word, Pashir headed in the direction where his battle would take place.

Pashir and the warrior who more or less won through all the matches unharmed would similarly, face off in a battle on dragonback. Being a veteran warrior, it wasn’t surprising he was skilled in riding a dragon. On the second assault, he pierced the enemy Baian, and walking along the dragon that now tumbled over, he approached the warrior who had fallen off his dragon and finished him.

With this, the names of the four gladiators participating in the final decisive battle were decided. They became the targets of bets, and not only within the arena, but all throughout Solon, “He’s going to win,” “No, ''he’s'' going to win”. Why they believed so was because these were the best of the best. They engaged others who like-mindedly held their own one-sided opinions.

And so, the final gladiator game of the day had concluded, and within the arena, Kaiser Islan’s execution took place as scheduled. Vileena of course, could not bear to watch, and immediately took her leave accompanied by Theresia. Practically none of the Mephians thought to return home, likely finding even that entertaining.

“If,”

As she was leaving, Vileena voiced her thoughts.

“''If'' I had told the emperor to rescind the order for Kaiser’s execution as the receiving end of my wager at that time, what do you suppose the emperor would have done?”

“Even thinking about it terrifies me, princess.”

Considering her mistress, anything could have happened. Theresia trembled at the thought.



The figures of men and women dispersed, and evening welcomed the arena. It was covered in a silence that almost made the afternoon uproar seem like a lie. Burned a deep red by the setting sun, blood and organs lingered on the stadium grounds, their distinctive smell hovering in the air. In such a place, Prince Gil Mephius appeared for the second time. He pushed past the flustered supervisor and continued to walk in heavy steps.

Right then, he came across Orba, who had taken no more than a single step out of the infirmary. The impact from the Baian’s charge had caused injuries throughout his body, and his walking was also unsteady. Gil and Orba’s feet stopped in front of the other gladiators, who now watched quietly.

“Is there something you have to say for yourself, Orba?”

Orba—rather, the masked warrior did not give offer any response to Gil’s words.

“You not only had trouble with someone like Gash, but as one in the glorious Mephius Imperial Guards, you ''dared'' to handle your dragon more clumsily than a sword-slave? It would’ve been better off if the dragon’d eaten you.”

“You must be thrilled now that you’ve shamed me.”

The prince grabbed hold of the iron mask and shook it. The swordsman did not attempt to put up any resistance, but also did not avert the gaze through his mask away from the prince.

“What’s with those eyes?”

He snatched a whip from a nearby guard, and suddenly beat the masked swordsman with it. The mantle the masked swordsman wore tore, and immediately after he let out a groan, he was lashed out at once more.

“I can’t stand the way you look at me with those filthy eyes...when you’re nothing more than a piece of livestock in my keeping!” 

Gil kicked the swordsman in the face, and then forcibly pulled him up. “Come!” He gripped his arm and pulled him along. The slaves wordlessly saw them off, as Gil pulled the swordsman to a place where no eyes lurked, and finally let go of the hand.

“That was cruel of you, Orba.”

The swordsman spoke in a pained voice. Of course, Prince Gil being the aforementioned Orba, the one hidden behind the mask could not be him. It was the gladiator who bore a similar physique to him, Kain.

“I went easy on you, you know.”

''You say it’s cruel, but it’s even crueller for me.''

The one who received treatment in the infirmary was none other than Orba. In addition to injuring his back and waist when the dragons collided, he banged his shoulders when he fell off his dragon. It was fortunate his body didn’t suffer from any debilitating injuries, but he could hardly be said to be in perfect condition for tomorrow’s match. Swinging the whip alone was enough to send pain running throughout his body.

“I’m fine with becoming the masked swordsman Orba, but could I ask for an easier job next time?”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

Orba received the headpiece and leather armour from Kain, and returned to the form of a masked gladiator a second time. He threw the whip in his hand at Kain.

“Should I bring this back?”

“No. Use that to hit me.”

“Eh, that’s all right. I don’t hate you that much.”

“You idiot,” Orba wryly smiled. “I need lash marks.”

Kain timidly complied. He had previously took on, and furthermore, acted out the role of the prince’s body double. At that time, Orba came in contact with Kain as Prince Gil and did not reveal his true identity. But this time, he felt it a necessity, and exposed his face bare.

“I knew you were mysterious, but I would’ve never imagined you were the prince. Could it really be ‘that’? You were confined by an adversary and they forcibly put that iron mask on you. Then you were stripped to the status of a slave. You heroically survived through the ordeals, and now you’re about to take back the country that rightfully belongs to you. Well isn’t this a tale to behold!”

Or so Kain would melodramatise, making it a mystery to Orba just how much of the situation he understood.

''Tch. Damn you, Kain.''

After finishing his preparations, Orba leaned a hand against the wall, and walked in shambles. Half of it was an act, but the other half was real. The first two lashes, Kain held back, but Orba pressed him, “Do it harder!” and the next lash was sent with all of his strength. Deep marks that took on the shape of a worm were etched on his arms, legs, and back. Fresh blood dripped from his neck.

Orba walked up to where sword-slaves were present, then tumbled over. It was a miserable act, but he could not afford to nitpick. There, a hand suddenly extended out. He grabbed the hand and pulled himself up. It was none other than Pashir.

“Do you still intend on being the prince’s dog after suffering such treatment?”

His voice was calm, but his face twisted in anger.

“Who knows?”

He answered indifferently, while convinced Pashir had been caught in his net. To that end, he had specifically chosen a difficult to handle Baian, and assigned Gash a Baian trained for military use.

“You might be praised as a hero now, but you’re expendable. You should already know that.”

“What would you bloody know?” Orba glared at him, coughing up blood onto the ground. “That’s right, I’m a slave. As an imperial guard, I ultimately have no choice but to kill on command. Besides that, what else is there? Are you going to tell me that you, with that prided sword-wielding arm of yours, will destroy Mephius, will destroy this fuckin’ country this instant?”

Pashir stared at Orba’s burning eyes for some time, at a loss for words.