Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter7 (section)

===Part 2===
Around that time, a pile of materials stacked near the dragons’ stables where repairs were underway. As far as the eye could see, there wasn’t any part of the fortress not damaged, but even amongst them the priority of the restoration of the stables was high. Of course, they were being mindful to the dragons’ condition. They locked the dragons in the cages they used for transport on the way and managed to calm them for the time being, but there was no telling when they might destroy the cages in a fit of aggravation and run away or break into a fight amongst themselves. That would result in unnecessary damage and casualties.

Even then, having Hou Ran alone was enough to make the situation considerably brighter. She would occasionally bring the large dragons along to the parade ground and have them move around, and the medium and small-sized dragons would participate in the dragoons’ training under her supervision as they currently were, so it didn’t seem very likely the dragons would build up any stress.

That day, as Krau gripped her head in pain from a hangover and drew water from a well near the dragon stables, she nearly dropped the ladle in mute amazement when she came across the sight.

Inside the cage, amidst the dragons’ clamouring stood Hou Ran. Curious as to what she was doing, Krau saw her holding a long brush also used for cleaning the decks scrubbing the dragons’ bodies. Outside the cage, a group of men stood nervously, and occasionally acted on Ran’s instructions and emptied a bucket of water inside.

“Stop, stop, what do you think you’re doing?!”

Krau ran towards her, forgetting all about her hangover. She was convinced that someone had offhandedly made a slave do this as entertainment.

“The dragons are happy when I do this for them.”

She was rather calm.

And in fact, each time Ran brushed against them, the dragons would groan facing their backs to her in a way that let her easily groom them, and wag their tails up and down.

“If I’ll be!” Krau exclaimed in wonder, but that wasn’t all she had to say. “Don’t tell me that you’re actually bad at getting these things. What about you go ask the master for an easier job?”

“An easy job. As in?”

“You’re young and pretty, ya see. All ya gotta do is stay beside him and smile. I also did that and got away from all the painful work when I was young. It doesn’t matter what your status is, cause men are simply creatures you see. Just whisper love into his ears and pull back a little shyly. And if you add on something like ‘I know our statuses are different, but even then I can’t hold back this feeling’, then that’ll be perfect.”

The surrounding soldiers at that moment were startled not by Krau’s flirtful voice but by Ran who broke into a giggle, possibly more startled than when they saw her up close to the dragons.

“I’ll teach you how to sing and dance. And then I’ll teach you the types of topics that catch a man’s interest.”

“It seems harder than taking care of these dragons.”

“It’s simple to learn. At least you won’t have to worry about being teared to shreds by a dragon’s claws or fangs. Hurry and get out. It’s dangerous! I can’t bear to watch.”

“Maybe one day, I’ll have you teach me.”

Ran stroked her brush against the side of a Baian, when another dragon pushed its back onto her insisting on its turn, and she turned around gently caressing its neck.



Having made his way back to Apta, Orba was first about to make his way to his private room, now resituated in the barracks, and finish up his work, but before he had, he suddenly remembered something.

After checking that no one was around, he reached towards his chest. Hanging there was a still somewhat disfigured medal. It weighed on his mind the entire time, but following the hectic amount of work he had the past few days, he had ended up entirely forgetting about it.

And so, Orba decided to pay a visit to the blacksmith alone. Midway, along a garden near the gates leading to the keep, he spotted the back of a single old man. Orba stopped. It was one of the blacksmiths he had seen when he performed an inspection of the fortress.

His name was Sodan, a man with disheveled hair. From his appearance he seemed quite old, but according to him he had yet to reach his sixties. Orba called his name and walked towards him. Sodan turned around. His eyes were more heavy than sharp enough to warrant him a man who could not properly hold a conversation, yet for the situation at hand he paid the proper respects to the prince.

“Is there something you need from me?”

Orba handed him the medal and made his request. Sodan readily agreed to undertake it, so Orba was about to take his leave when his eyes suddenly stopped on the numerous swords buried into the ground. It also caught his interest the last time he noticed them.

Sodan was, as it seemed, picking up the scattered swords that had fallen out of place and returning them to their original positions. Curious, Orba decided to approach him to ask.

“These are gravestones,” Sodan said.

“Gravestones?”

“These are all swords I’ve smithed. The names of dead soldiers are engraved on their blades. Though it isn’t like I’ve remembered all of them. I only engraved the names of the dead whose faces I’ve seen and remembered.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ahh, I seem to have been too short-spoken. These are the graves of soldiers who perished in Apta, is what I mean. I’ve spent the majority of my life here you see, and quite a few of those I know have died. Someone as great as the prince may not understand, but those who died in battle are all cremated together and don’t have their own graves. So I at least crave the names of those I remember and engrave their souls into the swords. But too many lives were claimed in the battle when the fortress was taken by Garbera, and the numbers here are only a fraction of them.”

''I see,'' he said under his breath. Orba gazed at the numerous swords. Names were as he said, carved on the blades. Millan, Ceed, Raphael, Angas...Orba chased after the names of these people whose faces and history Orba did not know and held no significance to him when he suddenly realized. There was something familiar about them. It wasn’t the names. There was a certain style to the engraved letters, something to it that Orba recognized all too well.

Orba quickly called out to Sodan, who had finished returning the swords to their original positions and was about to excuse himself.

“You said that a-all of the swords here were made by you.”

“Yes. What of it?”

“Do you remember ''this''?”

As if he couldn’t stand to waste a single second, Orba quickly removed the sword fixed on his belt. A shortsword sixty centimetres long. On it were engraved letters. It was his own name, ‘Orba’.

“Ho,” Sodan frowned. “That is unmistakably something I made. However, that is surely something unfitting to be carried by the great crown prince. Did you take it out from here? No, there shouldn’t have been a sword I made that size as a gravestone.”

“...I was entrusted it by a certain man. Do you remember? There should have been a man who asked you to make this for him. Could you teach me where that man went, or how he is doing in Apta?”

Without realizing it, Orba approached closer to Sodan.

With the force he approached him and that sword in his hand, it would probably seem like Orba was trying to stab the old man.

Sodan however, did not cower at all.

“I can’t say,” Sodan said thinking. “I have forged a countless number of pieces of equipment after all. They are all to me like how a child is with its toys. I can tell if it is mine and when I made it from looking at the sword’s characteristics, but I do not remember as far as each and every person I gave the swords to.”

As he said this, he reached his hand out to the sword. Orba's chest tightened, but he handed over the sword with a pained expression. Sodan narrowed his eyes and carefully examined the sword from every angle.

“The sword isn’t that old,” he mumbled. “Ten years, no not even that much, it was made five or six years ago. Let’s see, the balance between the blade and handle also feels different from a regular shortsword…...Do you know the name of that man?”

“His name is Roan.”

“Roan...Roan. Hmm. I at the least carved his name, so I do feel like I vaguely remember something, but that was along with tens of others. My memories are all getting mixed, and I can’t be sure.”

“Please. Try to remember. I’ll do anything.”

“Even if you say that...Still, I feel like this sword is somehow different from those I normally make...but as for how...”

He tilted his head for some time, then suddenly his heavy eyes opened. ''Aah.'' Orba felt his breath stop.

“I remember. It was a strange request. If I’m certain, it wasn’t for himself but his family that he asked me to make this.”

“T-That’s him. It’s unmistakably him.”

“Didn’t he dump the majority of his pay meant for himself in front of me? At the time I was fairly busy, but you could say he was a strong-spirited one and I felt myself moved and wanting to have a go. A request for a sword that a child can handle. I had never made anything like it, so it also slightly stoked my urge to make it.”

“And then? And then what happened to that man, Roan?” Orba asked him restlessly.

He had long forgotten he was currently wearing the mask of ‘Gil’.

“What happened?” Sodan slumped his narrow shoulders. “He was a regular soldier stationed in Apta. Of course he—”

It was right when Sodan began to say this.

He did not know why, but Orba, who should have only been paying attention to Sodan thought he felt an ominous presence out of the corner of his eye and turned his sights toward it. There was no one there. Just as before, there were only the numerous swords buried into the ground.

“''Ahh.''”

Sodan gave a sigh after noticing the direction of Orba’s gaze. Orba silently approached the sword with his sight nailed on its engraving and he pulled it out. Even up close it read the same. The name engraved on it was most certainly,

ROAN

“The last time I saw him was in the middle of Garbera’s siege.” Sodan’s voice sounded strangely muffled. “It was after the commanders all fled, you see but he probably did not know about that. This is what the Mephian soldiers taken captive after the fortress fell said. He encouraged everyone and fought believing reinforcements would come until the end. Afterwards, I saw his body in the pile of dead Mephian soldiers and made him a sword as a gravestone. This is my memory of him.”

“No...way,” Orba muttered, his voice cracking. “He’s a different person. There are others with the name Roan. He’s not the Roan I know...”

“He seems like a important person to you. Please wait a moment.”

Sodan returned to his workshop and brought out a bundled piece of parchment and handed it to Orba. Orba received it half-dazed and opened the paper.

The sword’s design was drawn there. Orba gulped. He could immediately tell this was something drawn by his brother Roan. It was a blueprint. It specifically indicated where the letters of ORBA should be engraved. Below it was a sketch of a person’s hand.

“Make it so it easily be held with a hand this size, he told me,” Sodan told him.

Orba trembled.

Even after Sodan stood the sword against the wall and gave his farewells, Orba did not move from that spot for a long time.

Orba placed his hand over the sketched hand. Of course, his hand already already grown much bigger and they no longer overlapped. But he was sure he could feel a warmth there.

''“See you, Orba.”''

The warmth of his brother who, for some reason, asked for that handshake six years ago.

Wasn’t that so he could prepare this? To remember and measure the size of his little brother’s hand with his own.

Orba trembled, for a long time.



At that time Vileena came to welcome the prince, but it was when he had already disembarked the ship, so she made her way to his private room only to find he had not returned yet.

She didn’t have any important business with him, but once Vileena set her mind on something she would carry it out. Be that as it may, chasing around after the prince with no important business could be considered unacceptable in itself, so she searched for some plausible reason.

''They should be having a conference for when they send reinforcements to Garbera. Maybe I should ask if I could attend.''

For the time being, she had given herself a reason that would justify her visit. Still, if she badgered him too much about it, that would only have the opposite effect. ''First, I shall give my congratulations and curry his favour.'' she reflected.

''Dealing with a child has its troubles.''

She nearly giggled. She felt she had gotten somewhat closer to this man named Gil.

Men engaged in the fortress’ repairs ran back and forth. Most of them were shirtless and Vileena could feel her cheeks reddening, but she endured it and asked for the prince’s whereabouts.

“He went up the keep’s central stairs not too long ago.”

“I see, thank you!”

As soon as she thanked him, she flung her head around and ran off. Quickly, one of the men called to her,

“The inside of the keep is dangerous! There’s a chance of collapse, so don’t enter any way with a rope up!”

Vileena waved her hand to acknowledge her understanding, but never turned back.

For no reason at all, the men exchanged glances and smiled.



When he came to, Orba was on the fortress’ uppermost level.

The majority of the uppermost level had been destroyed by the bombing, so to be more accurate this was the chamber of the floor below. Here and there the floor caved in, cracks could be found, and the room was littered with debris and dark soot. Across the upper-half of the decimated wall was the evening sky. The dark clouds crept heavily across the thin, vermillion-lit sky.

''He’s dead.''

And here, under the sight of the damaged fortress and blood-stained corridors and hillside, Orba found himself quite literally overtaken by the true sense of that word. The evening vermillion, red as blood, soaked into Orba’s eyes and had him picture himself as Roan, seeing the sprawled corpses of the soldiers lying there at the time.

''Dead?''

Just by closing his eyes, the scene at that moment vividly came to him. His brother, wearing a mismatched set of armor and helmet, brandishing his seemingly heavy sword and encouraging his friends who lost their fighting spirit, then running out believing help would come.

Orba collapsed on his hands and knees, feeling the ground beneath him might cave in at any moment.

''They’re taking too long to come.''

Droplets fell down staining the floor.

''They ''are'' taking too long to come, aren’t they, Roan.''

He knew somewhere that there was no way his brother had lived. He knew this since six years ago. And yet, if he didn’t ascertain it himself he could not accept that conclusion. It was that tiny inkling of a wish he harboured, so small that it could not even be considered hope.

And even more so after becoming the prince’s body double and finding that faint light lit towards his future. 

His hope expanded again when he had jumped out where the open sun shone. He felt if he gained power as prince, he could one day reunite with Roan, Alice, and his mother.

Now, he realised it was all an illusion.

''Recruit soldiers?''

He was revolted by the he who thought that way. Those high commanders saw the simple soldier as nothing but numbers. Roan was unmistakably one of them. And without his name even being remembered, he had fallen as a corpse. Then once the battle ended, he was lumped together as nothing but a number in the casualties.

''I’m the same as Oubary. I’m the same as those rotten Mephian nobles.''

Unnoticed, someone stood frozen behind Orba breaking down into a loud wail. She stared on in surprise and, as if she had seen something she should not have, suddenly turned her back and quickly descended the flight of stairs.