Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7 Chapter7 (section)

=== Part 2 ===

''Mephius’ movements are slow''.

The reason why Orba had felt that way during the council of war was because of the difference between the information that the messenger had brought and the Mephian side’s actual movements.

The messenger had confirmed that they had seen troops leave by Apta’s north gate with their own eyes. Going north no doubt meant that they had chosen a route that circumvented the River Yunos. Yet now, several hours later, the enemy had directly crossed the Yunos.

''A detached force''.

Looking at the map that was spread open on the table, Orba had a hunch.

“''Here'',” Orba pointed to a spot in the Belgana Summits. “Helio should have a fortress. But ''I'' burnt it down. Is there any defence line there currently?”

“Ridiculous,” realising what Orba was going to say, a crease appeared between Bouwen’s brows. “The Belganas are a natural stronghold for Taúlia. Soldiers can’t move around them without knowing the terrain, especially at night.”

“What if Mephius has investigated that terrain? You should take into account that while we were fighting Garda, the Belganas were as good as deserted.”

''Guhl'' – Orba cursed inwardly. It was as though Garda’s rampage had been setting the scene for Guhl’s invasion of the west.

“The soldiers at the border are meant to lure us. The troops which left Apta first are definitely intending to attack Taúlia via a different route.”

The various commanders looked towards Orba then Bouwen in turn. Bouwen’s mouth was pursed shut as he looked down at the map.

“General Bouwen,” Orba’s tone urged to make a decision, “you should leave some soldiers with someone trustworthy and have them stage an ambush in the Belganas. Someone from the area will know where a large number of soldiers are most likely to be able to pass. We’ll aim our guns and cannons at where the enemy will assemble.”

Orba pressed his finger against the map and moved from one point to another.

“We’ll send some soldiers to the border and deliberately let the enemy believe that their strategy has worked. Once the Belganas have been cleaned out, the unit there will hurry to the border. Just before they arrive, the fire –”

“Fire?”

“We’ll light a large bonfire in the outskirts of Taúlia. To make it look like the assault unit has really fired its cannons at the city. But it’s the enemy who’ll be lured in.”

Bouwen’s eyes shifted from the map to Orba.

Not to belabour the point, but they had very little time. He looked each of the commanders in the face as though to quell any murmurs of dissatisfaction before they arose, then… 

“Right, we’ll do that,” he decided. Then continued, “Orba, I’ll leave soldiers with you.”

“With me?”

“With that said, we can only add about a hundred other troops to your own mercenary unit. Will that work?”

“It’ll need greater numbers than that to lure the enemies at the border.”

“No, you’ll head for the Belganas. I’ll go to the border.”

“General!”

The commanders were understandably shaken. It was probably an even fifty-fifty as to whether the border or the Belganas was the most dangerous but – if Orba’s analysis was correct – failure in the Belganas was the one most directly tied to the possible fall of Taúlia. And that vital task was being left to Orba – a foreigner and a mere mercenary.

“Show me the skill of the swordsman who reaped Garda’s head.”

When Bouwen smiled wryly after giving that order, Orba seemed to remember what his position was.

“Aye,” he finally stood to attention.



Orba’s unit set up an ambush in the Belgana Summits and when Darren’s troops came into sight, he ordered the hundred riflemen lent him by Bouwen to open fire. Simultaneously, he had the cannons aim fire at the enemy’s rear.

A rain of bullets at the front, a series of explosions at the back. On top of that, several trees caught fire and fell. How could Darren’s group not waver and try to flee?

“Attack.”

Orba was the first to rush towards the collapsing enemy group.

Swords swung down, spears were thrust out. Throwing himself into that storm, he attacked, sharp and fast, while the flames from the burning trees bathed the enemy soldiers in its light.

Orba’s longsword gleamed as it raised the howl of death. He cut down one, then flew to the left and cleaved the top of another’s head through their helmet, guarded against an enemy hammer then decapitated its owner.

The enemy – in other words, Mephians. But Orba did not think of that. Mephius was no longer a part of him, it was a name that was synonymous with Emperor Guhl’s spectre.

The mercenaries also fought boldly, their rough voices resounding. They were the unit which had been acclaimed throughout the west for defeating Garda; that in itself gave them confidence. It went without saying for Shique or Gilliam, but even the Helian soldier Kurún, who had turned pale during the battle at the Coldrin Hills, was now so warrior-like that he was barely recognisable.

Once they had annihilated Darren’s unit, their armour wet with blood, they immediately jumped on horseback. Their horses travelled along the outer walls of the city-state and once they had reached the end of those walls and the Gajira plains lay before them, they gave the signal for fire to rise within Taúlia.

The heaps of grass and straw piled up in the outskirts of the city were set alight.

However, because there had been so little time to prepare, they had not been able to gather sufficient quantities of kindling. Bouwen had consulted with Toún Bazgan, the general who had long shouldered the responsibility for defending Taúlia, and had decided on a bold course of action. The townspeople in one area of the city would be evacuated and they would fire their own cannons at the buildings there.

Smoke and flames erupted.

Nabarl took it that Taúlia had successfully been captured. When the soldiers led by Bouwen started to retreat according to plan, he was lured into chasing after them, as expected.

When Nabarl’s troops moved forward, Orba’s unit, which was on standby to one side of the ridge, started to charge towards their flank.

Up until there, everything was according to prediction.

However...

''He divided his troops''.

Through the mask, Orba’s eyes remained calm and cool to the end. It was clear from the way he had fired a canon to mow down their riflemen that the opponent was skilled in warfare. Since the riflemen were not able to stall them, Orba’s unit would be late reaching the enemy, which would soon be in striking distance of Bouwen’s rear. If that happened, they would lose the timing for Bouwen’s troops to do an about-face and the coming mêlée would devolve into chaos.

The only reason that they narrowly avoided that was –

''That airship''.

Just as the enemy had been catching up to them, a ship had come flying from the direction Bouwen’s troops were running in. Orba could only see it from a distance, but its movements had been extremely dynamic. If the alignment of the ether jet emission had been off by even a fraction, the airship would instantly have come crashing down. The nerve and skill required were equal to those needed for riding a wild horse with neither saddle nor bridle.

''Taúlians are valiant''.

Orba once again spurred his horse into the hell-like storm. Each time his sword hummed, blood spurted on either side of him. 

He could see that further away, the enemy was still pursuing Bouwen’s troops.

The enemy was of course desperate. Perhaps they considered that, since flames were rising from the direction of Taúlia, their strategy had still been successful.

''Here''.

Swinging his sword before him, Orba had decided on a path to forcibly break through the enemy. The enemy of either side and their ranks devolved into even greater chaos.

In that time, he lunged at an enemy soldier. By sheer coincidence, it was César, the vice-captain of Nabarl’s unit. César staggered at the blow to his armour before a sword pierced right through the middle of his forehead. His helmet split and with blood gushing from his head, César fell from his horse. Orba was about to trample over his body.

Then just before he did so.

The gleam of steel before him turned into a flash.

Beneath the still shadowy sky, the darkness itself seemed to have absorbed killing intent before leaping out. Orba twisted his body and was just able to repel the attacking sword.

''This guy''.

Chills shivered up his spine. If his movements had been a fraction slower, Orba’s head would unquestionably have been separated from his body.

''Die''.

He felt chills,yet at the same time, he felt as though the fires of hell were burning in his chest and burning hot blood was coursring to every part of his limbs.

''Strong''.

With lightning speed, the sword lunged out again and he parried it a second, then a third time. As he did so, he shifted the position of his feet and managed to find one in which both his feet were firmly on the ground.

The enemy soldier’s bulky body loomed closer, a mass of killing intent. Orba took a firm step on the solid ground and repelled his opponent’s thrust, then the next second counter-attacked by swinging his sword down diagonally.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Sparks flew three times.

Orba’s counterattack, the enemy’s blow, and then another strike from Orba – each was parried in mid-air by the other’s sword.

On the third time their swords clashed and locked together, they found themselves face-to-face, the swords between them.

At that moment, Orba gasped in surprise.

The enemy wore no helmet... And it was dawn. In the pale light that makes the world look as though it had sunk underwater, he was able to see his opponent’s face up close.

“''Pashir''!”

The name spontaneously burst from his lips.

Hearing his shout, the strength with which his opponent was pressing down on his sword lightened. Both of them leapt backwards at almost exactly the same time and, their stances at the ready, stared fixedly at the other.

''He'' –

Was certainly Pashir. It was not just his appearance, Orba remembered this strong numbness in his arms, just as with their previous fight. Apart from Garbera’s general Ryucown, Orba knew no other master swordsman this strong.

Perhaps Pashir also remembered his swordsmanship as he glared sharply at Orba’s mask – a mask in a different shape from the one he had worn in Mephius.

“It can’t be,” he moved his mouth, “you’re – Orba?”

“Yeah.”

Even as he was answering, Orba was thinking – ''shit!''

This is what it meant to fight Mephius. He might have to turn his sword against former acquaintances. Perhaps among those here were Gowen or every one of the Imperial Guards who had been under Orba’s command. If Orba attached a name to every opponent here, he would no longer be able to wield his sword against them.
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v07 271.jpg|thumb]]

All around them, the clash of weapons and the wail of death cries rose and fell. As though they were in a different world, only between their two swords had silence fallen.

It was then that the shadow of a spear lunged for Orba’s side. Orba was actually rather glad of the sudden attack. Because it meant that he had no leeway to ponder about whether his assailant was someone he knew or not. Orba shifted his weight to the back of his feet and bent his body, striking in a side sweep at the enemy’s blind spot.

There was no time for Pashir to stop either. Smashing a soldier in the temple and leaping over the body as it pitched forward, he once again closed the distance with Orba.

Their swords collided once more.

“Why are you here?” Pashir almost growled. “You can’t really be a spy for Taúlia?”

''Tsk''.

Orba was finally only just recovering from his shock at meeting someone he knew. At this moment, when they needed to chase after the enemy’s main force as quickly as possible, an opponent like Pashir was too much extra trouble. Orba had won against him during Mephius’ gladiatorial tournament, but only through a desperate gamble that had ignored whatever came next. He still had things he needed to do after this and he would not be able to win uninjured in a one-on-one fight against Pashir.

Pashir’s body was emitting endless pressure.

“There’s a load of things I want to ask you.”

“Sorry but I’m running out of time.”

“What?”

Pashir had momentarily lowered his sword but in an instant, he again nimbly pressed forward. Orba had been going to strike him crossways from the flank, but Pashir prevented him from doing so with movements as agile as a beast.

''No, he really is a beast''.

He had the impression that he was facing a wild animal.

"What about the other Imperial Guards?"

Orba turned out to be the one asking questions. Sparks flew in all directions as the tip of one sword parried the other.

"Most were split up. But one part is being held in Apta."

"Oh. Then what about you?"

"What?"

"Why are you… no... why is Mephius' army here? You know that Prince Gil chose friendship with the west, right?"

"As to that, ask the Emperor. More importantly, if you're here, does that mean the Prince is still alive? Don’t tell me this is another one of Gil's tricks?  Or no, is it that you yourself..."

"Who's the commander-in-chief?"

Orba was gambling again. The stakes were every bit as high as during the gladiatorial tournament, but there was a huge difference in his movements. He once again leapt back and freed his sword which he languidly swung in his right hand. Pashir had intended to go after him, but now unease flitted across his face. Staring at him through the mask, Orba asked again –

"Who is it?"

"...Seems like he's newly appointed to the twelve generals. A man called Nabarl Metti."

"Nabarl."

''Never heard of him'' – he thought.

"Pashir, from here on I'm going to be blocking Nabarl. You retreat along with him."

He handed down this pronouncement as though it were completely normal for him to do so, and gave his order as though it were perfectly natural.

Pashir was too speechless to answer. But as Orba turned on his heel, the tip of Pashir's sword was shaking violently.

"Y-You..."

"I," Orba spoke over his shoulder, "am currently a mercenary in Taúlia. But I'm also part of Mephius. I don't believe there's any contradiction there."

"That's ridiculous. With Mephius as it is now, that's..."

"Mephius, as it is ''now'', right?"

Orba's own horse had run off somewhere, but a horse whose Taúlian rider had died with a sword through his back was trotting about nearby. He seized the bridle and lowered the soldier's body to the ground. Pashir still had not moved by the time Orba had nimbly swung himself onto the horse's back.

"Shique! Gilliam! You here?" He roared as he urged the horse towards the mêlée.

As former gladiators, as expected, his acquaintances were overwhelming their opponents while remaining themselves largely uninjured. Apart from anything else, the unit had lost César, its commanding officer, so there were many on the Mephian side who were deserting despite General Nabarl telling them to hold it or die trying, and who were fleeing as fast as they could.

"You two, come with me. We're going to attack the enemy's main force from behind. We'll smash them in half!"

"You're talking nonsense," towering above friend and foe alike, Gilliam hefted his bloodstained axe onto his shoulder.

"Same as always," Shique responded cheerfully as he shook the gore from the swords he held in each hand.

It was only when the three of them had plunged into the distance in a cloud of dust that Pashir belatedly followed after them.