Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume10 Chapter4 (section)

=== Part 3 ===

The situation had changed completely.

News of Ende’s internal strife and of the imminent arrival of a fleet from Allion flew around the centre of the continent almost in an instant. And the fastest to respond to that news was Salamand Fogel’s unit, which was still waiting within Mephian territory.

They left some money by way of compensation for the village where they had been staying and set off immediately. They travelled west of the River Wendt, heading north to Idoro, which was the fortress that defended the easternmost tip of Mephius.

The lord of the domain, Julius, hurriedly sent a cable message to the capital. Julius, however, was in a weakened position since he, having wanted to make sure of which way the wind was blowing, he had come up with one reason or another to delay responding to the emperor’s call for a dispatch of troops.

''Should we go out and face them with just our own troops?'' It was not that Julius had never considered that possibility, but it was still unclear how this Salamand’s own country intended to deal with his force.

West of Salamand’s unit, as it headed north, was Kilro.

Its lord was Indolph York – an ally that Fedom, of Birac, had won over to his anti-Emperor faction. He, in turn, had been planning to rise to action in concert with Fedom and the crown prince, which left him uncertain as to how to deal with the sudden incursion by an enemy force. And as a result, he simply watched from behind as Salamand disappeared over the horizon.

“Isn’t it funny?” Salamand laughed fearlessly as he rode, his entire body shaking with mirth. “It’s as if everything is coming together to push me forward.”

Salamand Fogel only remained in Mephius in search of a place to die. At first, it had not mattered where that was, so he had intended to just clash with Mephius’ military and perish. However, now, if he used the fact that Kilro, Idoro and the capital had lost their ability to cooperate, he realised that – ''I can bring down a far bigger prey than I’d thought''.

Shaken by civil war, Mephius was like a giant whose mind and limbs no longer operated together. The very fact that Salamand’s unit had been able to remain within its territory for so long indicated how bizarre the entire situation was.

“Everyone, this is proof that General Ryucown is watching over us from the sky.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v10 208.jpg|thumb]]
Salamand raised his fist to the heavens as he yelled. His soldiers all did the same. They were all devotees of Ryucown. There were even some among them whose bearded faces were wet with tears.

“Remember this place well. One day, guided by true chivalry, what we see will become part of our beloved Garbera.”

And then, there was Ende.

Prince Eric – who could not yet claim the title of “Grand Duke” since the coronation ceremony could not be carried out – had summoned the chief courtiers and commanders to the main palace. Among them there were also Ende’s warrior priests, whose role was to call on the guardian spirits from all the various shrines in the land.

Allion’s fleet was, even now, crossing the sea. Which implied that they were saving their reserves of ether for their air carriers and airships, and that they would soon come to anchor in Zonga’s ports. Although, if Zonga were asked about it directly, they would probably deny it point blank.

''That’s the only thing in our favour'' – thought Eric.

It meant that they could not afford to transport soldiers by way of air. For all of its might, the Kingdom of Allion had only just come out of a large-scale war. And, with Allion being Allion, he had also heard rumors of trifling internal disturbances.

Even First Prince Kaseria’s troops were at less than their full contingent.

It was said that the king of Allion had not seemed particularly interested in Jeremie’s appeal, but had dispatched troops under Kaseria’s command at the prince’s fervent request.

''A beast thirsting for blood''.

So said the rumours. Kaseria Jamil enjoyed poetry and music as much as he loved women, and killed as naturally as he breathed. Rumour even claimed that he had withdrawal symptoms if he was not destroying something or slaughtering someone.

“The enemy is at about two thousand. Even if they increase their numbers, they will not go beyond double that.”

The generals were letting their ideas do the fighting across the table during the council of war.

“We’ll gather the entire army in Dairan and intercept them.”

“The entire army will be impossible. Mephius and Garbera are currently politically unstable. At a time like this, if we don’t reinforce our defences in all four directions, who knows what kind of miscreant might cross our borders.”

“Moreover,” an old admiral dressed in long-hemmed clothes blinked almost incessantly, “even if we manage to repel them, what will follow after will be tens of thousands of Allion’s troops. Is going to war really for the best?”

“The root of all this is Prince Jeremie – ah, no, sorry, he’s been stripped of his title – Jeremie. If we capture him and have him officially receive judgement, he will be recognised as a traitor against his own country. And Allion will lose just cause for intervention.”

“Just cause?” A general with a tangled mat of hair spluttered as though in amazement. “If Allion were a country that respected justice or causes, neither Holy Dytiann nor the “Silent Ruler,” Shazarn, would not have been brought to ruin. Those bastards are masters at brandishing whatever “just cause” is most convenient for them. No matter what we do, war is unavoidable!”

“The coastal countries might offer reinforcements. They’re trade nations: many of their kings will be worried about Allion gaining power in the area.”

“You want us to ally ourselves with those heathens who worship pot-bellied gods with twisted limbs? Every last one of Ende’s guardian Spirits would abandon us!”

“What are you on about at a time like this! The fate of our country is at stake!”

“It is exactly because we are in peril that we need to demonstrate our pride and dignity as a country and…”

Ende’s long history and traditions sometimes turned its people’s thought-processes a little rusty.

Prince Eric had come to understand something in this short amount of time. Up until then, the councils of war he had known had been held in tents set up on the grass-covered plains of Dairan and had merely involved discussions of how best to slaughter the enemy, how to minimise their own losses, and where to hold the victory celebration afterwards. In other words, Eric had only ever experienced councils which were extremely simple and extremely efficient; and now, as he watched while words were tossed around before him, he could not help but find a certain humour in the contrast between how light the existence of these words was, and how heavy their impact on history would be.

''Right, no matter how appalling this is, there’s still something humorous about it.''

“All of you,” Eric stretched out a hand and broke up the courtiers’ dispute which had looked like it was going to continue on endlessly.

Startled, everyone looked up towards the future grand duke, innumerable expectations and calculations flitting through them as they did so. There were people there who hoped to maintain their positions by finding favour with the next grand duke; people who wanted to see how this very young and very rustic man, who had no experience on the field except in Dairan, was going to cope with this unprecedented crisis; and people who were simply waiting impatiently, eager to go to war.

“Asking for reinforcements from the coastal countries is an excellent idea. Our ties with them go back a long way. To claim that borrowing the strength of such old friends is shameful is the same as denying our history. Is it not?”

“Aye,” the retainers nodded.

Even those who had earlier dismissed them because of their “gods and whatnot” were aware that this was the only way to avert the crisis. The words of rejection they had spoken were, perhaps also because of the weight of history, something which had to be done as a matter of form.

''For the time being'' – they had no other choice if they were to hold Allion in check. The atmosphere in the room seemed to become firmer.

“And then there’s Mephius and Garbera,” the young man who would be the next grand duke spoke words that left everyone astounded. “We will request reinforcements from them too.”
“What!”

“Mephius is being shaken by civil war. There are also signs of that in Garbera. And besides…” One of the generals abruptly stopped talking.

Troops from Garbera and Ende had clashed just a very short while ago. And it was Eric himself who had led the forces from Ende. They had valiantly set off but, in the end, Mephius had also entered the fray, leaving them no choice but to turn back. Immediately after that, wild dragons had attacked Dairan and Eric had earned renown by slaying them; but if had not been for that fact, if he had merely scurried home, he would simply have been a defeated commander and would probably have lost his candidacy for the position of grand duke.

Eric bestowed a smile upon the general.

“It’s perfectly obvious that Allion is not aiming for our country alone. Mephius and Garbera surely know that just as well as the countries by the sea do. I’m aware that they currently have their own troubles to deal with, and that we don’t know how much strength they can muster. But right now, what is important is to issue an appeal making it clear that we should share the same purpose. It will help with what’s to come.”

Once he had spoken, Eric stood up. Just as everyone else was doing the same, he continued:

“Warriors, collect swords, spears and guns. Take anything that looks usable and don’t neglect preparations when it comes to soldiers either. The civil officials will write. Naturally, you will make sure that the letters for each of the coastal countries as well as for Mephius and Garbera are individualised, and that each one is written in such a way as to strike a chord with the people of each different country. This is war. A war in which you will put your life on the line to defend your country.”

Eric was, by nature, a poor orator so the words he had just spoken had been prepared beforehand. He had not been able to completely banish his nervousness, but the speech was still effective. His gaze swept over the retainers, who all had their heads bowed before him.

“May every one of the Spirits protect us.” 

“May the Spirits protect us,” everyone echoed the same words.

While Ende was still set in its ancient ways, in the Mephian territory of Birac, new blood was in the process of ushering in change.

Orba belatedly caught wind of the events surrounding Ende’s struggle for succession and of Allion’s movements. The news was already widely circulated in Solon and, since it was transmitted from there to Birac, he was also able to find out how the capital was reacting to it.

''This is bad''.

Orba paced around the room in Fedom’s mansion which had been allocated to him.

He had been waiting and waiting in Birac and, just as he thought that the wind was finally blowing his way, the situation with Salamand and then Ende had cropped up in quick succession. Voices had only just started to rise in support of the crown prince, but he was afraid that Gil Mephius would be seen as no more than a troublemaker seeding discord in a time when difficulties were piling up and the country needed to stand united.

And Gil’s situation would only get worse if Salamand were to attack one of the cities or if Allion’s troops arrive in the center of the continent in response to Jeremie’s appeal.

His plans were being upset from a direction he had never even dreamed of.

''The general's words might not have been that much of a joke'' –  he thought, remembering how Rogue had previously suggested that Salamand might be acting “at His Majesty’s instigation”.

Of course, that was not the same as saying that Guhl had ushured Salamand in. But it was possible that Guhl Mephius was currently deliberately allowing Salamand to remain. The imperial family’s reputation and prestige might take a blow because of it, but he might well feel that it was more important, at least for now, to foster the country's perception that Gil Mephius was a hindrance.

According to one of the rumours in Solon, Salamand was working in collusion with the Impostor Crown Prince. The fake Gil was working with the west and with Garbera to make Mephius fall into chaos. The origin of the rumour was unknown but it would not be surprising if the emperor were pulling the strings.

A troop of a thousand soldiers was right before him in Nedain. Orba could not move forward without first dealing with this. But if he took action now, he would be branded a traitor who took advantage of the country’s difficulties to satisfy his own greedy ambitions.

“It’s a plausible story,” nodded Rogue when Orba consulted with him about it. He had, for the time being, left his vice-commander in charge of the air fleet in Nedain, and was paying his respects to Gil. 

“Once you are no longer a unifying force, Your Highness, His Majesty probably intends to send out an elite force to crush Salamand. The people will then be left with the impression that the one defending the country is, after all, definitely the emperor. Even if it later leads to war with Garbera, that will only be a secondary consideration compared to civil war. And because the people are aware of Garbera’s provocative actions, in all likelihood, it will be a war which they will fully support.”

“There’s also the situation with Ende and Allion. Which means that Garbera won’t be able to start trouble easily either. If it actually comes to that.”

Garbera might prepare its weapons and turn its attention entirely to defending its own country. Which would mean that Guhl Mephius would again be seen as the one who had protected this country.

Orba had been waiting for ‘time’ to start moving, but he had never expected it to do so in such a hectic manner.

''How serious is Allion about this? Will Garbera really just ignore Salamand? And what will Guhl’s next move be?''

Orba spent his time anguishing. His thoughts were being pulled in too many directions. He needed to broaden his field of vision... yes, but Orba’s experiences and way of thinking could not yet catch up with this situation. Or rather, he did not find it easy to cope with the threat of the untold thousands of enemy troops that were fast approaching.

Orba was constantly immersed in thought; when he was eating, when he was receiving the periodic reports from his men, when he was attending strategy meetings, when he was defecating – constantly.

Even when he was spending time with the princess, and despite the fact that he strongly reminded himself that – ''when we’re together, I really have to always pay attention'' – Orba would, again and again, fail to notice that she was talking to him. And, even though he would end up thinking ''Dammit!'', he still repeated the same mistake.

Yet strangely, although he expected the princess to immediately lash out angrily or else adopt an unyieldingly distant attitude because of her fury, she did not particularly seem to mind. He wondered whether she was also exhausted of constantly giving him reminders.

“Are you listening, Your Highness?”

“Yeah,” Orba answered, looking as though he had just snapped awake.

‘Luckily’, the person standing nearby was not a fourteen-year-old girl, but rather Pashir.

“How are things going with the new recruits?”

“For now, in terms of suspicious behaviour… If we’re talking about whether they can be used as soldiers, then they have started cooperating but, well… if they were sent to battle, about half of them would run away.”

“Oh?”

“They were temporarily carried away by the heroic tale of the imperial crown prince who revived from the dead. I’m sure they were thinking that if they could work near you, they might also become heroes. But in practice, there are already more than a hundred who have run away because of how strict the training is.”

Pashir uncompromisingly looked reality straight in the eye. Yet he noticed that Orba was looking at him with a half-amused expression.

“Is there something you are wanting to say?”

“Why does a man who’s so far-sighted not run away himself?”

''Eh?'' – said the expression on Pashir’s face.

“We’re not in a situation where I’m holding Mira or your gladiator friends hostage anymore. You’d do well to escape while you can. Or is the payoff for being an imperial guard worth losing your life for?”

“… Who knows. But then, I do not think you would get into a fight that you do not believe you can win, Your Highness.”

“I wonder,” said Orba as he sunk back into thought.

In terms of looking reality in the face, Folker, whom he had fought at Tolinea, was the same. In all likelihood, both he and Pashir had reasoned out that Gil Mephius would only destroy himself if things stayed as they were...

“Should I take a trip to Solon instead?” Orba muttered and Pashir gave him a startled look. It was rare for him to look that surprised.

“That was a joke,” said Orba, getting up from his seat.

Later on, after he had gotten changed and headed outside, he thought back on it. Was that really a joke? His words had been unexpected even to himself.

Incidentally, in this case, “getting changed” did not only mean changing his clothes but fitting himself out with a black breastplate, iron gauntlets and greaves, and placing an iron mask on his face. Before leaving Apta to fight, Orba had summoned the master blacksmith Sodan and had him forge something that would go suitably with his tiger mask. So what he wore now was different from what he had in the west.

He would go around throughout Birac in his separate guises as crown prince and imperial guard. He trusted the reports from his companions, but the ‘quality’ of information obtained first-hand was different. Such was Orba’s belief. He was willing to expend great effort in widening his field of vision even if only by a fraction; and besides, although he had decided to wait, it was not in his nature to just do nothing. Moving around also helped to relieve his impatience, if only by a bit.

After having walked around the barracks, Orba went to watch the airship units’ training. One of the company commanders in Rogue’s Dawnlight Wings Division was a demon of an instructor and was working the men hard. As for the ships and carriers, many of them had been supplied by the Haman firm, so there were some among them that had been made in Garbera.

Although that was probably not the reason why –

''Oh. Attracted by the airships, of course.''

Orba felt a presence behind him. It quietly crept up to him. For a short moment, it hesitated about what to do.

And as a result…

“The prince was just asking about you.”

“Kyah!”

At a distance close enough to feel the body heat from his back, Vileena Owell let out a small scream. Turning his head over his shoulder, he saw her hurriedly try to hide a stick which was rolling about on the ground. She had probably dropped it in surprise.

“Do you strike people down when you’re bored, Princess?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Red to the tips of her ears, Vileena did her best to toss her shoulders up jauntily. She was probably embarrassed from having been caught in a surprise attack and from letting out a most uncharacteristic scream.

“Have you come to train the soldiers again?”

“Humph, don’t make fun of me.”

Vileena said with a huffy expression as she plopped down next to him. Together, they watched the columns of airships cross the sky.

Although the situation was as it was, Orba felt that her warmth beside him was oddly comforting.



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