Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume12 Chapter1 (section)

=== Part 3 ===

At around the same time, Orba, as Gil Mephius, left Solon with a thousand three hundred soldiers and arrived in Idoro to the east.

Before doing so, he had notified Ende that they would be responding to their appeal for reinforcements, but the reply he received was truly vague. That probably meant that Eric, the next grand duke, was away from the capital, Safia. With Ende not yet having transitioned to its new regime, communications were likely to be slow. With no reply forthcoming, and since he had been afraid that if he waited too long he would be too late, Orba had moved swiftly.

He was met in Idoro by the domain-lord, Julius. He too had been in Solon during the direct confrontation between the Emperor and Crown Prince, but he had returned earlier to his territory since Prince Gil would be leading his forces through it.

“I did not have the opportunity to present you with my greetings in Solon,” he said with a smile.

Day after day, a long succession of people presented themselves before Ineli and Fedom, who were seen as points of contact with the Crown Prince, hoping for a chance to meet the heir to the throne and to fix themselves in his memory, so Julius felt that luck was on his side to be able to meet Gil face-to-face like this.

“If there is anything you lack, please just grab the person concerned and let them know. I will be delighted to provide you with anything, be it weapons and armour, provisions, or even if you want women… Ah, but hold on, Your Highness has Lady Vileena, the perfect wife for you. But if, perchance, anything improper were to occur, allow me to say with confidence that my lips would be sealed firmer than the sacred iron gates in the Ryuujin Tribe’s underground ruins at Avort. Ha, ha, ha.”

It was probably because his mood was so good that his jokes were in poor taste.

''Right, thinking about it, we have met before, huh'' – Orba meanwhile only remembered Julius to about that extent.

During Gil Mephius’ first campaign, just before they had headed to Zaim Fortress to subjugate Ryucown, they had held a council of war here in Idoro. Julius was a man known for his harsh treatment towards slaves, and it was because he had been on the verge of executing the slaves from Tarkas’ Gladiator Troupe, who were travelling with the troops, that Orba had saved them by ordering that they temporarily be hired as his own Imperial Guards.

Looking at it that way, there was no particular relationship between them.

Orba received Julius’ welcome but did his utmost to ensure that his men didn’t cut loose too much.

Three days passed while they remained in Idoro. During that time, another messenger arrived from Ende.

''Isn’t there a single sensible guy in Safia?''

Had Kaseria left Zonga? How far had Allion’s second wave of troops, taking the overland route, already approached? In this situation in which he didn’t even know that much, time crawled by as slowly as a snail.

Perhaps because he could sense Prince Gil’s state of mind, Julius showed consideration. “To ease the Crown Prince’s boredom,” he organised a gladiator performance.

When he heard about it, and even though Julius’ messenger was right in front of him, Orba clicked his tongue.

''Completely unnecessary'' – he thought, but in Mephius, it was the custom to organise a gladiator contest when one was receiving a person of higher rank to one’s town or castle. A noble’s ability was then judged on how many gladiators he could summon, and on how long a show he could stage.

Orba really wanted to excuse himself by claiming that he wasn’t feeling well or something, but Julius was the domain-lord of an important city. From now on, Gil Mephius would not be able to avoid socialising with him.

''I’ll be meeting plenty of people I don’t agree with and having conversations about things I don’t go along with''. – He grudgingly decided to set off towards Idoro’s largest amphitheatre.

Given that it was about gladiators, he chose Pashir, Gilliam, and ‘Orba’ as his attendants, three men that the Crown Prince had elevated from their ranks. In this case, ‘Orba’ was, of course, the former gladiator Kain, hidden beneath the iron tiger mask.

“So, how’s the way I’m walking? It’s exactly like Orba, right?”

“Not at all.”

In the reception room reserved for aristocrats, Orba’s expression was sour. The three that were there with him all knew about the relation between the ‘Crown Prince’ and ‘Orba’.

“Yeah, it’s spot on,” Gilliam gave his stamp of approval. “You’ve got the same stooped shoulders he had, back when we were gladiators. The way you hunch up your chin is also exactly like he used to.”

Pashir remained silent, but the faint smile at the edge of his lips showed that he agreed. Although he had an official position separate from this, he would invariably take it upon himself to go as a bodyguard whenever the prince went anywhere.

“Yep, I’ve been observing Orba and practicing,” out of the blue, Kain smugly started teasing Orba.

“Self-training is fine and all, but you’re an Imperial Guard. Wouldn’t you rather be fawned over under your real identity? If ‘Kain’ stands out for his great deeds, being popular with women or earning a fortune won’t be just a dream anymore.”

This was ironic coming from Orba, whose real name and face were always hidden.

“Say, Orba,” yet Kain’s expression was extremely serious when he answered. “I was just a small-time pickpocket. From the time I was born, I’ve never had parents or relatives. And then I got caught by the guards and from the next day onwards, I was a gladiator. I lived one day at a time, not knowing if I’d see tomorrow. That’s ‘Kain’. The guy you and me both know well.”

“…”

“So I intend to fully enjoy life as someone else when I’m ‘Orba’. It’s fun, you know? And if we’re talking about being popular with women, putting on that iron mask is way more efficient than trying to flirt with them with just my real face.”

“From the way you’re saying that, you’ve done it before, huh?”

“Ah… no… well, once or twice, maybe…” Kain’s eyes went shifty. “But…”

“But?”

“Say you go from being the crown prince to becoming emperor, and you don’t plan on ever revealing your identity as Orba,” Kain started with a preface, “and so when I’m a grandfather, I’ll have the iron mask hidden in my house. And say, one day, when my grandchildren come to play, they accidentally find it. ‘Wow, Grandad, are you actually Orba, the masked gladiator?’ they’ll ask, their young eyes sparkling, at that time, I’ll neither admit nor deny it. And that way, I’ll be leaving tantalising hints.”

Orba thought that was a pretty long-term dream, but he did not say anything. Men all had plans for what to do ‘afterwards’ with their lives.

Just before noon, they were guided to their seats in the amphitheatre. Maybe because Julius had advertised it, there was a good attendance for the hastily organised performance. Gil’s group was lead to the special lodge, which had pillars supporting a stone canopy. With Pashir, Gilliam, and ‘Orba’ fanned out in a row behind him, Gil Mephius sat next to Julius, the domain-lord of Idoro.

“Those who are about to die for His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince and for His Excellency Lord Julius give their greetings!” An elderly man announced resoundingly.

Bathed in sunlight, a row of muscular gladiators each raised one hand to their chest and bowed their head.

It was a very familiar scene. Simply from seeing it, a burning emotion welled up within Orba. What came with it were not tears, however, but a feeling of wanting to throw up.

The gladiators all carried wounds, great or small, on their bodies, and their faces were dark from dust, but their eyes as they looked upwards shone just as brightly as the sun that was blazing down on them.

It was not the Crown Prince they were looking at. No, they were staring at the ones standing beyond him, at Pashir and ‘Orba’. Each of their chests burned with fighting spirit and with the hope that they too might be appointed Imperial Guards if the Crown Prince was pleased with them – that their days of living hell might all at once give way to the freedom that they could not help but yearn for, and that, at the same time, they might obtain the status and honour that, as gladiators, they would not be able to achieve in all their lives.

Before long, the life-and-death struggles began before Orba’s eyes. For all that he looked on as expressionlessly and apathetically as possible, the crash of steel, the spurts of blood, the beastlike howls in their death throes – everything grated on the former gladiator’s five senses. One after another, the memories revived.

The training grounds always reeked of the stench of fodder and dragon dung. Amidst the clash of roaring voices, Orba, drenched in sweat, brandished his sword and repeatedly took aim at the overseer, Gowen.

Although they were encircled by a high fence, there were lattices on the east side and, through the gaps, they could catch glimpses of the world beyond. The training grounds and their buildings were by no means within the prosperous part of town. Quite the opposite: they were next to the slums. The people that went by were children with grubby faces, prostitutes with patched clothing, and peddlers selling goods of dubious origin.

''Freedom…''

Orba craved it every bit as much as he did the food and water he needed to survive. Perhaps even more so. It stretched out like a glittering blue sea. The freedom to walk along the streets, the freedom to run along them, without anyone having decided his destination for him. The freedom to peacefully fall asleep after the sun had gone down, without anyone ordering him to fight to the death the next day.

Even if he had more gold than he could carry, he would gladly have exchanged it for that. Even if that freedom was just the freedom to beat up those he didn’t like, the freedom to steal and to keep running away until he ran out of breath, the freedom to collapse without food or money and to die by the roadside.

He had thought about escaping again and again. On nights before a fight, lying on the hard ground, he would wonder – ''Tomorrow, will I be sleeping in this same place alive and healthy?'' He had spent many a sleepless night endlessly, obsessively going over it in his thoughts.
And then, greater than his craving for freedom, greater than his fear of death, more implacable than any other thought –

''Revenge''.

Amidst the excited cheers, Orba leapt out like a wild animal let loose from its cage. In front of him was an opponent who would try to take his life – to snatch away his future which consisted only of a single day at a time.

Swords crashed against one another. Red and blue sparks scattered and flew.

“The game is over!”

The announcer’s voice reverberated above Orba’s head.

He suddenly went rigid. In his hand was a blood-stained sword, right before his eyes rolled a now silent corpse.

A hallucination.

In reality, as Gil Mephius, Orba was looking down from on high at both the winner and the loser, lying dead and shrouded in blood. Having won the tournament, and even though he had a dark red scar roughly at the level of his heart, the winner raised both hands and gave a roar of joy.

Barely an hour earlier, a row of men had stood before Orba with shinning eyes, yet now, this was the only survivor.

“Magnificent,” Orba stood up and praised the victor. “It’s a priviledge to witness such a display of warrior spirit before heading to the battlefield. An omen of victory, surely. You are appointed an officer of the Imperial Guards. No objections, Orba?”

“From a brave of his calibre, I expect splendid deeds,” ‘Orba’ respectfully replied. He knew his script on this stage.

As a matter of fact, the young man who had won was not as splendidly skilled as ‘Orba’ claimed. Luck, however, was on his side. It had blessed him from when the combination of fighters was decided, and the opponents that chance had decided for him were all ones that he could handle.

Put otherwise, it was simply luck that had decided the life and death of these men, and luck that had separated their ‘afterwards’ into light or shadows. Orba had promoted him neither for show nor on a whim, but because he anticipated that making an ally of luck was as good as roping in a hundred strong soldiers.

Eyes brimming with tears, the young man bowed towards Gil Mephius, then once more shouted from exhilaration.

Orba received Lord Julius’ salutations, then left the amphitheatre. He felt as though, just like that young man, there was a dark red gash across his chest.

The sun shone down from up above.

Yet by the time that dazzling sun had sunk below the mountain ridge, then risen again over the world of men, the young man who should have become an Imperial Guard had met with the same fate as the slaves he himself had killed for the sake of his freedom and future.

His master and companions had apparently thrown an all-night banquet to celebrate the start of the hero’s new life. When morning came, he was stretched out flat, his face pale. He was already dead by the time he was discovered. It was thought that the wound he had suffered the day before had taken a turn for the worse.

Orba received the news early in the morning.

“I see,” he said. He did not have anything particular to add, and ate his breakfast.

''A man with no luck'' – he thought to himself.

Or perhaps he had used up all of his luck?

Orba tried hard to recall how he had fought and how he had shone with delight when told that he was appointed as an Imperial Guard but, in the end, Orba could not even remember his face.
 


He was unlucky…

Not only Orba, but also most of the people who knew of the young man’s fate thought the same way. However –

''First one''.

There was one man, his lips curled into an evil smile, who held a different opinion. He claimed to be a merchant who had travelled far from the distant west.

His name was Zafar.

He was a sorcerer who had once served Reizus, when the latter had taken the name ‘Garda’. In Birac, he had lured Layla, Vileena’s lady maid, into attempting to assassinate the crown prince.

The old man’s connection to Orba ran deep, yet this time as well he had turned up on a street corner in Idoro, feigning harmlessness. Next to him walked a woman who was also from Tauran. She was pretending to be Zafar’s daughter, and her name was Tahī. She was a sorceress who had likewise served ‘Garda’ and who had thereafter schemed to assassinate Ax Bazgan, the leader of the western alliance.

Both had failed in their attempts but had met up here in Idoro.

“The Revered Elder has allowed us the deaths – has allowed us the manipulation of the fates of up to twelve people. First is one who became an exalted sacrifice of flesh and blood. This time, failure will not be tolerated. Tahī, you understand, don’t you? We cannot act recklessly.”

“There will be no mistakes,” Tahī smiled faintly.

A hood covered her head and she wore robes long enough to cover her entire body, but even though her figure was almost entirely concealed – or perhaps, ''because'' it was concealed – her every gesture was alluring.

Idoro was at the time in a fervour over the Crown Prince’s visit. Rumours of his audience with Emperor Guhl had already spread throughout Mephius. The main character from that heroic legend had arrived with an army, so the populace had gone in droves to surround Julius’ mansion, in the hopes of catching even just a single glimpse of the Crown Prince; and when his men went out, they followed them around in groups, even though they had no business with them.

Zafar and Tahī arrived at the foot of the tower which served as the launch pad for air carriers. The entrance to it was on the other side of a fence.

Perhaps there had been some kind of news, as the area had been busy since just after noon that day. Slaves were moving a number of huge cages; within them were dragons.

“Oh, it seems that the prince will be leaving soon. We need to hurry.”

The cages were being transported into the tower, probably ready to be loaded onto carriers. It was a job that usually took time and manpower since dragons locked up in the same cage were prone to becoming enraged and acting violently. The dragon handler must have been a good one though, and every single one of the scaly beasts, large or medium-sized, were quiet, not letting out a single howl. Even now, a person who seemed to be the handler was running between the cages and calling out to the dragons.

It was, needless to say, Crown Prince Gil’s personal dragon tamer, Hou Ran.

“That’s…” Tahī’s red lips parted.

Zafar realised a bit too late. From the area around Tahī’s forehead, a sudden, crimson ‘wave’ seemed to materialise. It was hard to know how to describe it. It resembled both wispy smoke and a watery whirlpool, although an ordinary person would not have been able to see it in the first place. Just as this ‘wave’ that baffled description seemed to be revolving before Tahī’s forehead, it suddenly shot free and flew towards the dragon handler who was in front of the tower.

For a second, Ran stopped moving. Tahī’s lips curled upwards into a smile. This was her signature, flame-summoning magic. Just now, however, it did not take the shape of a ‘flame’ but was more on the level of a wave of heat. Even so, a direct hit had enough power to inflict a burn.

Ran, however, immediately gave a supple swing of her arm. Zafar saw the ‘wave’ disappear like smoke dissipating in a strong wind. It was an astonishing phenomenon, but perhaps Ran herself was unaware of it, since, after looking around blankly for a moment, she returned to her work with apparent unconcern.

Tahī’s expression turned angry.

“Don’t go too deep,” Zafar stretched his hand out in front of her face as he spoke. “I’ve only just said not to act recklessly.”

“It was just a preliminary test,” Tahī said teasingly, but her eyes were not smiling.

Zafar shot her a sharp glare.

“Once I move into action, you just need to hold her in check. We don’t yet know the extent of that person’s power or their true identity. Sooner or later, we will have to uncover them, but now is not the time.”

“I understand,” Tahī answered without looking at Zafar. Her eyes still stared straight ahead, as though they were piercing through Zafar’s hand, held before them like a shield, and still held Hou Ran in sight.

“I see,” she then muttered softly. “I understand why the Revered Elder gave me those orders. ''That'' is the same as me…”