Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume2 Chapter2 (section)

===Part 3===
The bell on the Black Tower rang, signalling daybreak. It announced the beginning of Mephius’ founding anniversary. Since last night, stands and stalls had been busily readied, and their abundant variety of banners and signs coloured the town. A single step into the streets was enough to be wrapped in the savoury aroma of grilled meat and fish, and the sweet, fragrant smell of cake and candy. Casks of wine were served all throughout town, and glasses were raised in toast early as the rising sun. The children tightly grasped the spending money their parents had handed them for this once in a year event and ran about through town, troubled as to how to spend their money, and the girls, having dressed up for this very day, walked through the streets while spreading their gorgeous smiles.

The ten-year war with Garbera had come to an end. Unlike the miserly atmosphere that visited the festival until the most recent years, this year held a wealthy assortment of international programmes. Travellers from abroad were also seen in great numbers. Portraits of the soon-to-be bride, the Garberan princess Vileena, were decorated with garlands, giving off a peaceful atmosphere.

At noon, an extensive military parade began. The soldiers, clad in armour decorated with precious stones and flowers, marched heroically as they hoisted their glimmering swords and spears up high. Leading them was the man who had taken the seat of the hero Clovis the previous year. The man, saddled on a white horse and proudly wearing a golden helmet, was a gladiator that did not hold the title of a slave<ref>Person that freely becomes a gladiator, as opposed to sword-slaves who are forced to become gladiators(e.g. for committing a crime)</ref>. He had participated in the deadly arena only to ward off starvation for his family, but through last year’s championship had been officially employed as a Mephius soldier and currently worked as a corporal directly under Odyne Lorgo.

On the final day of the festival, a naval review alongside a parade employing air carriers would take place to the people’s enjoyment. But for now, they would anticipate the event in the near future.

“C’mon, let’s hurry.”

“There’re already people that have been lining up since last night. I hope there’ll be seats.”

The people were waiting in line at Solon’s grand stadium, which would be transformed into the world’s greatest arena ring for this one week.

Not missing this occasion, Orba’s figure could also be seen in the grand stadium. Following the parade, the nobles gathered together on the Solon palace balcony, where they held a short ceremony immediately after.

''It sure is big.''

Below him, a great number of arena bouts were being held. Sword matches, spear matches, mounted horse battles, and even mounted dragon battles took place, and in a corner near the walls was a separate division, where the single-shot quick draw matches were held.

There were many arenas in Solon, and Orba had personally fought at the amphitheatre in the city of Ba Roux. But even accounting for that, this stadium was by far the largest of all the places he’d been to. Apart from its immense size, Solon’s specialty, the tank restaurant, would also be held in the evening hours.

The number of guests it could accommodate slightly exceeded fifty thousand. Even with those numbers, it neared a full house since the first day, and only in the area where Orba was seated was there much legroom. Supported by pillars that connected to the ceiling, a purple curtain spread across the front where the figures of guards stood out. It was an area exclusive to the imperial family and nobles, and it was there that Orba and Ineli sat, lined up against each other. Baton, Troa, and a few others were also present.

“The same thing always goes on in the matches,” Baton complained, although he had accepted Ineli’s invitation. "It’s only good on the last day."

‘Clovis’ and Felipe’s dragon slaying’ event would be held on the last day, and practically all the imperials and nobles would be attending. It was no normal gladiator match, but one of the important ceremonies commemorating the founding of the nation.

Ineli lightly admonished him with a "You twit."

"This is on a completely different scale from the usual. All the well-known gladiators from within Mephius will be gathered together in one setting. —Ahhh, it’s hot. Fan me harder, will you?" Ineli commanded the servant charged with caring for the guests in the boxed seats.

In response, a different slave girl brought a cold drink over. Looking at her, she was still in her younger years. Her dark skin somehow provided for a refreshing appearance. He unintentionally gazed at the girl leaving, when Ineli suddenly pinched his knee.

“—“

“Does His Highness the Crown Prince fancy those sorts of slave girls I wonder? You used to fawn over my maid, Lisa back then. So you like the types that are easy to understand.”

“That’s not it.”

Having been invited, Orba stared down at the fights below, but somehow experienced a sense of unrest. Sitting in the seating area exclusively reserved for nobles and looking down at the arena matches like this, he was afflicted with a pang of guilt. In his mind he clicked his tongue.

''How long will I be troubled by these feelings of a slave? If I can’t cut them off in places like these, I’ll trip up and expose myself one day.''

Just now, a cage holding slaves was brought out. Another cage was brought out from the gate on the opposite side, but contained within were several small-sized Faye dragons. Their distinctive features were their six legs and flattened snouts that looked like they had been squashed by a hand. Most notable were the two curved tusks that protruded from above their mouth.

Both cages were flung open. The dragons simultaneously jumped out, mouths foaming. The slaves also escaped in one go. The majority of them were half-naked women. The Faye’s jumping power were tremendous. One of them immediately caught up with its prey and pushed her down. The Faye bore its fangs.

Orba instinctively clenched his fists. Ineli covered her mouth as she screamed, but her eyes glimmered, excitedly anticipating the bloodshed to come. Then, several gladiators rushed out from a newly opened gate.

It seemed to be a game where ‘The strong Mephian gladiators rescue the sacrificial pagan girls in distress’ where they, relying on naught but a lone sword, would challenge the Faye. 

They may have been small-sized dragons, but the length of a grown Faye could well hit three metres. And as wild Faye, they formed groups and attacked with a ferocity comparable to even that of a large dragon, felling many of the gladiators. In the midst of this, cries of “Pashir! Pashir!” rang across the stadium.

The rumoured top-pick contender for Clovis’ seat. Unsurprisingly, he displayed movement far superior to the rest. A Faye leapt towards him and he sliced horizontally against the incoming dragon, and then immediately jumped up on it and thrust his sword aiming for its soft neck. And as he desperately fought for his life, he also hurled instructions towards his allies. He had them form pairs of two, and as one distracted the Faye’s movement, the other would seize the chance to leap in from behind. This strategy yielded them great results.

The maiden escaped in a bloody frenzy and dashed in Orba’s direction. She attempted to cling to the paling, but even the foremost seats were situated considerably higher than her reach. The soldiers guarding the seating location once again waved their bayonets in an attempt to drive her off.

“Help! Please, help me!!”

Behind her, a Faye was hot on her heels. The woman’s maddening scream pierced Orba’s ears. Realizing this, Pashir gave high chase. Wielding his sword, he swung at the Faye, but the sword snapped off mid-strike,  possibly because of it being overworn or poorly made. Still, he did not lose heart and clung onto the Faye by wrapping himself around its neck. The Faye struggled furiously, frantically trying to ram its tusks into the tender flesh before its eyes. Finally, it managed to tear Pashir off. The dragon swooped down on the maiden, who still clung to the paling.

“Pashir!”

At this time, Orba exceeded the limits of his patience. Beside Ineli who, taken aback, looked up at him, he pulled a sword out of a guard’s waist and threw it with all his strength.

The sword deeply pierced the ground between the girl and the Faye. Pashir quickly plucked it out and sent a sharp blow towards the Faye’s face, pursuing the wild animal without a moment’s hesitation. Shortly after, a large spurt of blood flew out from the dragon’s neck.

All six released Fayes were finished off. However, that did not mean the fight was over. They had to fight to the last survivor alongside the corpses of the fallen women and dragons.

They may have temporarily put in a joint effort to rescue the women, but they never intended to show each other any mercy. It was a battle where each and every one of them fought to live another day. The swords flashed here and there, and each time, another life was lost.

In the end, Pashir and one other gladiator remained. Both breathed heavily. Their bodies were covered in blood and sweat, each sustaining wounds big and small.

Orba looked on as Pashir moved to his right, and the opponent to his left. As they gradually closed their distance, the opponent thrust once, then twice, but Pashir brushed off all attacks. Seeing Pashir was not switching to offense, the man swung more widely, and in that instant, Pashir applied a lightning fast thrust. It appeared to be aimed at the chest, but was actually used to trip his opponent’s feet. His right leg went flying into the air. And faster than the leg could touch the ground, Pashir delivered the finishing blow. There were no wasted movements. Skin unexpectedly hard as armour. Nimble movement. And above all, he was well versed in  controlling the flow of a fight.

“Have you taken a liking to him? Is it not in bad taste to have taken a liking to someone so close to a slave?” Ineli said as she peeked at him with a side glance.

“It’d be a shame to let him die here.”

“Really? He may be strong, but he has no beauty. He especially has no popularity with the female crowd.”

After forming a smile with a strange fawning look in her eyes she asked, “Hey, brother. I have a favour I’d like to ask.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about Orba. I was wondering, could you have him participate in the gladiator games?”

“Why?”

Orba drew back in surprise as she asked him.

“Don’t you think the participation of the hero who defeated Ryucown would make it far more exciting than any normal year up til’ now? Please? I’d like to see him fight again in person.”

“He’s my Imperial Guard you know. Is it even possible to get him into the games now?”

“That’s why I’m begging you. Could you comply with Ineli’s request?”

She said, doing nothing but snuggling up close to his shoulders. In that gaze, Orba saw a calculating look fully aware he would not refuse. He winced, and faster than he could offer a reply, a figure came running over to him. The one panting and on his knees was Dinn.

“Brother?”

“Something important’s come up. I need to return to the palace.”

“Ehhh?”

“Ahh, the matter with Orba. I’ll let you meet him later. Please be content with that. Then, I’ll see you later.”

Restlessly, Orba quickly departed.

Ineli was left flabbergasted, and soon her face flushed red as she stuck out her tongue at the fading back of Gil Mephius.

And another person was looking up from the stadium at that very same back. It was Pashir.

The girl who had previously carried over the drink to the seated area where the prince was located, was wiping off the sweat and blood off his skin with a cloth.

“Mira,” he called out the girl’s name.

“Yes?”

“Was the one who threw the sword the prince?”

“Yes.” Mira’s face, having had her name called out, was dyed in embarrassment. “It happened so fast and completely surprised me.”

“I see.”

Pashir, even now, stared motionlessly at the sword in his hand. The timing at which he had thrown it, the speed, and the very place it struck, was done with outstanding precision.



It took Orba half an hour to return to the palace.

War, who was waiting in the antechamber, stood straight up and greeted him.

War was a former gladiator. He was a man past his forties, and long past his prime as a swordsman. Neither his skill nor his appearance was particularly worthy of praise. Despite having been in the Tarkas Gladiatorial Group for slightly over a year, he was nothing more than an ordinary sword-slave, other than one seemingly blessed with good fortune at having survived ten years as a sword-slave.

''In a way, that’s a skill in itself.''

Orba thought, as he looked at him. Nothing about him really stood out and his only achievement deserving of merit was him having survived. Accumulated in his years, he was by no means narrow-minded.

After the battle at Zaim Fortress, the majority of the sword-slaves belonging to the Tarkas Gladiatorial Group had chosen to remain enlisted as the prince’s imperial guards. War had also been one of those who chose to remain, but Orba took him off the Imperial Guards and instead gave him a different mission.

"How did it go?"

Orba offered War a cup of wine. War respectfully picked it up, and as Orba waited for War to drain the contents,

“Did you find anything out?”

Orba asked, doing his best to feign normalcy, despite his heart having been beating furiously since his departure from the arena.

There were twelve Mephian generals. Excluding the three that handled the dragonstone ships comprising the air fleet, all of the other nine generals were performing wide-scale recruitment of mercenaries. The end of the ten-year war with Garbera had more or less reduced the size of their forces, but in a warring society, the admissions booth was always open.

He had commanded War to become one of those mercenaries. He would enlist into the mercenary corps belonging to none other than Oubary Bilan.

“What I know is no more than the common soldier, and at best can only be considered the talking gossip of the lower officials.”

“Ah, I don’t mind. Speak.”

Oubary led the Black-Armoured Division that burned down Orba’s village. Because it had happened six to seven years ago, there was no telling how many soldiers remained behind in the same position. A considerable amount should have died in the war with Garbera. Even so, there was a high likelihood that there was someone who knew of what happened at that time. To go investigate the happening and report back to Orba was what War had been commanded to do.

“There is a man who goes by the name of Bane and has maintained his rank as captain for the past six years. Bane has long served the general, but one of Bane's subordinates, somehow dissatisfied with this treatment, voiced his complaints in a cheap tavern I often go to. On one occasion, when he was drunk, I exchanged cups of wine with him so as to become better acquainted. I may not look it, but I make a good listener. I listened to his complaints without a single look of displeasure or reluctance and left a rather favourable impression. I've yet to meet him beyond that once, but before long I will be able to pry into more personal matters. Oh, and also, I’m certain Bane was present at Apta Fortress. I am positive that was what I heard.”

''Looking good.''

There was progress. And what was more, big progress. Orba struggled to restrain his desire to jump up and clap in joy. Then he caught sight of War, who seemed to be somewhat hesitating, as if there was something else to mention.

“What is it? If there’s something else you’ve found out, no matter how trivial, say it.”

Orba urged him another drink, and the slightly ashamed War shrank his shoulders back. He then proceeded,

“I’m not sure if this has anything in relation to the prince, but there was a remark that Bane accidentally blurted out that I found worrying. I had overheard a conversation between some of the upper members by chance, and according to what I had heard, General Oubary will be dining together with the man from Garbera known as Noue Salzantes in the near future. Bane found it strange and puzzling, because if he had to say it, Oubary would be on the side opposing peace negotiations with Garbera.”

''Noue and Oubary?''

This was certainly an unusual fact. Orba, after doing nothing but slipping more money into War’s hands, temporarily left the room.

''This is doubtlessly no public meeting. Anyone could tell that these two meeting together is weird. That’s why when you don’t hide it, even the soldiers will talk about it.''

However, that was the undeniable premise that led to the conversation. 

''If that’s the case, then the dining location won’t be at the Bilan Estate. It will be somewhere inconspicuous, and yet also be a restaurant with a bar room that nobles can use—there won’t be many that fit this description. Noue will be in Solon for, at most, a week until the festival ends. This is the perfect time to cast a net.”

“Your highness, your highness. What are you thinking of?”

Not catching Dinn’s words, Orba silently mulled over his thoughts. Something strange worried him. He recalled the speech Noue had delivered without hesitation in front of Prince Gil and his smiling face. There was nothing objectionable of him as an envoy. It was because he was so faultless that Orba had lost interest in him at that time. However, upon hearing news that Noue might be secretly meeting with Oubary, Orba now found his behaviour worrying. To put it simply, he himself had failed to catch interest in Noue.

''I don’t like this.''

And, he began to think this could perhaps become a means by which he could seize Oubary by the neck.

Orba immediately ordered Dinn to relay a message to the Imperial Guards’ living quarters. Several minutes later, his own personal guards lined up in the room. All of them were his acquaintances, but donning his guise as Prince Gil, he handed down his orders.
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