Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume2 Chapter6 (section)

===Part 3===
Night welcomed the final day of the festival.

The naval review and air parade would soon start. However, Zaat paid little attention to these events and quickly set foot into the empty stadium.

He had come to look at the place where history had changed. Now was a chapter of Mephius rule under the imperials. But tomorrow morning, when he would come to see this empty facility again, it would undergo a complete change.

The change would, of course, not be a visible one. However, the sight after Mephius was freed from the hands of the imperials and taken into their hands would by no means be the same; the view of the distant mountain ridge, of the morning mist creeping along the thin soils, and even the sensations of his clothes as he crossed his arms.

''Oh?''

Awakening from his stupor, Zaat Quark peered at the figure of the prince, Gil Mephius, inside the arena. Accompanied by several others who appeared to be his Imperial Guards, he walked around here and there.

He seemed to have been frolicking about for the past hour, with the mindset of ‘I’m in charge’.

''What a simple-minded fool.''

Zaat scoffed. That ''he'' of all people was the first successor to the throne might as well spell the end of Mephius’ future. Until now, he had lived in extravagance, wasted as it might be on him, but before long, he would curse the day he was born.

Zaat even considered greeting him in passing, but rescinded the thought.

Although the turmoil of Orba and Pashir’s fight had occurred yesterday, there appeared to be nothing hindering the plan’s execution. It was a stroke of good fortune that Pashir remained alive. To push the plan, Noue had an instigator infiltrate the sword slaves through Oubary’s cooperation. According to a letter from Noue, the instigator had come across Pashir. He was a charismatic and talented man, and most importantly, hated Mephius.

The flames Pashir emitted quickly affected the surrounding people. The small, contained light within the lamp had unwittingly gathered the flames as one and flared up.

As long as he was alive, the sword slaves’ revolt would progress smoothly.

Convinced of this, Zaat Quark eagerly awaited the destined moment to come.

—Back to Orba, he had covered every inch of the stadium ring. He now headed towards the grandstands reserved for the imperials and nobles. The majority of the statesmen attending had their seats assigned beforehand. Of course, this included Prince Gil’s seat, as well as Vileena’s.

Orba stood in front of his seat, alongside Kain. Kain was an expert with guns. He could handle handguns, rifles, and all sorts of firearms. Orba questioned him.

“Where’s the best place to aim ''here''? And it has to be a sniping location decided beforehand with a full house.”

“Beforehand...hmm, I think it’d be hard to do.” Kain narrowed his eyes and looked in all directions. “But if they wanted to take the public’s notice, then there’s an easy place to take over.”

Kain pointed his finger towards a single focus: the watchtowers placed in all directions of the arena.

During the gladiator matches, several guards stood up top and oversaw the goings both in and outside the stadium. Generally, a small airship took station there, and in the case that some problem arose within the stadium, it could be quickly deployed to find the cause.

''If all the parts of the sword slaves’ rebellion have already been arranged...''

Then would the occupation of the watchtowers be included in the plan? Orba contemplated his thoughts, and then fired all sorts of commands at the imperial guards gathered within the stadium.

Of particular importance amongst them, were the airships belonging to his unit. His unit owned twelve airships and Orba planned to deploy all of them.

“Until things start, do not let yourselves be seen. Hide in the surrounding spots near the stadium on standby. A messenger will give the signal. Don’t screw up the timing.”



Before long, the quick-tempered citizens of Solon gradually showed up, and Zaat also sat himself down on his seat. At this time, Gil and his Imperial Guards had all but disappeared.

In another hour, the nobles would gradually begin to show themselves. Not knowing himself to be one of those pawns, Zaat delighted himself as he watched them continue to assemble.

Two hours from now, when the day reached its zenith, Orba, donning the helmet of Clovis, would appear to lead the two hundred sword slaves. Three Sozos would be transported out in their cages by trolley.

It was the moment that would change history. Shortly after the battle progressed, the slaves of the detention camp would likely make their move. Some of his underlings had slipped in amongst the camp guards. Fires would sprout, smoke would soar, and the escorting palace guards would be forced to head their way, effectively cutting their numbers.

Using that as the signal, the slaves within the stadium would rally into action. They would acquire the aid of like-minded slaves hidden within seating areas, scale the walls, and invite themselves in with the swordsmen. And then the slaves looking after their masters would take this chance to turn a sword or gun against them. And Zaat planned to make his move in the midst of this mayhem.

''After that it will depend on what the slaves do, although...''

In such a situation, it might be better to view the slaves as allies. He didn’t want to poorly diminish the might of his forces, but the complete emancipation of all slaves was an altogether different story. Were the slaves to revolt throughout the country, Mephius would descend even further into chaos. It was not a situation he wished to befall a country he ought to rule over. That was why, even though he called them allies in this situation, he would give them the guillotine to silence them. A man like Pashir was particularly dangerous. He had to be captured first.

''It might not be hurt were Princess Vileena to lose her life in the midst of the confusion.''

''That should return Noue my favour. However.....those insolent Garberans! If they think I’ll so easily cooperate with them, then they’re in for a disappointment. As long as those worthless imperials aren’t around, I can make Mephius rule supreme in the continent.''

As he was lost in his thoughts, the stadium continued to fill with people. Except for the emperor and empress, the statesmen had all assembled.

''Each and every one of them indulge shamelessly in their own interests like swine. I’ll send them off to a place fit for them in chains.''

At some point, Zaat had established himself as the sole noble to endow to the poor, and everyone else as dirty and corrupt people of old who had taken over the throne. However, when he saw Simon’s face, his thoughts became slightly dishevelled.

He held respect for this man alone, and jumped at the thought of welcoming such an able person as his right-hand man.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t a man who would so easily nod his head and say yes.

''No, that would make it all the more reason to. Lord Simon is not someone who would leave the country’s turmoil alone. It may take some time, but I will see to it that he cooperates with me.''

Zaat held the delusion that he had already made the country his and thus failed to notice that amongst the seats of the imperials, Gil Mephius was nowhere to be seen. But supposing even if he had noticed, he was in no disposition to pay it any heed.

On the other end, seated in a separate partition, Vileena worried over the prince’s absence.

“Is he still sick?”

Theresia asked from beside her, but she did not know. The emperor, and the other imperials showed no worry at the situation. Having stayed within the Solon palace, she had naturally come to know how the prince was regarded.

''That man may also be all alone.''

The thought had just come to her that this might have been the cause for his sudden proposal to make Orba participate in the tournament. Did he not broach the topic simply because he wanted to catch their attention?

“Princess, please have this.”

Vileena absent-mindedly took the cup of cold tea from the tray of the slave girl. Afterwards, she took notice of the slave girl’s face as she proceeded to take her leave. White skin with attractive red lips; her appearance was beautifully stunning. Those able to enter the grandstand reserved for imperials and nobles were limited only to the guards of the Solon garrison, the Imperial Guards, and the slaves who saw to their noble. She was likely one of the latter. Her manner was prompt and her movements supple.

After that, two hours elapsed.

The stadium was packed full and all the nobles were already attended for, but it showed no signs of starting. Zaat knit his brows. How many times had the nobles gazed up the heated sky? The crowd was also beginning to lose their patience and began to get noisy.

“What is the meaning of this?” the emperor suddenly burst out in anger. “Do you plan to shame me at the end of the festival? Begin the match immediately.”

In response, an unexpected report had arrived. A stadium official hurriedly rushed towards the emperor and made a bewildered expression.

“The prince had suddenly come and is trying to stop the slaves from leaving. He continues to say ‘Wait a little longer, wait a little longer,’ and repeats that one phrase.”

Everyone exchanged glances. They were half bemused and half dumbstruck.

“What is that fool thinking? Send someone to bring him back.”

“Honestly,” Melissa sighed as she waved her large fan. “Your majesty, those amongst the envoys from the other countries will surely make light of the prince from this.”

“There must be some sort of mistake.”

Simon murmured, completely taken aback.



At that time, Gil Mephius—Orba was below the grandstand on the other side of the gate.

He was performing his final check. The timing in today’s strategy couldn’t be misread even slightly. He exercised discreet caution, and arbitrarily decided to delay the appearance of the sword-slaves, whilst handing down renewed orders to his subordinates.

And as the final phase of his plan, he summoned Kain to a room deep within the camp. Kain would dress himself as Orba and make an appearance as Clovis from here on.

As the star of the festival’s climax, they had not forgone any reservations; a plain appearance simply was not allowed. He was fully clad in shining golden armour. Originally, he was meant to wear the golden helmet with its pair of wings that signified the mark of Clovis, but Orba’s mask had made it difficult to wear, so instead he strapped a belt with a pair of open folded wings around his waist.

“It’s terribly heavy,” Kain said, wanting to stick his chin out before even ten minutes had passed. “I won’t be able to act like a hero like this.”

“Bear with it. Throw your chest out, majestically while you’re at it,” Orba laughed.

And around this time, Pashir was walking around the detention camp in search of Orba. Granted the role as Clovis’ aide, Felipe, he was also required to wear specially tailored clothing and made to change in a separate room. Once that was finished, he immediately left the room. He wanted to go over the plan he would be leading one final time with Orba.

Donning a full mantle tacked with leather shoulder pads, and wearing Felipe’s signature bow and quiver over his back, he searched his surroundings. He also passed by the spacious hall where the slaves assembled. Their faces were stiff with tension. They were the faces of valiant men ready to die here today.

“Do you know where Orba is?”

“Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him around.”

“The stadium workers called him over. It’s probably some special meeting about Clovis’ role.”

If that was all,

“Then I guess I can wait until he comes back.”

Pashir thought. However, he had a nagging feeling. It should already be time to make their appearance, but no one had called on them yet. He had also heard Gil Mephius personally showed up and had a dispute with a stadium official.

He walked all around the camp. But Orba was nowhere to be found. And Mira had also disappeared a while back. He was worried, but thinking it might be about time that they called the gladiators out, he turned back the way he came. Perhaps, he may have unexpectedly missed his destination, because he had just passed his avenue, and came to a complete stop in front of a door. Orba’s voice was coming from inside. He was speaking to someone.

“...and we’ll able to gain control of the slaves with this. Next will be up to Shique and the rest. When they make their move, pay close attention to Pashir and the others.”

''What?''

Pashir, catching his breath, creeped open the door. And there, he saw Orba and Prince Gil standing side by side. As if he had detected Pashir’s presence, Orba quickly looked his way. Their gaze met, and an instant later, Pashir slammed open the door.

“You fucker.”

Pashir fired a low, but beastly roar.

“You fucker!”



Twenty minutes later.

The emperor had grown impatient of waiting and angrily stood up from his seat.

“Bring Gil to me. I don’t care if you have to tie him up. How long will he continue to act like a child?!”

He threw a fit and was just as well about to go capture Gil himself, that Simon and Fedom had to step in to stop him, when the gates finally opened.

Thoroughly impatient from waiting for the heroes’ appearance, the crowd’s excitement spiked higher than ever. The emperor lowered himself down onto his seat as he gasped heavy breaths. Cheers rained down as the warriors appeared one after the other in succession from the opened gates.

“Princess, it looks like it’s finally beginning.”

Theresia beamed. Vileena eagerly leaned forward and tried to look for Orba. However, those eyes immediately stumbled across a peculiar sight.

Orba, who should have been leading them, was not present amongst the gladiators. On the contrary, the one found centre amongst the sword-slaves who came out was—

Gil Mephius.

Not to mention, his hands were tied with a rope behind his back. Pashir stood centre amongst the two hundred slaves moving in procession, holding the rope in his hands.

“Hey, isn’t that the prince?”

“What is this?”

“What’s the idea of this?”

The people in the stadium spoke uneasily amongst themselves. They believed this was some ploy the attention-seeking prince had thought up to include himself in the gladiator games.

''Grr.''

Zaat Quark narrowed his eyes. He was of the same mind. This was not in the plan. However, he could smell that they were serious, and as the murmurs continued to grow, he alone came to a general understanding.

By some whim, the prince had gone to check on the slaves and gotten himself captured. Certainly, rather than revolting in the middle of their fight with the dragons, this was more efficient, but Zaat was not too pleased that the previously arranged plan had changed. He clicked his tongue.

''That moronic brat. He must have the worst of luck, to stroll along in front of the slaves about to rebel. Well, no matter, as long as this makes things easier.''

“Princess, this is...”

Just as their eyes met, Pashir’s cry entered her ears.

“Listen up, nobles and imperials of Mephius! We have Mephius’ first successor, Gil Mephius—in other words, the future of Mephius in our hands. We are no longer slaves nor will we be forced to kill. Now, open the way for us. We shall become the vanguards of freedom.”

“This is absurd!”

Vileena’s surroundings suddenly broke into an uproar. The situation had finally dawned on them. This was no ploy. The slaves had taken the successor hostage. This was a rebellion!

“Y-Your majesty, this is a grave matter.”

“What should we—“

“Imbeciles! Do not panic. Guards, strengthen the perimeters! Those fools must not be allowed to do as they wish.”

The emperor’s voice drowned out the crowd’s commotion.

Furthermore, several black fumes began to rise from the gates below from the detention camp’s direction. The slaves had started a fire. Seeing this, the spectators jumped up from their seats and scrambled to run away. Panic enveloped the crowd at a tremendous speed. In screams loud enough to warrant covering your ears, rows of people split off to all directions in unrest.

The armed guards hurried to the gates below. On seeing this, Zaat’s heart started to beat furiously.

''It’s begun.''

The emperor ordered for the diplomatic envoys to quickly take shelter. The soldiers at the top of the watchtowers boarded the airships and headed towards the seating area for guests. Noue Salzantes, at this time, refused the hands of the soldiers trying to get him to board, and urged the present noblewomen to get on.

“Oh? So they’ve come.”

Noue grinned and directed his gaze across the sky. Others had also noticed.

“Look.”

“It’s the Garrison’s air carriers!”

The Solon Garrison’s ships, numbering three, appeared in the sky. Flying centre was the flagship that had just been used in the parade. The remaining two were 24 metre-long high-speed cruisers.

However, with the prince taken hostage, they could not shoot. They could only glare menacingly at the slaves as they circled the stadium.

The opposing slaves—not only Pashir, but also the two hundred others, were surprisingly orderly.

When the airships arrived and the armed palace guards tried to surround them, they would point the sword behind the prince’s neck and stop in their tracks. It was almost as if they themselves were part of the country’s elite troops forged through long years of training and discipline.

They continued to pointlessly glare at one another. In the meanwhile, Oubary Bilan had secretly disappeared with the envoys.

Having lost his patience, the emperor was about to give some orders, when the flagship suddenly began its descent. Of course, no one had given any such order. Without concealing his surprise, Simon called out vainlessly.

“Wait!”

The other ships were also shaking. The hatch in the back of the flagship opened and airships swarmed out. Each had two soldiers riding them. They were armed with bayonets, but they must have noticed Prince Gil, because they did not directly land on the stadium grounds.

As she looked up at the sky, for an instant, her eyes reflected the colour of flames and her breath was taken away. A trail of flames was coming out from the inner compartment of one of the garrison ships. It resulted from none other than cannon fire from the flagship—and by the time she realized this, another ship had been fired upon.

The side of the ship must have blown up because she saw a scattering trail of vermilion left from the debris, and crew members thrown off from within the ship. The nobles began to scream and cower in fear. And around the same time, the airships from the flagship landed nearby. The soldiers landed one by one and readied their bayonets.

“Princess!”

Theresia firmly gripped Vileena’s hand.

Their faces were concealed by the face mask under their helmet. The group of expressionless soldiers aimed their bayonets at none other than the nobles situated in the grandstand.

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