Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter1 (section)

===Part 3===
The Solon west gates bustled with crowds coming to see off Prince Gil and his troops.

The group of cavaliers moving headfirst waved their spearflags while responding to the people’s cheers with waves of their hands.

Amongst those selected within the Imperial Guards was Shique. With vexingly good looks for a man, the refreshing figure of him mounted on his horse had particularly fanned the women and children’s heated cries.

As the dragoons under Oubary and the artillerymen under Odyne Lorgo went, the carriage carrying Princess Vileena came into sight along with the clattering sounds of its wheels. The joyous cheers as Vileena smiled and waved her hands out the window were noticeably high.

And as a new group of horsemen appeared behind as if guarding her rear, the streets were filled with a series of stirs different from previous ones. 

Saddled on his gallant white horse, was Mephius’ crown prince Gil Mephius. His silver armour lavishly reflected the sun’s rays as if emitting a powerful radiance. And contrastively to his side was a black horse. Mounted was the iron masked gladiator. The pair was sent a frenzied applause.

“Gil-sama!”

“Prinncccee!”

“Look, it’s the ‘Clovis’, Orba!”

The combination of the young prince who rescued the country from a rebellion and his faithful masked warrior was a story worth passing down and heightened their popularity amongst the people. 

Gil had limited himself to releasing one hand from the reins and lightly raising it, but Orba, probably unable to withstand the storm of cheers, wildly waved both arms, and suddenly stood straight up with both feet on the stirrup while having his horse do a light jump. Because the response was tremendous, he got carried away and did it multiple times, and in the end was nearly about to slip off the stirrup and fall.

“You idiot!” The mounted Gil—of course, this was the real Orba—shouted at him with a flushed face. “Behave yourself.”

The scolded Orba—the Imperial Guard Kain, who could also be said to be Orba’s body double—dejectedly dropped his shoulders. The cheers completely turned into a downpour of laughter.

“Well, I guess this could also be a form of extravagant publicity as we set out.”

Above the ramparts enclosing the gates was also the figure of Fedom Aulin.

He was the lord of Birac, but ever since he had disguised Orba as the prince, he had yet to return to his land even once. Although his family had also come to Solon for the festival, even when it was time for his wife and children to go back, he had insisted on staying in Solon, saying ‘I still have work to be done’.

“The prince has raised his name from his campaign against Ryucown and the incident with Zaat.” A tall young man, who at a glance appeared to be a boarder, whispered to him from beside. “This trend will make a good impetus for the people. It also denotes the continuation of the imperial family’s dignity.”

“Hmph—There are other ways if they care about their dignity. Look at those troops. They appear to be keeping their interval, but in the end, they’re a poorly patched bunch. Former sword slaves acting as imperial guards, war slaves that had only recently attempted rebellion, and a mere hundred nominated soldiers; if an army from Taúlia truly marched in at full might, forget a month, it’s unlikely they’d even last three days.”

Fedom did not see eye to eye with the rumours regarding Ax Bazgan’s suspicious movements. If Emperor Guhl was fully certain that Ax would come attack Apta then he would have reinforced the army a bit more.

''I can’t imagine he would let him die this openly without batting an eye.''

Fedom bitterly clicked his tongue as he heard the yet unceasing cheers towards Prince Gil. What set him impatient now most above all was the piece of news that claimed Guhl’s second wife Melissa was pregnant. It was no more than a rumour whispered within the palace, but if it were to be true, then he would change his stance on how he viewed this treatment towards the prince.

''Curse you, Guhl. Do you intend to distance the prince who has gained a rise in popularity from the centre of politics?''

He was irritated. Fedom Aulin was the perpetrator who had concealed the death of the actual Gil Mephius and set up the former gladiator Orba as a substitute. Of course, this was a large crime that if discovered would sentence his entire family and all those serving him to death. He continued his days coming off nights of insufficient sleep rushed by an impatience to get things done even a day sooner.

However, because Fedom originally took the stance of the anti-imperial faction, he required a different faction that would support the prince. He would have to gather those discontented towards the current emperor and ''not'' towards the very system of imperials, and who dreamed of advancement through a new order established under Prince Gil—a strengthened rectification of the country’s foundation, so to speak—if he did not want to end up like Ryucown who invested his life into a futureless rebellion.

Now, when things were finally beginning to take shape after discreetly taking ventures, and on a few occasions with ones dire enough to chill him down to his marrow, that Prince Gil was to be sent far off to the outlands that was also as well the country’s borders.

Naturally, he was not going to give up from this. In Fedom’s eyes, it might even be a good thing if a battle occurred at Apta once. Were the emperor to hesitate sending reinforcements during the prince’s crisis, then that would serve a common cause that might make it possible to remove the emperor from his seat.

''The two weeks before Oubary’s forces join them will be the determiner, will it.''

Then Fedom’s concern was on Orba who was more than likely to go off acting on his own and completely disregard his distresses. Then again, there ''was'' the difference in strength of forces and to add, his own forces were a cobbled together band that he could scarcely hope to take command of, so he shouldn’t really be able to move about as he pleased.

“Still—that rascal, he parted with some strange words.”

Directly before he departed, Orba had made Fedom an odd request. His troops would continue moving towards Apta by foot, it seemed. ‘I’d like you to let our flagship Doom temporarily anchor in Birac,’ Orba said.

“I’ll also leave a few winged dragon officers along with it. You can just leave the ship as is. They’ll move the ship when I’ll need it.”

“Why would you again do something so tedious?”

“It’s the thing called preparation. Don’t worry, just because you won’t be there doesn’t mean I’ll stop being his body double. The real prince should be remaining in Solon either way. I don’t know who’s targeting him, but you might as well look after him.”

“You seem to have grown quite fond of this game of war, prince.”

Fedom was busy carrying out his own plans.

“Be sure not to let your schemes get the better of you. If all you’re going to do is fortify the fortress’ defences, I won’t say a word. But just you try running rampant with your arbitrary actions and exceeding my patience. At that time...”

“I get it, Lord Fedom Aulin.”

Orba smiled lightly. Fedom had, to be honest, felt a shudder from that smile. 

''He resembles him,'' he had thought.

Not the real Gil Mephius. Instead, that moment Fedom felt him the splitting image of the father, Guhl Mephius, despite his appearance being entirely the same as Gil.

Before long the troops exited the gate and the cheers gradually came to a halt.

Fedom also began to leave and quickly called out to the young man who stood at the same spot as him.

“What’s wrong, Hermann. Is there something you’re uneasy about?”

The magician servant gently turned his head.

The man’s face was expressionless, and Fedom had long been unable to read him<!--lit: see into his heart-->. Though there were times he appeared a young man, depending on the angle of lighting, there were times he appeared to far exceed Fedom in age. Fedom perked his fleshy shoulders.

“We also have a mountain of preparations to do. Many of them will require your insight. For the time being, I won’t forgive you going off on your own.”

“I do understand, milord.”

Hermann lightly nodded, but, as he was about to make his leave, he cast his glance once more across the walls towards the road the prince and his troops departed on.

''“Hmm.”''

He murmured in a small voice inaudible to even Fedom.

''“‘His’ fate is certainly to move largely riding the ‘gale’. That speed is faster than my eyes can grasp.”''

''But—Oh my.''

''How strange. The ‘gale’ is certainly blowing and I can unmistakably see its direction. But the destination of the crucial ‘he’—this single future step, is darkly shut. What could this possibly—?''

In this time of the year, Solon’s skies were clear. The untempered sunlight shone on the prince and his party’s armour and the resulting row of bending lights faded into the distance. Not too long after, they could no longer be seen from even the tallest of Solon’s towers.



“Have they gone?”

As for Emperor Guhl, he had not even gone to see them off and spent the entire time in his personal room performing various miscellaneous tasks.

“Yes.”

The one responding was the former council president, Simon Rodloom.

“The prince is certainly in high spirits. He has unmistakably put his all in adorning his men in uniform.”

“He’s still a child, that one.”

“I quite enjoy it. Rather, it is by outstripping those childish traits one by one that he can steadily climb the steps towards adulthood.”

“You are patient,” the emperor grunted. ”In politics and in parenting both. What will you do about the problem of Rodloom house’s successor?”

“Well,”

Simon smiled bashfully.

He had two daughters; both of which were already married. Normally one would have entered one of the two husbands into the family register, but Simon had yet to decide. He had no particular qualms about their pedigree or personality but…

“I’m afraid if I rush the decision, I’ll grow old all at once.”

“How like you, Simon.”

The emperor nodded in assent without so much a laugh.

''Is His Majesty tired?''

Sometimes his emotions were fierce, such that they were as glaring as the Dragon God’s vigour, and just as frequently, sometimes his responses were like a completely withered flame.

“Two days back, if I remember correctly,” the emperor spoke, taking the chance to close his eyes, “Princess Vileena petitioned for an audience. What reason do you think for?”

“What could it be?...The case between Ende and Garbera, perhaps?”

“That may be. However, she did not touch on it with a single word and expressed her intent to give a farewell greeting. At the end, she declared, ‘In the near future, my fathers will number two. May you watch over your health.’”

''—''

In the situation something were to happen to Garbera, how would the allied Mephius move? Thoughts within the imperial court in regards to that were quite varied. As for Vileena, she had likely said it with the implied meaning ‘should that time come I pray you will come to Garbera’s aid’.

“A princess, brave and able to take action. Thoughts wishing Gil had even a fragment of her capacity have also crossed my mind.”

“Your Majesty...”

“I will admit that Gil has grown in his own way. However, he cannot hope to carry the burden of the country as he is. To be a ruler is to sometimes see black as white; to listen to all things but also to not show hesitation against dissent; to speak one’s own words from the very start.”

“There is no one who can lead from the start. Not even the greatest of monarchs and heroes written down in history. I’m afraid to say, Your Majesty, it is not that I am patient, but that you are impatient.”

“I may not have been a good father. I shall also admit to that.”

The emperor said as if to put an end their conversation, perhaps finding it to have taken an unpleasant turn.

There was a mountain of things Simon wanted to discuss with the emperor that needed to be said directly. The case of the Dragon God Shrine was also one of them. But he realised that what stood before him was like a heavy leaden wall, that no matter what words he tried to put forth, they would only rebound.

''Can you no longer believe in anyone, Guhl?''

He called out to his old friend internally.

''I see, to be a ruler is to live in solitude.'' As Simon looked along the deep wrinkles, so deep almost as if someone carved them into him, and his whitened hair and beard, he saw an aged emperor weary from a long period of solitude, but who was at the same time very stubborn and refusing to separate from his chair.

''It might be that he’s afraid.''

The flash of realisation suddenly hit him. This owed to the emperor’s current appearance, face down and attentively cleaning up the paperwork, being comparable to that of a small, frail old man.

''Afraid of himself who has stopped being an emperor, and his own son who he has stopped loving, be he fool or not. Or perhaps—''

There was no way Simon Rodloom could not be familiar with the fatigue of someone having engaged in the country’s politics for a long time. Simon believed this may have been a premonition of things to come.

''Rule mustn’t continue to be entrusted to the hands of the weary. Old blood must eventually be replaced by new blood. Should that time be mistaken, the country will be eaten away by disease from within and before long, perish.''

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