Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter2 (section)

===Part 3===
The following day, Gil gave out official notice for their departure early morning. 

With the exception of the Imperial Guards and Pashir and the war slaves, the soldiers were naturally forced into a large scramble.

As they held their heads from the pain of two day’s worth of drinking, they hurriedly put on their armour and saddled onto their horses.

“Shit! That damned ''fool''!” 

The soldiers grumbled, a significant few not having had the time to tie together the string of their armours as a result of being rushed. 

“He could have at least told us beforehand.”

“I’ll bet it was the gallant Garberan princess who’d given him a good kick in the arse.”

Everyone just barely arrived finishing lining in formation, and they then departed through the Birac gates. Their departure this time had been by the prince’s own discretion, so there was no crowd to see them off.  

Serving as vanguard were the dragoons riding atop the small-sized Tengo. The carriage the princess rode in was protected by the best warriors handpicked from the imperial guards in the centre, and the horse cavalry in the front and rear, the clicking of their hooves echoing into the distance, with the foot soldiers fortifying the defences in all four directions further out.  

Pulling the cages with several Baians within were the large-sized Houban<!--I think there’s a typo in the Japanese raws of the first volume. Makes sense this dragon should be large-sized, and not medium-sized-->. A flat body with eight long legs. In terms of appearances, it might as well have been a giant spider covered in scales.  

Roughly one hour after departing from Birac.

“This is strange,” a single man muttered in the back of the march. Chains were fastened around both his arms, connecting to a cage harbouring several dragons in front of him. The man walking beside him, possibly owing to fatigue, used only his eyes to ask the meaning behind the words.

“The number of soldiers are decreasing. Why did he assign some of the already few troops to Birac?”

“Looks like you’re paying quite the attention,” another man behind him joined in. “As for me, I don’t have that leisure. My bet is that they ran away. If it weren’t for these annoying chains, I’d do that too.” 

“If it’s about that, they were left to reinforce the personnel at Birac—”

“Pashir!”

At that point in time, a white horse turned around and came over from the front. 

“Looks like you still have the leisure to chitchat. Should I try increasing the pace a bit?”

“Gil.”

Orba looked down from his horse on Pashir, who walked pulling the dragon cart. His eyes shone with light amidst the dirt and cloud of dust covering his face. The number of war slaves was a little over two-hundred. Already more than half of them appeared to be pulling the four dragon carts. 

“About the whole rush. What for? At any rate, we can’t even hope to defend the fortress with these numbers. What are you scheming with the evil face of yours this time?”

“It’s nothing for a slave to worry over,” Orba sneered. “More importantly, what’s with that attitude? I went through all that trouble to save your skin. Be sure not to get on my bad side so that it doesn’t go to waste.”

“Then, if I may request a favour, crown prince,” Pashir spoke satirically. He was the only one making a face that seemed to indicate he could continue walking for months or even an entire year. 

“What is it? Enlighten me.”

“Once we get to the fortress, maybe you could let me have a match with that gladiator, Orba. And a long sword, for a one-on-one. No, actually, I don’t mind if I have to do it bare-handed. I’m sure it’ll be an exciting sideshow as you drink yourselves off.”

“I was wondering what you were going to ask. You two already fought plenty in Solon, haven’t you?”

''—This guy...''


Orba remained cold, suppressing the ferocious smile that seemed to unconsciously form. 

“Both our lives are still intact. The match hasn’t been decided!”

“If he also feels the same way, then I’ll eventually give you a chance.”

Orba flashed a smile and once more, trotted his horse back to the front.

Domick Flats—the entire plane was a colourless flatland. However, each time the horses’ feet tread the earth, Orba felt his spirits lift. After all, Orba’s hometown was within a short distance of Apta, and while it also contained gruesome memories for him, approaching near it now after over six years had resurrected those strong feelings once more.

Finally, after taking two breaks and around the time the sun cast a shadow over the lands, a change began to be seen in the expanse of rocky mountain scenery and sandy terrain. Greenery appeared bit by bit as they climbed up the hill. Situated some several kilometres further out was a village where a messenger had been deployed beforehand. They lodged in the village of no more than two-hundred houses as billets for the night. 

The next day, the troops entered the woods. The branches of the trees densely weaved together like a roof, the lighting dim. It was as if they were advancing through the inside of a cave.

Apta was an invaluable region to Mephius for its abundance of forests and resources. Having it stolen by Garbera must have dealt Mephius a serious blow. And in spite of it finally being returned to Mephius, the emperor had sent over only a small number of troops. Orba couldn’t understand his intentions.

''Does he no longer see anything outside his own surroundings?'' Orba had even thought.

As he rode his horse forward, however, he quickly began thinking about other matters. He set aside whatever the emperor’s aim and schemes might be. Now Orba needed to focus only on the things at hand, to cope with his situation. He organized the information on the west’s history that he had heard from Zaj Haman in his head. 

To the west of Mephius, commonly referred to as the Tauran Provinces, was a group of city-states.  

The Zerdians dwelling there roamed the high grounds near the Mephian borders to this day, in the same way the nomads of the Ryuujin Faith and its founding ancestors had.      

It was a tale from two hundred years ago, and even before then. The denizens of the grasslands that surrounded the desert, perhaps owing to their inherent nomadic dispositions, chose not to place trust in those of the same race and instead constantly engaged in strife.  

And the one who set his eyes there was the man called Jasch Bazgan. Being the commander of the Mephian cavalry, he commanded his forces and forcibly tore the Zerdians apart from their territory. Of course, the Zerdians’ counteroffensive was also fierce, and it was then that he received reinforcements from the Mephian homeland and held out against them.  From this occasion, he was said to have received one of two of the sovereign’s seals handed down since the olden era of magic kingdoms, the ‘Dragon’s Claw’, from the nomad elders.

Jasch, using this chance, christened the lands of ‘Zer Tauran’ under the name of the Dragon God and began to announce himself ‘king’. Furthermore, he gave the various fortresses located in a region of grasslands to his subordinates, and rebuilt the ancient ruins centred between into a grand temple. Using the Ryuujin Faith, he planned to unify the tribal collective. 

When that time came to pass, Jasch delivered a letter to the Mephius emperor declaring them as equals. Enraged by this, the Mephius mainland deployed troops to subjugate Jasch. However they were too late. Not only were they driven back, but Mephius also lost several of its western territories.

However, Jasch Bazgan’s momentum ended with that. A mere four years after he ascended the throne, the night right after the New Years celebration came to a close, he suddenly passed away. There were those who said he suffered the wrath of the Dragon God for branding his own self-righteousness, while others believed that the elders, fearful of Jasch’s momentum, cast a curse on him. 

The Bazgan household rushed to set up a successor, but by that time, civil strife had already begun appearing throughout the entirety of the Zer Tauran lands. 

Having lost its cohesive force, the Bazgan family secretly fled from the capital, Zer Illias, they had once ruled in splendour. Amongst the two claws that could be said to symbolise Zer Tauran, one was in the Bazgans’ hands, but the other of the pair had been dedicated to the temple and they hadn’t had time to retrieve it. 

Soon after, the Bazgan family, with the bare minimal number of troops, arrived east to what is presently the fortress city of Taúlia. 

At this point, Mephius tried to regain its territory, but it was by the Bazgan’s luck that Mephius once again engaged in war with a clan from the southeast (now presently Garberan retainers).

At this time, in the capital of Zer Tauran, at the temple in the town of Zer Illias, a priest of the Ryuujin doctrines, chief magician Garda, tried to protect the temple from the hands of a hundred converts in addition to mercenaries and pillagers. He, at that time<!--God, the author is using this too much-->, performed a number of atrocious incantations that made such a tremendous display of power so fearsome it continues to haunt the Zerdians’ dreams to this day.  

But even a magician could not completely eliminate a group made up of hundreds and thousands of cavalrymen, and Zer Illias was eventually engulfed in a sea of flames. However, while steel swords sliced off the heads of the priests and rams destroyed the fortress gates, Garda left a final declaration.

“I will ensure the dragon’s claw alone is handed to no one, should this body perish or turn to ashes and vanish into grassland soils.”

And with that, he vanished. The invaders killed most of the believers, and although they plundered a good number of treasures and sculptures from the temple, the pivotal ‘claw’ was never found.

Zer Tauran in this way changed rulers and continued as a country for the meantime. However, there being civil strife on end, it ultimately collapsed without lasting a third year. The small states governed the scattered towns one by one, raising their armies, tirelessly and repeatedly exchanging or breaking alliances over their disputes. In that time, they received attacks from the northern coastal regions and Mephius once more, but the Zerdians were strangely cooperative against the foreign invaders. They stood side by side with the enemies they should have been brandishing their blades against in hatred for their slain relatives just yesterday, and attacked the invaders who had come from the north and west<!--I think the author meant east here?--> together, taking on the name of a ‘Crusade to protect the Sovereign’s Seal’.

A long time streamed by coloured in blood and war, and now at present.

The current feudal lord of Taúlia, Ax Bazgan, was forty-one years old. Naturally, as dictated by his name, he belonged to a former house of Mephius, the Bazgan House, once ruling supreme in the west. 
 
Having also crossed swords with the current Mephius emperor, Guhl Mephius, his hostilities with Mephius had not died out even now.  
      
''He did mention that Ax got closer to Garbera during Mephius’ ten year war with them.''

With his body rocking up and down atop his horse, Orba recalled the minute details of what Zaj had said. They had even proposed to join hands with Garbera to attack Mephius, though that notice was directed to Vileena’s grandfather, Jeorg Owell. Of course, Jeorg had already stepped down from the throne at that time.  

And yet purposely choosing Jeorg showed that, even now, he held tremendous influence over Garbera, and that they presumed if they could gain him alone as ally, the king, who did not amount to his father according to rumours, would have to concede. 

“The very thought makes me sick.”

Jeorg, having seen through this, flew into a rage. Of course, negotiations broke down. 

''Just what I’d expect from the man having influenced Princess Vileena the most. That itself is a merit.''


Ax, even now, seemed to occasionally slander him on remembrance as ‘that damned gramps’. Orba’s mouth swerved into a smile for a second.

He felt the winds beginning to blow.

However, the leaves and branches showed no visible change. He tilted his head, wondering if he had imagined it. And then, a mere four, five metres away from Orba to his flank, a cavalry soldier, and of course, the horse he was riding on, tumbled over. The horses following along behind it reared to a stop, with several soldiers being thrown off their horses. 


''Tatan, Tan<!--sounds like firecrackers.-->'', sounds of gunshot flew in front of and behind him. Ignoring the ricocheting sand and dust bouncing up from the ground, Orba pulled on his reins full force. 

“Go, go, go!” 

A slightly elevated peak rose up on his flank. The crowded trees standing there concealed the snipers, Orba saw. Anticipating the dragoons being sent to the front, they aimed at the main body where Gil was. 

Orba, beside the soldiers who sprung to life and frantically spurred on their horses, cast a fleeting glance behind, and the Imperial Guards, beginning with Shique, rushed over on their horses while guarding the carriage. The gunshots continued without pause.  

Orba turned to ride opposite the fleeing troops. He caught sight of his gunmen riding, half-stooped. He handed down a short command. Then, the carriage passed him.

“Prince!” 

Vileena stuck her head out of the carriage and, for a split second, their eyes met.

“We’ll meet again at Apta.”

Immediately after saying this, he met up with Gowen and the Imperial Guard cavalry. 

“Gowen, forward!”

“Got it.”

Leading the soldiers behind him who reared their horses into neighs, Orba spurred his horse into a speedy gallop and advanced through a gentle slope at the base of the hill. He pressed his body down against the horse, no guarantee that the continuous gunfire raining down upon him wouldn’t hit him, only advancing with conviction; advancing, and advancing.

Carrying the wounds from the Solon arena on his body, pain shot through him starting with his fractured right collarbone, but he nevertheless paid it no heed.

On the other end of the trees, the clustered figures of his enemies came into sight. A single enemy stood up from his knees and readied his gun—Orba’s eyes stared directly into the muzzle.

“Fire!”

Orba waved his hand as he cried out, and his artillery unit under the cliff fired. With the time he drew the enemy’s attention using himself as decoy, he had the artillery unit camouflage themselves under the trees and assume position. The majority of the fire had only bored holes into the bushes or blown away branches, but blood spurted out of several of the enemies and they collapsed. 

“Cut them down!”

Orba straightened his back on top of the horse, and taking hold of the sword with the his left hand, swung it forward. Letting out a battle cry, his soldiers charged up the hill.  

However, the enemy was also quick to react.

“Retreat!”

By the time they reached the summit, their backs were already distant. Their group of forty, fifty men smoothly steered their horses down the steep descent where trees packed densely with one another like a maze. They wore no armour. Many of them wore clothes torn to rags. Gowen reined his horse over.

“Looks like the usual bandits. Still, to pick a fight with a country’s army...well, they’ve got quite the nerve. What are you going to do? Chase after them?” 

However Orba shook his head. The enemy was familiar with the terrain and most importantly their numbers were unknown. It was better to meet up with the main body of his forces. But something else bothered him—

“What’s wrong?” Casting a sharp glance rather fitting for a man in his years, Gowen stared at Orba’s face. “You’re making the same kind of face as someone who came across their own grave in some unknown place.”

“That’s an interesting way of putting it. It sounds like something Shique would say.”

“Would you rather I phrase it more smartly then? You’re not looking too well.”

“It’s ’cause everything happened so suddenly—We’re setting off!”

Ignoring Gowen’s face that seemed to say, ‘So you’re gonna be like that, are you?’, Orba  returned to the road accompanied by his soldiers from whence they came. 

''That voice...''

The piercing cry of the man appearing to be the enemy commander who shouted, “Retreat!” even now rang in his head. It resembled the accent of his home village. 

The sudden gunfire had startled the soldiers and their horses, but above all, most disturbed were the dragons. 

The Houban towing the imperial carriage let out a cry echoing throughout the forest, and the ones inside the carriage carried along by the dragon thought they would be flattened, far more fearful of this crisis than the attack from the bandits.

The Baians within the cages also stirred, and the carriage seemed about to topple over at any moment, when a single shadow fearlessly approached. 

It was Hou Ran. The young girl, riding on horseback, drew near the Houban’s feet which would wholly crush several grown men and, bending forward from the horse, lightly touched its foot. What happened after couldn’t really be seen, for a cloud of dust had flown up, but when the view cleared the next moment, Hou Ran was riding the flattened back of the Houban, and from there she was extending her hand to inside the cage.

“It’s as if I’m watching a circus trainer. How marvellous. If a dragon were to get as attached to a person as that, perhaps we might even be able to keep and raise a small-sized one in the manor.”

Theresia spoke to Vileena excitedly now, when the men, horses and dragons had finally calmed down. 

“Calm yourself down, Theresia. More importantly, is the prince—”

“Ah, I can see him now. He’s heading in our direction.”

Vileena pushed aside Theresia’s head and poked her own head out the window this time. 

Now that she looked, certainly a group with the prince in the lead was joining up with them. Vileena ''heaved'' a sigh of relief. There was never a moment of boredom with the prince around.

“Prince.”

Vileena called out, sticking the upper half of her body outside. 

Prince Gil slowed down his horse. It looked like he was calling out to the slaves behind the carriage. As a result of them being pulled along by the Houban, they were a moment away from being crushed by the cages.  After that, he trotted to the front of the carriage.

He was saying something to someone with a smile. Hou Ran, riding the back of the Houban, waved her hand in response. 

The dotted rays of sunlight gently illuminated Hou Ran’s thin smile. It was an awfully mature, inexplicable smiling face that nevertheless seemed to match the young girl’s age. After exchanging some more words, Prince Gil laughed again. 

“Is there something the matter?”

“T-There isn’t.”

Vileena quickly pulled her head back into the carriage. Emotions that she herself could not sort stirred within her chest. Some time after,

“So you got out safely.”

Prince Gil approached the carriage on his horse.

“Thanks to your efforts,” was all Vileena offered as a reply.

The prince seemed to have taken this as the appropriate response for the gallant princess, and he returned to the front of the party. 

Afterwards, they covered two hours’ distance without rest. 

Together with the opening of the forest, Apta Fortress came into view. 

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