Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume5 Chapter4 (section)

=== Part 3 ===

''We won''.

Every one of the mercenaries thought so. There was still no sign of enemy ships in the sky. In other words, there were no reinforcements coming.

And in addition, looking down from the hill, Taúlia's main force under General Bouwen was sweeping through irresistibly. Ahead of the protective fire from the captured hill, they had already driven the enemy higher and higher, and were now within a stone's throw of attacking the enemy headquarters.

Gilliam grinned broadly.

"Look, at their headquarters. They're steadily drawing back. They're just a cobbled together mish-mash that Garda bullied into fighting for him after all. They're fine as long as they've got momentum on their side, but they're no good in face-to-face fight."

''Is that really the case?'' - the thought flashed through Orba's mind. If that was the case, how had so many states fallen to Garda's army in such a short amount of time? An idea occurred to him,

''A trap''.

However, as at that point the bulk of Greygun's forces had begun to move from the rear, if the enemy had set some kind of trap, not even Orba could tell what it was. It had been decided that Greygun would assail the weak left flank, but at this rate, they had the momentum to break through from the front. As for Bouwen, it looked like he would be able to triumph over Greygun with this.

"Catch your breath. We'll wait for Greygun's main troops to turn as reinforcements then join up with them," Duncan went around clapping each one's shoulder in turn. The man was a tireless walker. As he was drawing towards Orba,

"Oi, enemies! Hidden themselves."

At that voice, the soldiers who had started to relax instantly leapt into action. What they dragged out however was a single enemy soldier. Moreover, an injured soldier who couldn't walk and who had been left behind.

Duncan stepped up to him. When Orba looked at him, it was the man who had been about to cut down Kurun. No, rather than a man, once his helmet was removed the face that was revealed looked like a boy's. His age couldn't be different from Orba's. He seemed to have been trampled by a dragon and his right leg was mangled.
Duncan took a water canteen from one of the soldiers and held it out to boy's lips.

"Which state are you from?"

"Eimen."

Water spilled from the side of his mouth as he answered. His face was pale.

"Why are you following the likes of Garda? Do you actually believe he really is a sorcerer who's awoken from several hundred years of sleep?"

"I don't know if he is the real Garda," the boy said with a look that seemed to see that he wasn't sure what was a dream and what was reality, "but his sorcery is real. Nobody can defy him."

"Is it true that the cities' women, children and elderly are held hostage and the men forced to fight?"

"Yeah... Me too, my mother and little sister were taken hostage. My father was murdered where he stood for resisting Garda's soldiers. My mother was made an example of and was offered as a sacrifice, and to save my little sister, I had no choice but to become a soldier."

As he was sometimes overcome by violent choking, just saying that much took him time. A heavy atmosphere hung among the mercenaries and no one was able to say a thing.

"I understand your situation, but even Garda is only human. Among that collection of soldiers, wasn't there anyone with the guts to incite you all to stand up against Garda? No, it's not too late yet. If we attack Zer Illias, you guys can stoke the fires of insurrection from the inside and..."

"Attack Zer Illias?"

Despite the situation, the boy laughed scornfully.

"That's absurd. Besides, Garda, he's – always watching us. He's always observing us."

"Observing how? Or maybe, is Garda himself in that camp over there?"

"That's not what I mean. But in a sense, you're right. Garda isn't one, he can be anywhere. Maybe he's behind you. Your home country will probably become a sea of flames just for thinking about opposing him."

Duncan pulled a face that showed that he didn't understand the meaning of those words. Was the meaning that they were being misled by magic, or was it that one of Garda's confidants was keeping a close watch on each military unit?

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like nothing but one of Garda's tricks, so Duncan cut the conversation short and had each of the platoon leaders assembled their soldiers into formation.

"Oh, where's our esteemed platoon leader?" Talcott wondered idly. "I haven't seen him since he gave the order to charge."

But that was the last time that the mercenaries were able to smile. Greygun's main force had finally started out and their own preparations for the assault were arranged in time, when an unbelievable scene unfolded right before their eyes.

"Go!"

Straddling a black horse, Greygun waved his hand and three hundred of his men hurtled down like an avalanche to attack Taúlia's main force from the rear.

"What!"

Naturally, Bouwen's troops were one-sidedly overwhelmed by the unexpected assault. The cavalrymen with the blazing red hawk pattern on their chests severed the heads of the Taúlian soldiers, skewered their hands and feet with their spears, or trampled them beneath their horses' hooves. As the hill's slope filled with screams, Garda's troops which had seemed about to retreat altered their course by a hundred and eighty degrees.

As though by mutual agreement - no, in reality, that is what it was – the two armies caught Taúlia's troops in a pincer attack. From their position at the battery above, they could see Bouwen's horse rear upwards.

The mercenaries watched in utter shock.

"That bastard Greygun, h-he betrayed us?" No sooner had he spoken than Duncan had leapt on his horse. "Follow my lead! Forget battle formations. We're going to save General Bouwen!"

"Wait!"

Orba cried out reflexively. Duncan shot him the same look he would an enemy.

"What!"

"Leave about two platoons here. Once Bouwen is escaping, force your way through this front. The enemy will be chasing after, so by attacking them from the side, it'll be possible to slow their pursuit."

"Your platoon leader isn't here, huh? Right, I'll leave Rouno's archery platoon here as well. Rouno, you're in charge!"

The mood now was already only for dragging Bouwen away from the slaughter at the Coldrin Hills and escaping. Duncan kicked his horse's flank and started racing down the slope.

"Keep up, keep up! In this fight, losing the general means defeat. And then you won't get paid either!"

Thud, thud, thud – the horses' hooves drilled innumerable holes in the hill's slope, kicking up a cloud of dust through which the foot soldiers charged, their spears at the ready.

Only the six of them – Orba, Shique, Gilliam, as well as Talcott, Stan and Kurun – as well as the seven from Rouno's platoon remained on the hill.

Orba fixedly focused his gaze beyond that cloud of dust but,

"I've thought about it," said Talcott, "Let's get out of here."

"I-Idiot," Kurun answered. "That damn traitor. I won't be satisfied until I've sliced through Greygun's neck!"

Looking to be in agreement, Gilliam hefted his beloved battle-ax onto his shoulder.

"That fucking shithead, Greygun. He was always looking down on us as though he was a king and he's gone and tied himself to Garda."

"At any rate, this is a lost battle. For mercenaries, it's vital to know when to quit."

"That's Brother for you: working for free is what Brother hates the most."

Among the mercenaries whose feelings were frayed and on edge, Orba alone gazed cool-headedly at the battlefield through his mask. The heat in his blood had cooled compared to when he had rushed ahead, intent only on the sword in his hand. It was a strange characteristic of his. In an unfavourable situation, when he was cornered to the point of being driven against the wall, Orba's head was clear and chillingly cool. Rough voices flying past each other, the stench of gunpowder, the glitter of swords and the red sprays of blood. If he was amongst those, he could forget himself and be no more than a swordsman eager only to swing his sword once more, but if he took a single step back from them and surveyed his surroundings from a distance, in that instant, he would come back to himself as though his skin had been hit with water cascading from a high waterfall.

Orba went up to platoon leader Rouno. He was getting guns ready. As they would be covering for Bouwen's troops with arrowheads, it seemed they would be able to use them at once.

"Can you shoot that way?"

Orba suddenly pointed to a corner of the hill. It was a spot away from the mêlée. And for a moment, Rouno looked over his shoulder as though startled. He was around forty and was a man who gave the impression of being some kind of craftsman rather than a military officer. Whatever it was he felt upon hearing Orba's cool voice at a time when the others were on edge, Rouno nodded to his fellow mercenary.

"We can. To provoke unease among the enemy, right?"

"Yeah. Just before Duncan's group joins the mêlée would be best. The enemy's morale might be perturbed if they think we're willing to go as far as to get our allies caught up in it."

According to what that boy soldier had said, the enemy fought so desperately because their family and their birthplace had been taken hostage. Even though that gave them a reason to fight, it didn't follow that they were intent on exterminating their opponents at all cost. Orba judged that they should crumble easily in an unexpected situation.

"Got it," Rouno agreed. Orba's tone of voice had a ring that was characteristic of a person who was used to giving orders. In this situation, it also helped that his mask helped to make it difficult to judge his age. Even though he hadn't deliberately calculated such a thing, Orba was aware of a point of heat in his chest that was like a lit fire as he returned to his companions and confirmed their arrangements for what was to come.

Runo's group readied their arrows while Orba and the others sat astride horses left behind by the enemy soldiers.
"Let's go!" At Rouno's shout of encouragement, a cannon was fired with a bang.

Slightly away from where friend and foe were mingled in mêlée, an explosion blew away part of the hilly terrain's surface. Obvious agitation appeared within Garda's troops. Without wasting any time, Duncan's mercenary group cleaved through the battlefield like an arrow, parting it in two. Greygun's troops divided to the left and right of them, they made their way to the centre and galloped to General Bouwen's side.

"Once more, this time towards the other side."

"Understood," Rouno nodded, his face sooty from the fumes of the gun's discharge.

At that moment,

"Enemy incoming!"

Talcott yelled. Perhaps they had sensed the threat from the battery as the enemy was reacting faster than expected.

"Tsk. It's Moldorf. The cavalry is coming!"

Clicking his tongue, Orba pulled on his reins, his spear in his hand.

"I'll pull them away. Rouno's group, back me up with your arrows."

Below them to one side, angry roars resounded as swords and spears, axes and hammers collided. Once again, the battery position became a scene of thick, frenzied bloodshed.

In the midst of that, Orba observed the mounted warrior clad in red. Moldorf's expression was overflowing with fierce energy. He looked up from the bottom of the hill and saw Orba.

"You. The masked man."

"Oh? Hadn't you run away, Red Dragon?"

"And let you off?"

As Moldorf galloped upwards, Rouno's group unleashed a flood of arrows. Those left and right of the dragon warrior fell, but Moldorf plunged on without a care. Shique came flying towards them.

"Orba, General Bouwen broke out of the pincer attack. He and Captain Duncan are headed this way."

"Leave Moldorf to me. You guys break through the enemy's flank then join up with Bouwen."

"And you?"

"I'll catch up with you later," Orba said shortly. Shique fixed his eyes on Orba's profile for a short while then,

"Got it. We'll meet again later. Definitely!"

He lightly turned back towards Gilliam and the others. At that moment, Moldorf's figure drew close at hand. He was the sort of man who would overwhelm an enemy's spirit on the battlefield. Each time his horse took a step closer, that figure seemed to swell two or three times larger. Steam seemed to rise around him.