Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7 Chapter3 (section)

=== Part 3 ===

Nedain was roughly halfway between Birac and Solon. It had a fortress defended by a ravine and, like other forts in Mephius, a small town was attached to it.

At first, it had been no more than an air carrier relay base between the commercial city of Birac and the imperial capital, Solon. It was a vestige from when there had still been trade with the west but, as this had died out about two hundred years earlier, there had been plans, at one time, to demolish the base and instead construct a port north of Birac, in a location on the other side of the river that would be more convenient for trade with the north.

Just when that plan was first being put into effect, however, far to the north, across the mountains and near the Houlin Rifts, from the city-state of Io, where it was said that they worshipped a beast-headed god, a group of fanatics crossed over the river and started marching south. In Mephius, there was urgent need to expand bases into fortresses, and that's when the foundations of the current Nedain were laid.

Three generations prior to Guhl, the area of the Vlad Plateau had been seized by a powerful local clan, so, along with Solon and Idolo, Nedain had served to warn off enemies in three directions and halt their advance.  Additionally, the elders of the Dragon Gods’ faith, who had been in charge of rites since back in those days, had declared that there were “evil portents” immediately to the east of Birac. In the end, and partly because forest resources were, after all, precious in that part of Mephius, the plans to construct the port were abandoned.

Which was how Nedain remained as a city connecting Birac and Solon. Although it had to be said that nowadays, since the Vlad Plateau had returned to Mephius, compared to the border-town of Apta or the flourishing trade-city of Birac, Nedain had a definite air of decline. Even in Mephius, which was widely derided by other countries for being unrefined and lacking in culture, ‘being from Nedain’ was synonymous to ‘country bumpkin’.

Moreover, it had only been about half a month ago that an entire village had been annihilated by the military troops for having sheltered a single slave. The fear that held the other villages in its grip had infected the town, and it felt as though a chillingly cold wind was blowing within the area that should have been sheltered by its high ramparts.

It was amidst that atmosphere that a certain piece of news arrived.

“Garbera’s Princess Vileena is apparently going to be coming here.”

Apart from the small gladiatorial arena at its outskirts, Nedain was not a place that had much in the way of entertainment, so the populace was rejoicing at the rumour.

“They say that her skin is incomparably fairer than any Mephian woman.”

“But still, why’s she coming to Nedain at a time like this?”

“It’s gotta be because she wants to thank General Lord Saian for helping Garbera.”

“There’s that, sure, but I bet it’s also a journey to help heal her grief.”

''The Garberan princess. Gil Mephius’ fiancé?''

Walking inside Nedain Fortress, the gladiator Pashir tried to recall what the princess looked like but, although he had seen her from a distance in Solon and Apta, he could not conjure up a complete image. All he could remember was the strength of her gaze.

Pashir had been a long-serving gladiator known as “Strong-Armed” and “Iron Arm”. He had born a bitter grudge for having been made into a sword slave and separated from his younger sister, and had, at one time, devoted himself to trying to cast Mephius to the flames. But that attempted uprising had just been part of a plan by a man named Zaat Quark who had been plotting to seize power, and both had been foiled by Prince Gil Mephius.

Pashir should originally have been sentenced to execution, but Gil took him up and appointed him as commander of the infantry unit within the Crown Prince’s Imperial Guards. In Apta, he had taken part in the battles which had broken out with Taúlia, and after that, he had accumulated more feats of arms when he had travelled to Zaim Fortress as part of the Crown Prince’s reinforcements to Garbera.  

''That prince – what kind of man is he?''

Gil had used his subordinate, Orba, to trick Pashir, and had thwarted his revenge against Mephius. Pashir hated him enough to kill him, but, at the same time, he felt a powerful interest in the man who sometimes so completely betrayed the impression he had of nobles.

''Might he be the kind who’ll leave his name in history as a great man?''

He had even gone so far as to believe that might be the case, but Gil had been shot right after returning to Apta, and had disappeared into the shadows that shrouded the River Yunos.

Pashir had of course been part of the search parties which had scoured the river’s surroundings. He had been working with a hundred or so sword slaves who had decided to stay on as soldiers after achieving success in the battle at Apta, but, in the forest north of the Yunos, they had suddenly been called to halt by Gowen.

Gowen too had originally been thrust into the world of gladiators, and he had been leading a unit of about fifty Imperial Guards who shared the same history.

“It looks like the ones who shot the prince were Oubary’s men from the Black Armour Division,” he had said. It appeared that some of his own subordinates had spotted soldiers who wore the equipment of the Black Armour Division. “They probably plan to escape west. We’re going to chase after them.”

“Then we’ll go t...” Pashir had started to stay, but Gowen lifted up a hand to interrupt him. Hanging from that hand was a heavy-looking leather bag.

“You’ll find your pay inside. The Prince gave it to me for safekeeping in case of an emergency. Distribute it among your men.”

“What’s this about?”

“Since he hasn’t been found even with these searches, it’s best to think that the Prince is dead. We’re the Imperial Guards who were supposed to protect him. Even if the ones behind this can be caught, we might get charged for failing our duty and be executed. Just like you lot, we used to be slaves that Mephius treated like animals. We served the Prince, but we’ve no intention to let Mephius or whoever chain us up again. So let’s dissolve your unit, here and now.”

At Gowen’s words, the soldiers behind Pashir had started to make a stir. The tanned veteran continued,

“We have a debt towards the Prince. The least we can do is kill Oubary ourselves. Afterwards, we’ll break up our unit too.”

“Wait. In that case, until Oubary is killed, we’ll…”

“They’ll be sure to notice something if this many people close in on them. You lot leave. It’s the only way to repay the favour to the Prince for looking out for us.”

Pashir had stared intently at Gowen’s stern expression. After that, once he had watched Gowen take his Imperial Guards through the forest on a path that would allow them to circumvent the Yunos by heading north, Pashir had left the coin-filled bag to his men.

“Pashir, what are you going to do?” asked Miguel Tes, one of the soldiers, on seeing that Pashir had not taken any of the money. He too was a former gladiator; in the gladiatorial tournament held during the country’s Founding Festival, he had fought against the masked swordsman, Orba.

“I…” Pashir had not known how to answer.

''There’s something going on here''. Gowen’s behaviour was suspicious. They did not know each other particularly well, but he did not get the impression that Gowen was particularly good at lying. When their eyes had met, Gowen had looked away.

Prince Gil was a man who excelled at using tricks. During the battles at Apta, he had deceived even the soldiers who were supposed to be on his side. So perhaps… thought Pashir. Perhaps this might be another one of his schemes?

It was based on nothing except his intuition, but Pashir was unable to discard that thought of his. He could not accept Prince Gil’s death.

''I won’t believe it until I’ve seen the bastard’s corpse. If this is another one of his tricks, it’d mean being tricked by him again. The bastard will be laughing at me again. No thanks, once was enough''.

Looking back, he wasn’t sure that, at the time, he had thought things out that specifically. Maybe he had just been latching onto any old reason and had just been convincing himself to Apta Fortress like a fool.

For some reason, Miguel went with him. He was a young man who had a carefree side to him and he seemed to find this development amusing.

The next morning, the Imperial Guards had also returned to Apta. But there was no more than a handful of them, including Gowen. While the soldiers who had come from the various towns to assist broke out into a commotion, they had gone up to them. Gowen’s armour was splattered with what was clearly fresh blood; his breathing rough, and he told them about what had happened the previous evening.

Just as Gowen had predicted, they had discovered about a hundred soldiers from the Black Armour Division who were about to cross over the border into Tauran. Realising that they had been found out, instead of answering the questions that Gowen had fired at them, the soldiers had drawn their swords. Although words were no longer necessary: there was no longer any doubt that Oubary and his men had assassinated Prince Gil.

Swords and strength did the talking as they slaughtered each other. Most of those from the Black Armour Division, unwilling to foolishly lose their lives there, had attempted to flee, which allowed the Imperial Guards to put up a fight despite being outnumbered.

“We didn’t quite make it,” said Gowen, looking as though the thought made him want to cough up blood. At the end of a desperate fight in which most of the Imperial Guards had laid down their lives, they had succeeded in routing the Black Armour Division, but they had not been able to kill their leader, Oubary.

“He was badly wounded and, as far as I could see, he wasn’t able to escape to Tauran. Please, blockade the borders at once and search inside the country. I won’t be able to die easy until I’ve seen that bastard dead.”

Pashir was standing some distance away when Gowen made that appeal, and he became more convinced than ever that something was up. Looking carefully, and for a swordsman of Pashir’s calibre, it was clear that Gowen and the surviving Imperial Guards only had superficial injuries. They were pretending to have been doused in their opponents’ blood, probably so that it would look like they had been in a gruesome fight.

Above all, there was the issue of the masked swordsman, Orba. He could not see him here, and neither had he seen him when they met in the forest. He was a man who was loyal to the Prince’s orders. He had infiltrated the ranks of Pashir and his fellow conspirators, and had revealed their plans to rebel. If his identity had been discovered, he would have been killed on the spot. Yet the man who had taken on such a dangerous mission was now missing.

''That guy’s nothing short of a fiend. What’s he plotting this time?''

Thus, Pashir remained in Apta. Gowen seemed astounded that he had stayed, but he deliberately avoided saying anything about it. Pashir followed suit, and did not ask him anything. He reasoned that if there was some kind of plan, he wasn’t going to be let in on it this late in the game.

Several days passed and, despite a large-scale search organised throughout the country, neither the Prince not Oubary were found. In the end, they were temporarily called back to Solon to report on the results of their search and on what the situation had been just before the Prince was shot.

After a few more days, letters that the Prince had written beforehand were discovered. It seemed as though he had been intending to disband his Imperial Guards after the battle at Apta. He had written that, as heir to the throne, he intended to follow a “proper” line of conduct hereafter, and so was aware that he needed to rectify his decision to have former slaves as his Imperial Guards. This was accompanied by a request that when the time came, the former slaves be incorporated into General Rogue Saian’s division.

''It really is as though he’d planned everything out from the start'' – thought Pashir, and yet, at around the same time, the Emperor publicly announced that the position of crown prince had fallen empty. In other words, Prince Gil Mephius was officially proclaimed dead. As far as Pashir was concerned, if this was also part of the plan, then the Prince’s intentions were becoming more and more incomprehensible.

''I don’t get it. Or did he did decide to throw everything away and escape from Mephius? Was he afraid of the Emperor’s anger?''

When his thoughts reached that point, the memory of how Gil had looked just before they went in reinforcement to Garbera floated to his mind. He seemed somehow lacking in spirit, as though he might disappear at any moment. And in actual fact, he had almost lost his life on the battlefield. And at that time…

“Master Pashir.”

Pashir was surprised at the voice coming from the side. A young girl walked up to him.

“Are you worried about something?”

“Yeah… No, it’s no big deal.”

It was Mira. She had originally been a slave-girl working at the Solon colosseum, where she had looked after the gladiators. When Pashir and the others had been incorporated into the Imperial Guards, she too had been brought in to continue to take care of them.

Mira’s expression clouded over. “You lost so many companions… It must be hard. I don’t know how to comfort you, Master Pashir.”

“No such thing. Just by being here, Mira, you’re a constant support.” Pashir spoke bitterly. Mira had not been informed of the circumstances of how the Imperial Guards had been disbanded.

Since the position of crown prince was now vacant, the Crown Prince’s Imperial Guards had, in the real meaning of the sense, been disbanded. Just as the Prince had requested, Gowen, his adopted daughter, Hou Ran, about twenty former gladiators who had once belonged to the Tarkas Gladiator Company, as well as Pashir, Miguel, and Mira, had been enlisted into General Rogue Saian’s division.

General Rogue had welcomed them. However, the General himself was under penitence. Moreover, the Dawnlight Wings Division that he led was an air carrier force consisting of dragonstone ships in which most of the commanders were qualified Winged Dragon Officers or airship pilots. While it did have some infantry troops, there were few cavalrymen. And as it did not recruit mercenaries, there was no precedent for this influx of soldiers, so Pashir and the others were somewhat adrift in the division.

“I’m not unhappy with the current situation. I got some pay, and if I wanted, I could’ve escaped from working as a Mephian soldier. But I don’t know anything other than the sword. And at this point, I don’t think I could go back to working in a mine.”

Pashir did not halt his steps as he spoke. He had never been good at talking with women. Naturally, the topic turned to himself.

“Even though there are no chains on your feet, they still treat you like a beast. Sure, it’s different from being a slave who goes where he’s told and fights when he’s told, but…

''What am I’m going on about'' – Pashir grumbled inwardly. He felt like clicking his tongue.

Just then –

“Just what you’d expect from a guy who used to serve the prince.”

“Even when he’s patrolling the fortress, he’s taking a woman along.”

A group of burly men came into sight, mouthing sarcasms. They were Rogue Saian’s soldiers, and it was obvious at a glance that they were irritated.

Pashir sent them an acknowledging glance and tried to carry on with Mira. A particularly large man stood to block his way. His line of sight was even higher than Pashir’s. Pashir finally stopped walking.

“You got business with me?”

“You’re sure cocky for a newbie,” the giant barred his teeth. “Since you’re an ignorant slave, we’ll teaching you some manners.”

''No surprises'' – Pashir watched the soldiers surround him front and back. There were five of them. ''The tension has been piling up''.

Their general, Rogue Saian, was being kept away from Solon because he had aligned himself with the Prince’s actions. Not surprisingly, they felt something close to hatred towards Pashir and the others who had been the Prince’s own men.

“Do women and children need to follow those manners?”

“Whaa?” Pashir’s calm attitude seemed to get on the giant’s nerves and he narrowed his eyes, but, “the woman’s fine. Go wherever.”

“M-Master Pashir.”

When Mira looked up at him, Pashir gestured for her to go. She looked hesitant but, when he sent her another pressing glance, she left gingerly.

“Now then, what is it I’m going to be learning?”

“Something that goes without saying,” the giant swung his fist hard.

Pashir stooped low to avoid it and threw his own fist at the giant’s stomach. He crouched without saying a word. The men jumped at him from in front and behind. He just barely managed to dodge, but, just when he landed a blow on the second man’s cheek, a third one got him into a grapple hold.

''This should do''.

With his back to a pillar, he crumpled down. After which, he let the men hit and kick him. His thick arms protected only his face and his vital points. By Pashir’s estimate, they weren’t planning on killing him.

“This year’s ‘Lord’ Felipe is just a hulk of nothing.”

The soldiers scornfully spat out his title as runner-up in the Founding Festival’s gladiatorial tournament. Their hatred was laid bare, the pretext of “teaching him manners” long tossed aside. They taunted and knocked him about.

“Rebel bastard, how dare you pretend to be a Mephian soldier!”

“You’re dragging the General’s name into the mud!”

He let the heavy blows from fists and feet rain down onto him, and was planning to wait for the storm to pass when –

“Hold!”

Like a saviour in a stage-play, he came rushing in at the last minute, his voice ringing. Miguel Tes. At the sight of his eyes, which were gleaming like a young boy’s, Pashir sent him a sharp glare, as much as to say – ''Don’t go interfering'' – but…

“I’m here, you don’t need to worry anymore, Pashir.”

As bad luck would have it, Miguel could not have been more enthusiastic. It was not just the regular soldiers who had been bottling up their resentment. A popular swordsman in the gladiatorial arena, what Miguel hated above all else was to not be in the limelight.

He knocked down a soldier who had been about to kick Pashir.

“Asshole!”

“Get him too!”

The soldiers now swarmed towards Miguel. Pashir felt exasperated, but the one that Miguel had knocked down was grappling with him from behind, and with Miguel now in danger, Pashir had no choice but to get up and help him.

What followed next was a brawl and a free-for-all.

Pashir felt the impact of a stone that had been thrown against his cheek. He spat a mouthful of blood towards the arrogant soldier, and punched him in the jaw from below with enough strength to kill him. Miguel was moving through several soldiers as smoothly as though he were in water, his fists flying and his hips twisting as he sent out kicks.

“What? What’s going on?”

“Felipe’s on a rampage.”

More soldiers eventually happened to pass by, and between those who waded in to help, and those who were hooting and jeering, it almost felt like a kind of revelry.

While he fought, Pashir’s blood rushed hot. His fighting spirit was surging so that he no longer understood why he had initially allowed himself to be beaten up. With every move, and with an agility that seemed impossible for that burly frame, he struck the soldiers in the face, the abdomen, or the legs, while those who tried to wrestle him down found themselves flipped over and thrown to the ground without even knowing how he had been able to untangle himself from them.

“Pretty good, Pashir,” laughed Miguel, who was standing by his side. His face was covered in the blood that was gushing from his nose. “If it’s barehanded, even that Orba wouldn’t be your match.”

“No discipline!” The regular soldiers meanwhile were jeering vehemently. “Our Dawnlight Wings Division has plenty of bruisers! Newbies don’t get to go around doing whatever they want!”

Pashir and Miguel’s clothes were in tatters, and with their blood-stained muscles showing bare, they looked exactly like long-serving gladiators. Even the Mephian soldiers could not hide the awe they felt towards their opponents. At the same time, the better those two did, the more they themselves were losing their dignity. Their numbers increased more and more, until they seemed to be about to completely swallow up the two gladiators.

“What are you doing!” A thunderous roar tore through the air.

The soldiers suddenly stood to attention, as the one bearing down on them was none other than their general, Rogue Saian.

When Pashir turned to look, he saw Mira half cowering behind a distant pillar. She must have been the one who had alerted the general.

Even as Rogue rushed towards them, panting for breath, the soldiers stood still. Such was his leadership over them. Silently, Rogue looked at one soldier after another.

“Return to your posts!”

At this second bellowed command, the soldiers hurried away, grabbing their fallen comrades as they went.

“What, but we’d only just gotten started,” Miguel Tes grumbled in a low voice. In the gladiatorial arena, one of his selling points had been his soft-hearted appearance, but now his face was starting to swell up all over and was changing shape.

With the back of his fist, Pashir wiped the blood and sweat that clung to his beard.

“General.”

“I hadn’t realised,” Rogue shook his head, his shoulders heaving. “I know – that proves that as their commander, I’m lacking.”

“They love you, General.” Pashir stated shortly.

Rogue was silent for a moment, then, “I know that too,” he said.
 


That same evening, the ship carrying Princess Vileena arrived in Nedain.

<noinclude>


{| border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="margin: 1em 1em 1em 0; background: #f9f9f9; border: 1px #aaaaaa solid; padding: 0.2em; border-collapse: collapse;"
|-
| Back to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7_Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
| Return to [[Rakuin no Monshou|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7_Chapter4|Chapter 4]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>