Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume7 Chapter7 (section)

=== Part 3 ===

Nabarl watched as Bouwen's rear troops broke away in one go. They had been running in an orderly manner when several dozen soldiers deliberately halted and a few dragoons riding Tengo turned back to the rear. They were evidently intending to face death and stall them.

''The spirit of Taúlian warriors?''

Bending forward on horseback, Nabarl shouted, "Don't slow down. Fly forward!" even while, as a soldier, he felt a little envious of the opponents' coordination.

They used almost no airships in warfare, their guns were almost all old-type ones and Nabarl looked down on the Tauran region's troop formations as being decidedly old-fashioned. Yet even so, they had since long ago surpassed Mephian warriors in the more traditional hand-to-hand combat, in part no doubt because they had been struggling among themselves for so long.

And accordingly, the Taúlian soldiers made a magnificent display of their fighting prowess.

They lunged forward with their spears even as their bodies were being hit, they dragged Mephian soldiers from their horses one after another; and even when their spears or their axes broke, they clung to the horses' necks, giving their lives to slow them down. Nabarl himself killed two, then three soldiers with his spear; but when he jabbed it into that third one's chest, his opponent tightly grasped the spear and pulled him forward by plunging it deeper into his own body. Almost falling from his horse, Nabarl let go of the spear and instead unsheathed his sword and used it to decapitate the soldier.
The head which tumbled to the ground was sent flying by a horse that came galloping up from the rear.

Orba, Shique, Gilliam, and about fifty mercenaries following behind them, were bent over their horses' necks, their swords swinging left and right.

"You don't need to defeat them. Break through!"

With his left hand, he whipped the sweating Taúlia-bred horse, with his right, he swung his sword; and he charged. The Mephian troops were, of course, unprepared for this, and they were divided in half from the rear without being able to turn around to fight back.

"B-Bastard!"

Nabarl was about to thrust his sword at the iron-masked soldier who raced by him, but faster than he could see, it was parried and flung back.

Seeing an opportunity, now that the Mephian forces had fallen into chaos; Bouwen, riding at the front, gave the signal to “Turn around”. His troops, which had seemed to merely be fleeing at full speed, now turned their horses around one after another with a truly splendid motion. The infantrymen did not show a trace of fatigue on their faces as they too lined up their spearheads.

“Charge!”

At Bouwen Tedos’ command, the Taúlian soldiers once more started running; but this time, they were not turning their backs to the enemy nor trying to escape. Instead, they were dashing to exterminate their enemy and defend the western lands – their native country where at long last the bloodbaths of civil war had ended and the people were celebrating peace together with wine and songs.

As one was charging forward and the other turning his horse around, Orba and Bouwen caught sight of each other. Bouwen was grinning broadly, like the young warrior that he was; while Orba was indomitably galloping his horse.

Having come to this, the vigour of the Mephian troop’s pursuit had evaporated and they were forced to recognise that this time, it was their turn to be hunted.

Nabarl judged that they could no longer expect help from the rear. César would have been either captured or killed.

Either way, more and more enemies were drawing up from the rear and there was now a high chance of being caught in a pincer attack.

“Guh.”

The inside of Nabarl’s head felt pitch black. To have to give the order to “Retreat” when the capture of Taúlia was right before his eyes, when his hands had almost managed to seize glory for the Metti House, was unbearable. He felt as though if he said it, everything would be lost. Or rather, he still clung to the possibility of making Taúlia his, even now, when it was already too late.

It was a weakness of Nabarl’s that, although he had experience in warfare, he was unused to the position of commander-in-chief. On top of his lingering regrets, he was unable to bear the burden of being the sole person responsible for the defeat.

“Ah, ah, ah…”

And that was why, even as the rumble of charging horses and dragons resounded towards them, he could only gasp and flap his mouth open and shut, without being able to make a sound. However – 

“Retreat, retreat!”

A mounted soldier was rushing up and shouting in a voice that carried far.

“General Nabarl, hurry! Me and César’s unit will take up for the rear guard.”

Nobody minded that it was coming from the former gladiator, Pashir. It was the same for Nabarl, who had been looking for a cue. While also shouting, “Retreat, retreat,” he forcefully turned his horse around.

While Bouwen and Orba gave chase, also on horseback, they exchanged comments.

“Shall we exterminate them?”

“No. What they’re feeling now will be enough. Once they’ve sufficiently tasted the fear of having death at their heels, we’ll let them cross the river.”

Even while he was answering, Orba did not know himself whether that was a decision made with a level head, or the sentimentality of his personal feelings.
 


The heat and fervour of battle were dying down.

Starting with the foot soldiers who had failed to escape in time, a great many people surrendered.

Having made sure that the enemy had galloped away, Orba and the others returned to their allies. All around them lay the corpses of horses, dragons, and people.

“Magnificent,” Bouwen continued along on horseback.

Nabarl had escaped, but Darren, who had been in command of the Belgana force, had been killed in the mêlée. Since his troops had been entrusted with capturing the city, a large number of rifles and cannons had been seized from them. There was currently a shortage of both in Taúlia.

Orba whipped the blood and human grease that clung to his sword. “You too, General.”

“Enough with the flattery. Without your analysis, Taúlia would have been swallowed whole.”

“But this was still only the first enemy force. Mephius will have been preparing a large army to use Taúlia as a base once it fell. If they don’t get discouraged by what happened to the first force, there’ll be a second and third wave of assault.”

“Hmm.”

Despite their overwhelming victory, Bouwen’s feelings had not yet relaxed. He had been seriously injured at the Coldrins and had then fought Raswan Bazgan in single combat before those wounds had fully healed. Even now, he was not really in a fit state to fight, but his eyes that gazed around at their surroundings were brimming with energy.

However, when he looked towards the direction of Apta, the hatred and hostility that should have dwelt in his eyes receded and his expression instead turned pained. It was not the way one looked at an enemy.

Noticing it, Orba asked, “Did something happen?”

“Nothing,” Bouwen blushed a little under his helmet since another person had sensed his emotions. It showed that he was still young.

However, Bouwen Tedos soon regained his focus. For now, and until Ax returned, he would be entrusted with far more soldiers than Orba had been.

“Can I speak with you?”

As Bouwen was saying that, in the corner of his eye, Orba caught sight of something squirming into view.

From beneath a pile of corpses, a single Mephian soldier was holding a gun hidden under his own body. He had been severely wounded and was already beyond help. Aware of that himself, he suppressed the sound of his breathing and waited to the bitter end for an opportunity to kill a distinguished enemy.

Orba noticed that too. However, he deliberately turned his eyes away and allowed his horse to amble towards Bouwen and the soldiers while his hand slowly reached for the gun at his waist.

“It’s about the one who came from Apta to inform us – that messenger.”

“Ah,” Orba answered absentmindedly. “It looks like there are still people with honour left in Mephius.”

“That wasn’t a Mephian.”

He measured by eye the distance between himself and the soldier. He took a short, shallow breath.

“Then who was it?”

“The Garberan princess, Vileena Owell.”

''Huh?''

Orba’s breath was completely snatched away. Bouwen continued –

“The Princess did what she could to try and stop the enemy’s march, but apparently that broke down; she was on her way back to Taúlia when she met with us. But we had to hurry to immediately put the plan into practice. The Princess flew her airship alongside us but –”

At that moment, Orba pulled out his handgun. His aim was true, but he was a second too slow to pull the trigger.

Gunshots overlapped.

The Mephian soldier under the pile of corpses died from a bullet through the head, while the bullet he had fired struck Orba’s mask.

Shattered fragments of iron and blood went flying.

“Orba!”

It was unclear whether he even heard Bouwen’s cry. As though he had been flipped by some giant finger, Orba whirled in the air, then hit the ground.
 


“What?”

In the imperial court at Solon, Guhl Mephius sprang from his seat.

His clothes of finest silk flapped dully, as though to cast the shadow of death onto the courtiers waiting at the foot of the steps.

When news of Nabarl’s defeat had arrived, they had been in the middle of preparing the next wave of troops. Once Taúlia had fallen, it would no longer be necessary to be careful about the west noticing anything. The intention was to select three new generals and to send a military contingent to Taúlia by way of Apta.

And now, it was said that less than a day after having started its march, the Blue Zenith Division had been routed and the commander-in-chief Nabarl had barely managed to escape alive back to Apta.
“Are you saying that my proud and beloved Mephian soldiers were unable to seize Taúlia even though it was empty?”

Terrified of the Emperor’s wrath, neither the messenger who had brought the news nor the surrounding nobles and military men said a word.

As though he had the eyes of a seer, Guhl Mephius turned to stare fixedly in the direction of Taúlia.

“Who is it,” almost in a whisper, the Emperor asked of no one. “Who is in Taúlia? The sorcerer Zes, said to be able to summon forth a thousand soldiers from the other world? The evil dragon Nimbus, said to give birth to a child for every hundred humans eaten?”

For a while, he shook his snow-white hair and beard then he lifted the crystal-tipped staff that he had recently started carrying and, with a thud, struck the floor near the throne.

“It no longer matters. Have the whole army prepare to march. Mephius will attack Taúlia with our full might. Send out a proclamation to the entire country. This is a war of revenge for Crown Prince Gil Mephius!”



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