Editing Tytania:Volume 5 Chapter 2 (section)

=== IV ===
It was said that a “peaceful democracy” had never existed since ancient times. It was described as “a vibrant debate to put it charitably, the height of chaos to put it less favourably”, it sometimes even escalated into physical altercations, with eggs and shoes flying through the air. Nevertheless, because it was deemed preferable to “silent dictatorship” or “bloody tyranny,” hundreds of millions of organisations and groups from great and small nations to pirates all wore the formal necktie of democracy.

The Blaze Flag Army was no exception. Even among those who brazenly styled themselves as “Warriors of Freedom” or “Gentlemen of the Dark Nebula”, sparks of verbal conflict flew. The loudest voice, however, belonged to Mr&nbsp;Mahdi.

“What on earth are they thinking… We went to all the trouble of driving out young Radmoth to restore a modest peace, only to bring back a pampered Tytania scion once again.”

“He’s much cuter than Radmoth, isn’t he?”

“Hmph. That cute rich kid went and assassinated the greatest commander in the universe. There’s no telling what he might do on this ship either. What will we do if he harms someone?”

Doctor Lee nodded heavily.

“Indeed, that is a valid point.”

“Right? So…”

“That is why we shall assign him an attendant to look after him.”

“An attendant will only serve to pamper him!”

“Well, you could say that. As long as he is educated with proper discipline, it will be fine.”

“… Hey, wait a minute!”

“Therefore, I hereby appoint former Lieutenant Mahdi as the person in charge of Baronet Zelpha’s rehabilitation and education. Does anyone object?”

Mahdi leapt up, intending to roar in protest, but his angry shout was drowned out by an overwhelming wave of voices crying, “No objections!”

“My, democracy certainly is a wonderful thing.”

Doctor Lee wore a smile reminiscent of Mephistopheles, and with a devilish grin, even directed it towards Walenkov, who was considered relatively good-natured.

“I beg of you, Mr&nbsp;Mahdi, please teach the boy that earning money is a far more meaningful way to live than killing people.”

“And that this is for his own sake, as well as all mankind.”

Between the arguments and the verbal sparring, the ''Honest Old Man Junior'' approached the Jouslain fleet surrounding Uraniborg, as silently as a lion and as boldly as a hyena. The objective was to take custody of Zelpha Tytania. There was, however, another equally important purpose.

On the bridge of the ''Austra'', Duke Jouslain Tytania gathered a small group of high-ranking officers, including Balamy, and made his announcement.

“Once Zelpha has been handed over, we shall resume combat. All ships, transition to semi-A-class battle formation immediately!”

Rear-admiral Mittendorf, Rear-admiral Magnorton, Commodore Yuan, and Commodore Durey responded with tense salutes. The four of them had only just been struck with astonishment by the announcement that Zelpha would be handed over to the Blaze Flag Army.



“That bastard Jouslain, what is he thinking?” muttered Idris to himself, standing before the screen, bathed in the blue and white light of the stars.

It was pointless to try to calculate how many hours it had been since he last slept, so he did not bother. Though he was exhausted, his body was filled with a strange energy, and he had no intention of resting. He felt as though his body was brimming with an excess of heat, yet the cold air gathered around him like beads of frost, stimulating his senses. His eyes, which stared fixedly at the countless points of light, large and small, looked as though they were bloodshot.

“Zelpha is somewhere within that fleet… If only I could determine where…”

Idris bit the inside of his lower lip. As long as Zelpha remained in Jouslain’s grasp, it was impossible to launch an indiscriminate attack upon the enemy.

Although he had attempted to use words that bordered on threats against Jouslain, he knew they would have no effect. What Idris feared most, however, was that by taking Zelpha hostage, Jouslain would force him to accept a peace treaty. It was only natural; if Idris were Jouslain, he would do the same. He would impose terms of extreme severity. Yet, for Idris to accede to those negotiations in order to save Zelpha would mean removing himself from the Clanner’s seat forever.

In the first place, there was no way Clanner Ajman would approve of surrendering to the enemy without a fight. The sense of awe that loomed beyond his hatred had not vanished.

Clanner Ajman had retreated once more into his inviolable sanctuary, vanishing from sight. Before the closed doors, Idris could do nothing but stand frozen.

''“I have dealt with Ariabert. Now, try to handle the rest on your own,”'' is likely what the Clanner would say.

Yet, in exchange for Ariabert’s life, his beloved younger brother, Zelpha, had fallen into the hands of the enemy. The life of Zelpha was clearly of no concern to the Clanner. To Idris, the uncertainty surrounding Zelpha’s safety felt like an especially piercing shard of ice.

At that moment, Idris’ inner universe was filled with a whirlwind of passion, and even he could not predict how it would run rampant once it focused upon a single direction.

“Regardless, we cannot afford to fall any further behind in battle.”

If even a single other part of Uraniborg were to sustain damage, ten million citizens would fall into a panic. Allocating troops to manage such an occurrence would leave the defences against the enemy even more depleted. He had to demonstrate a posture of primary engagement in a way that was visible to all.

Idris summoned the newly appointed interception commander, Vice-Admiral Ridenhour, and informed him of a certain matter that left him utterly astonished.

“Do you intend to board the ''Black Prince''?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“With all due respect, if the ''Black Prince'' were to set out under the current circumstances, it would be met with concentrated fire the moment it cleared the harbour gates. I judge it to be far too dangerous.”

Idris stared intently at the Vice-Admiral.

“I appreciate the warning, but is it a vessel that would be destroyed by mere concentrated fire?”

“No, that is not quite… I mean…”

“I did not say I would board it immediately. I merely said to have it prepared so that I can board at any time. Is that understood?”

“As you wish…”

As Vice-Admiral Ridenhour departed with the composure befitting a high-ranking officer, another person appeared as if in his stead. It was the Countess Theodora Tytania.

“It seems the final battle is about to begin. What are our chances of victory?”

Idris gave a low laugh.

“If I gave you a blank canvas, Theodora, I suppose you would produce a decent enough painting. Unfortunately, however, the majority of the picture is already finished. All that you and I can do, at most, is adding a bit of colour.”

Theodora looked at Idris with surprise. In truth, she was indeed surprised.

“You speak with the flair of an artist.”

“Hmph. If I told you that I wanted to be a painter when I was a child, would you believe me?”

As Theodora remained silent, Idris continued, his words sounding like a monologue.

“Well, I do not care for your opinion, but there was something utterly inexplicable. When you mix all colours together, they become black. No matter how many times I tried, this is what happened. There was no other way to approach it. Therefore, the only option left was to absorb every colour and master the essence of black.”

“… Do you intend to depart in person? At last?”

“There is no point in keeping the ''Black Prince'' moored any longer. That ship is the very pinnacle of black.”

“One cannot blame the late Duke Zarlisch, then.”

“What? What is that supposed to mean?”

Theodora looked at Idris with a calculating smile.

“You used to mock Duke Zarlisch quite often. You said he was a slave to his hysterical mother, that he couldn’t distinguish between public and private affairs, that his cause was secondary to the greater good, and whether someone like him was truly fit to be the Clanner.”

“…”

“I wonder about that. For you, who aspire to be the next Clanner of Tytania, did you not hesitate to engage in the final battle because you were so concerned for your younger brother?”

“That is in the past. Enough. I did not summon you here, so leave at once and go splash some perfume on that invisible tail of yours.”



Every five or ten minutes, the tension among the soldiers continued to rise. In proportion to that, they repeated the same topics, attempting to soothe their own anxieties.

“I never imagined Duke Ariabert would die in such a manner.”

“I certainly didn’t.”

“That just wasn’t right. He was an enemy commander, true, but he was a fine man.”

“I served in his fleet for about two years once; he was a very pleasant person…”

“Hey, everyone, why so gloomy!?”

An unnaturally cheerful voice drifted through the gaps in their helmets.

“The greatest threat has been eliminated. Only Duke Jouslain remains, but there is no way he possesses the same tactical prowess as Duke Ariabert. We have won.”

“…”

“What’s wrong? Celebrate!”

A storm of rebuttals instantly swirled through the ranks.

“How can we celebrate, you reckless fool!?”

“It isn’t as if we fought with honour and took Duke Ariabert’s head ourselves.”

“What is there to be happy about, having our great achievement snatched away by a mere child of some twelve-thirteen years?”

The motorised infantry, who were being nudged from both sides and tapped on their helmets, raised their voices in discontent.

“Then, are you implying that we won through cowardly means?”

“Are you suggesting that what happened was a fair tactic?”

“Hmph. You might have a point. But if that’s the case, why don’t you go tell Duke Idris exactly that!?”

In an instant, a chill descended upon the scene. The soldiers exchanged glances, but no matter which face they looked upon, they could find no expression of hope. Their courage, their fighting spirit, their animosity, and even their pride had fallen into a state of suspended animation. To bolster their morale, they would have needed a grand, almost magical speech, or a tangible, decisive victory, or perhaps something even greater. However, none of those things seemed likely to arrive in the near future.

The soldiers of Uraniborg possessed an arrogance born of their immense pride in being members of the Tytania regime. That pride was lost because the very best part of Tytania had vanished with the untimely death of Ariabert. Those who anchored their self-esteem in external factors were prone to losing their identities easily through the collapse of an organisation or the death of a superior. Consequently, it stood to reason that the officers and men, who had derived their pride from being “under the command of Duke Ariabert,” would fall into despair and disband; yet, it was precisely because the opposite phenomenon occurred that the “Uraniborg Incident” was so peculiar.

In short, what the troops of the Uraniborg army required was a supreme commander possessing a charisma equal to that of the late Ariabert, but Idris had not yet proven himself to be such a man.



In a corner of the Clanner’s manor, where officers and officials were scurrying about in a state of commotion, a woman dressed in an out-of-place, pale lilac gown was stumbling along. She was the Duchess Theresa Tytania.

“Come to think of it, Zarlisch wasn’t such a bad boy… his only flaw was that his features were a bit rough-looking…”

The Duchess’ voice, which wavered in pitch, drifted through the room upon the heavy scent of rum.

A noblewoman permitted to bear the Tytania name ought to have been a symbol of nobility and grace, but that was already a lost cause. Had Zarlisch merely remained alive, she would surely have been accorded the respect due to his mother; yet now, Duchess Theresa Tytania was nothing more than a nuisance to the doctors and nurses, a subject of ridicule and pity for every Tytania-related person from the highest to the lowest rank.

The only things that indicated her former nobility were the pale lilac dress made of the finest Meishan silk and the jewels pressed into her thick neck and fingers; even her hair was no longer elegantly arranged. In her right hand, she clutched a bottle of rum.

As the lady stumbled along her path, a middle-aged man dressed in an expensive-looking suit appeared before her. It was Count Elman Tytania.

Count Elman attempted to turn on his heel swiftly. He had no intention of getting involved with Theresa. Even without this, he had already incurred Idris’ displeasure regarding the matter of the Blaze Flag Army. He had intended to establish himself as the person holding full authority in negotiations with the pirate factions, acting, so to speak, as a minister of foreign affairs during wartime. However, his worldly yet healthy ambition had been crushed by the combination of those unscrupulous pirates and the short-tempered duke.

Having suffered enough misfortune, Count Elman had no desire to experience any more. He tried to quickly round the corner of the corridor, leaving Theresa behind in her state of loneliness and delusion. Yet, misfortune was not yet ready to let go of the middle-aged nobleman.

“Oh, if it isn’t Count Elman. Now, I wonder if I should say it has been a long time since we last met.”

Count Elman cursed himself. In aristocratic society, one could not simply ignore a person of higher rank when they addressed you.

“It has indeed been a long time, Duchess.”

“Oh my, oh, my, I feel as though that was the first time someone has actually replied to me today… Or is it just my imagination?”

Suddenly, Count Elman was overcome by an unexpected emotion. It went by the name of “pity”.

Theresa’s husband was already dead, having left her with two sons. Her sons, namely Duke Zarlisch and Count Arses, had both predeceased their mother. They had been murdered by the same person. It was Count Elman who had brought the individual responsible for Theresa’s vengeance to Uraniborg. And the one who had hindered the avenging of her sons’ deaths was…

All at once, Count Elman bellowed.

“Guards! Nurses! Anyone! Is no one there!?”

The Duchess, whose body had become a compound of alcohol, resentment, and despair, slumped into Count Elman’s arms. Once again, a group of unfortunate guards came rushing over, numbering three or four.

“Your Lordship, for a civil official to be in such a place…”

“If you have time to talk, then take the Duchess to her infirmary! Hurry! What do you intend to do if the worst should happen!?”

The expression and furious shouts of Count Elman, who had long been regarded as a moderate gentleman, left the guards aghast. Two of the guards took turns with Count Elman, supporting the Duchess’ body with arms far more powerful than his own. A third man pulled out a mobile phone to call the medical office. While keeping his eyes on the Duchess, Count Elman pulled out a handkerchief.

“Why has it come to this? Why?…”

As Count Elman wiped the saliva from the lady’s suit,

“That is something I would like to know myself.”

A cold, dry voice spoke, halting the movement of Count Elman’s hand. Standing there, amidst the bewildered staff officers and guards, was a man.

“Duke Idris…”

“You have certainly shown great kindness. However, it must have been a nuisance.”

When Idris spoke, without even a hint of sympathy, a mass of alcohol-soaked flesh stirred and uttered a voice.

“Oh my, it isn’t Idris this time… No, you look just like him, but it’s not you, is it?”

“Are you calling me an impostor?”

Idris frowned and cast his gaze towards Count Elman. The Count shook his head in a panic. It was a silent dialogue. It conveyed the sentiment of ''“Has this woman finally lost her mind?”'' and ''“No, I do not know.”''

Idris let out an affected sigh.

“Duchess Theresa, you never fail to catch me off guard. I am the true Idris. Forgive my bluntness, but it appears you are finally seeing hallucinations.”

“Oh dear, but that isn’t right. If you were the true Idris, you would be carrying the heads of Ariabert and Jouslain in both your hands.”

“……!”

“You were boasting so loudly, after all. I assumed you had already scattered the enemy and received words of praise from His Clanner Highness?”

“Duchess, Duke Ariabert is…”

Count Elman, who had been on the verge of revealing the truth because he could no longer bear it, felt his tongue freeze at the sound of that youthful voice, which was brimming with murderous intent.

“There is no need to say anything more, Count Elman.”

Idris walked forward slowly and came to a halt before Duchess Theresa. He frowned as the breath of alcohol hit him directly. It was at that very moment that an officer, receiving a call on his mobile phone, cried out almost in a shout.

“Duke Idris, I come to report!”

“What is it?”

“The enemy has resumed their attack!”

For a moment, Idris steadied his breathing; he started to walk but then stopped. He looked back over his shoulder at Count Elman.

“Count Elman, I leave the matter of Lady Theresa to you. It is a burden, but such is the way of things. You must accept it.”

As Idris walked away with brisk strides, Elman bowed to his retreating back with a heavy sigh. He had decided to “accept” it. The left side of his face shone pale. The enemy’s artillery fire was reflecting through the transparent wall.



“Do not falter! Hold your ground!” shouted Idris.

The screen before his eyes was turning into a storm of intersecting lines of fire, beams of light, and the glare of explosions.

Ariabert’s death would bring about a major turning point in the war. Idris told himself this with conviction. He strove to ensure it. After all, Ariabert’s legion, stripped of his leadership, would be nothing more than a pack of leaderless wolves. He anticipated that the various armies, currently observing the situation, would begin to move once they realised there was no hope of victory against Jouslain’s lone “Anti-Uraniborg” force. They would undoubtedly rush toward the rear of the “AJ Alliance without A,” seeking to gather even the smallest morsel of the fruits of victory. If that happened, they would pincer the hated Jouslain from both sides and annihilate him within a complete encirclement.

The movement of the various factions was much like discovering a glowing supernova in the midst of a dark nebula. At least, that was how Idris viewed it. After all, Clanner Ajman remained in power at Uraniborg, and it was the Clanner himself who had ordered Ariabert’s “execution”. As long as the Clanner represented authority and justice, it should have been only natural for the various factions to join forces at Uraniborg to crush the rebel Jouslain.

“Vice-Admiral Ridenhour!”

“Yes?”

“I am entrusting you with the command of the interception. I trust the ''Black Prince'' is ready for a ''sortie''.”

“Yes sir. At a moment’s notice.”

“I shall board in fifteen minutes. Inform all crew members accordingly. Furthermore, open the first port gate in ten minutes.”

“Brother.”

At the sudden call, the elegant lines of Idris’ cheek stiffened. It was not Zelpha’s voice.

“You certainly have a lot of nerve, coming back here like this.”

Idris’ voice pierced Radmoth like a poisoned needle of hatred and contempt. At least, it was meant to, but his younger brother, who had returned safely, merely stood there staring at him with dull eyes.

Looking at Radmoth made Idris feel confused about whom he was actually supposed to view as an enemy. He shook his head and spat out words devoid of even a shred of affection.

“What business do you have, showing up here so boldly? I have no recollection of calling for you.”

The reply came immediately.

“Brother, I shall be the one to pilot the ''Black Prince''.”

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