Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume9 Chapter8 (section)

=== Part 1 ===

“Your Highness.”

“Your Highness!”

For a moment, Orba did not realise that all the voices calling out were calling to him. The fear that froze him was so great that he had even forgotten the existence of the very ‘mask’ the had gone through so much trouble and effort to maintain.

“Orba.” Only a voice whispering quietly in his ear got through to him, the shock of it reverberating through him as though metal had pierced through his brain.

Shique.

Orba gazed with startled eyes at his long-time acquaintance – at the man who had also been a gladiator, living in an environment in which neither of them knew if the next day would ever come.

Shique drew himself up with a slight smile.

“Your Highness, I believe that I understand you.”

''I know you.''

In this situation, Shique mischievous eyes seemed to be conveying a message intended only for Orba.

“You are a kind person and are worried about our lives.”

''To the point of being an idiot.''

The gunshots and small tremors continued. While the fortress’ roof might cave in at any moment and come down from above, Odyne and the assembled commanders watched in silence.

“Apparently Zaas Sidious is using slaves as a shield, but from what I have heard, the slaves volunteered to take to the battlefield in exchange for their freedom. If they can win their lives and freedom, then they gladly go to face death. Naturally, it is the same for us."

''Orba, that’s like you.''

“We have entrusted you with our lives. What we wish to obtain with that price is a bright future for Mephius. Everyone is of one heart.”

“…”

“Does Your Highness think that we are dolls? Is that you cannot bring yourself to damage the dolls that you are somewhat fond of? Pardon my rudeness, but that is looking down on us a little too much. Be it generals, soldiers or slaves, we all have hearts. We can use our own heads to think and our hearts to choose our future. Since we are not being forced to die by an unknown somebody, there is no reason either for anybody to worry about how we use our lives.”

Shique once again came up to Orba and this time stretched/extended his hand to his waist.

With a sound of sliding steel, the short sword that he wore there was drawn. Shique placed the tip of the blade against his own white neck. Before Orba’s eyes that opened wide in surprise, he said – 

“Die.”

As everyone suddenly held their breath,

“Come, die. Go ahead and die – It is perfectly fine for Your Highness to simply give that order.” He gave a faint smile then continued, “we have already decided that our ideal future is the future that you, Your Highness, aspire to. In a manner of speaking, we have chosen a future of being killed on your orders. Therefore, there is nothing for you to fear. Please use our lives as you see fit.”

Was it mere coincidence or had it been Shique’s intention all along, but the word ‘Orba’ engraved on the blade seemed to collect all of the lamplight within the command room and to emit it as its own glow. What came to Orba’s mind was of course the figure of his brother Roan, who had given him the sword. But the scene he pictured him in was not one that Orba had seen himself.

It was his figure as he fought and gave encouragements to his companions in Apta Fortress. Wearing armour and a helmet that didn’t suit him, wielding a sword that looked too heavy, he was desperately fighting to survive. He had heard from Sodan, the master blacksmith, that those had been his brother’s last moments.

Believing to the end in the commanding officers who had already deserted their men, Roan had rallied his comrades and defended the fortress.

''Believing.''

Orba felt an intense pain in his forehead. The scar left from where a fragment of the mask had bitten into his flesh was giving off heat.

''Roan believed.''

Although he had given the soldiers the order to defend Apta to the last, General Oubary had abandoned them, had used them as nothing more than a way of buying time, and had fled.

Orba’s rage against him was unfathomable, but – 

''Right now, I’m doing the same thing.''

In the sense that he was betraying trust.

Orba had felt pity towards the nameless soldiers. He had felt guilty at making those nameless soldiers fight. But wasn’t it a greater betrayal towards those soldiers if he failed to grasp the victory before his eyes because he was too busy worrying about them?

He remembered the time when he himself had wielded his sword as a mercenary. If Ax Bazgan, or Duncan and Surūr, who had been his direct superiors, had worried excessively about the soldiers of whom Orba had been a part, and had been fixated on keeping them alive, their allies would probably have faced complete annihilation.

''I would kill that kind of commanding officer.''

The faint glitter of the sword now dimly illuminated Orba’s eyes. Those nameless soldiers entrusted their lives to someone other than themselves when they fought, buying victory with those very lives.

On the battlefield, where the line between life and death was extremely thin, that person other than themselves that they had to believe in from beginning to end, the one who gave them encouragement and sent them out to fight, was their commanding officer.

It was not somebody else.

''It’s me. Because this is'' my ''fight.''

An unusually strong tremor shook the entire fortress. Exactly as though he had been waiting for that opening, Orba once more stood up.

He grabbed the short sword from Shique with all his strength and returned it to his waist.

“Anyone would think you were in charge of bringing me up, Shique.”

“Your Highness, I could never hope to be so blessed.”

Dust was raining down incessantly from the ceiling but Orba paid it no attention as he opened his mouth wide and laughed – 

“Since a father is a father,” he said, then looked at everyone in the command room.

Their bewildered faces showed that they were wondering if that was something they should be laughing about.

Orba’s expression immediately went back to looking serious.

“Then die,” he cried. While they were looking as though they had just been struck in the face, he once more gazed at each of them in turn. “It doesn’t matter if it’s for my sake, or for Mephius, or to leave your names in history, or for some other, better reward. Whatever the case, if you are hoping for victory, die. Go ahead and die.”
[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v09 284.jpg|thumb]]
Shique bowed his head deeply as Orba continued sharply,

“An order to the soldiers. We’re heading out. Don’t be so much as a second late.”

“Aye!”

“Aye, aye.”

Odyne among them, the various commanders had started to move as though this had all been decided beforehand.

While watching their brisk movements, Orba repeated taking breaths at short intervals to calm himself down. He remembered doing the same thing back when he was a gladiator in the small, partitioned-off antechamber. Once he took a step outside, what was waiting for him was the scorching sun, the earth-shaking roars of the crowd, and an enemy intent on killing him.

Although the positions of crown prince and slave were as far apart as heaven and earth, the situation hadn’t changed all that much. The only point of difference lay within Orba himself.

His heart still held a fear that he did not understand and which did not leave him, as though it were now deeply ingrained in his body.

Orba’s life was no longer his alone. Now that he had recognised this, this fear would probably never leave him during battle.

''In which case'' – rather than struggling uselessly to shake it off, it would wiser to tame it. He would need to grope for a way of doing so from now on.

''I’m still like a baby.''

The thought flitted across Orba’s mind. When he thought of how, despite his being somewhat used to handling a sword, there were those who could easily block him; and how, as commanders, there were those who had earned so many military exploits, he was seized by the feeling that he needed to study again from the beginning.

His eyes turned to Shique, who was hurrying the preparations despite looking pale.

''Right. There’s still a lot I need to learn from you.''

Orba’s arms were showing a tendency to shake, so he tightly clenched his fists to keep them under control, then he silently called out to all of those who were there with him as well as to all those others who were not there but who were fighting for the same future – 

''Everyone, entrust your lives to me.''
 


The violent gunfight continued on.

At first, Zaas’ troops had fallen to the rattle of the ambushing troops’ gunfire, but still they plunged in, prepared for sacrifices. Under the cover of their bullets, the infantrymen continued to press on, and, as the enemy were few in number, they became gradually unable to hold their position.

Finally, the inner gate was destroyed and Zaas’ infantry ran up the stairs, like a torrent rushing towards the soldiers lying in ambush along the corridors.

The fortress soldiers started escaping with startlingly well-coordinated steps. They had received a signal from Orba, but Zaas Sidious, pushing forth, did not realise that.

“Ignore the escaping soldiers,” he shouted from beneath the horned helmet that had been passed down to him by his father. “Hurry and secure the main positions inside the fortress. Go, go, go!”

According to future historians, Gil was good at “coordinated evasions”.

It was hard to imagine from the historical facts handed down about his exploits and personality, but where Gil displayed exceptional ability was in defence rather than in attack. Using terrain and setting soldiers in ambush was easier to do when defending. Later historians and scholars of military science all agreed that Gil Mephius’ strong points were defensive battles that made use of small castles and forts, manoeuvre warfare<ref>[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maneuver_warfare Manoeuvre warfare] is a military strategy that advocates attempting to defeat the enemy by incapacitating their decision-making through shock and disruption.</ref>, and that he excelled at luring the enemy by pretending to run away. Above all else, he had an outstanding “eye” for discerning opportunities.

Or perhaps, to echo Shique’s earlier words to Gowen, it was closer to a “nose” than to an “eye”.

He could smell with precision the air on the battlefield. Morale, bloodlust, arrogance, nervousness – being able to sense each fluctuating situation within both enemy and allied ranks, he could move in such a way as to create for himself the next “situation”.

Perhaps, rather than an innate talent as a commander, it was something that he had developed by standing on the battlefield as a soldier.

Judging that all the enemy soldiers had evacuated, Zaas had his men rush up to the top of the fortress. They were to fly the standard bearing the crest of the Sidious family.

But they were spared the effort. The fortress’ large structure was shuddering. Cracks appeared in the wall right before Zaas’ eyes.

“The hell!” He wondered whether his own men had bungled things and were continuing the bombardment.

This however was an old trick of Gil’s. He had commenced firing on his own fort.

His artillery had been positioned behind it in advance. There had been no way for Zaas to realise that this was not so as to provide support fire for the fortress, but so as to as to aim for the fortress itself.

To reiterate what had been said before, both Tolinea and Jozu were decoys. Orba had never had any intention of prolonging the battle. Or rather, they did not actually have the reserve power for a drawn-out fight; and besides, there was absolutely no need to preserve Jozu Fortress for posterity.

Needless to say, as well as the soldiers having retreated, everyone else within the fortress had been ordered to evacuate beforehand.

“The tactics of desperation!”

Although rage coloured Zaas’ entire face when he learnt about the enemy bombardment, he gave the order to withdraw from the fort. The attack had come as a surprise, but it was a truly ridiculous tactic. The actual harm done to his side was minimal.

Conversely, having lost their base, the enemy should be feeling cornered both physically and mentally. Since they were now all but naked, all Zaas needed to do was to regroup the formation and charge at them.

Meanwhile, elsewhere.

“They have commenced bombardment from the rear of Jozu Fortress,” a non-commissioned officer announced upon receiving the report from a messenger.

“They’re early,” next to him, the general of the Dawnlight Wings Division, Rogue Saian, muttered vaguely.

While flames rose from Tolinea and Jozu Fortress was drawing the fires of a bombardment, the area where they were was almost unbelievably dark.

“They were unable to draw ground troops to Tolinea. We have also received a report that the defence of the enemy headquarters remains firm. They will no doubt have decided to accelerate the plan.”

“Fine, it was never going to be an easy war, anyway.”

Rogue Saian had experienced countless battles. He was not going to be shaken because things were not proceeding according to strategy. It was far rarer for a battle to go perfectly as planned.

His manner entirely the same as usual, yet the order he gave to the men scattered around him was undeniably strange – 

“Surface.”