Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter3 (section)

=== Part 2 ===

Fedom immediately took Orba out of Tarkas’s sword-slave training grounds. Because it was carried out so quickly, for a while, it didn’t even look like he was released from sword-slavery. It looked like they had come to their agreement without informing Tarkas about it.

Because Orba obviously didn’t think that his sword slave hell would suddenly end like this, he didn’t actually experience it like that. More than that, he truly didn’t know in whose hands he’d ended up and whose intentions for the future he was going to roll into – as had always been the case from his childhood until now.

Fedom held several mansions here and there in Mephian territory. Although he brought Orba to one of them, for some reason he had been instructed to cover his face with a mantle in the meantime.

Fedom led Orba to a room with a carpet spread all over, locked the door, and told him he was finally allowed to take off the mantle. The soldier and the page who’d also come to the training grounds were the only others in the room. That magician named Hermann had vanished.

After he took off the mantle, everyone present was once again closely peering onto his face.

“No matter how many times I see… this. I feel like someone is playing tricks on my mind. As if you’re actually Mephius’s imperial prince Gil, and testing me out.”

“I’m the one who doesn’t get this shit! Mephius’s imperial prince!? Just what the heck are you saying? Speak so that a gladiator like me will understand!”

Orba was getting considerably irritated. Not taking any offence from his insolent way of speaking, Fedom nodded his head.

“Naturally,” he said, and started from the beginning.

The tale went back to two years ago. From the day Orba got imprisoned.

Fedom, who was the Lord of Birac, originally wouldn't hear anything of the report when Orba was arrested because he was only a petty criminal, but for some reason he received an urgent message from the city guards.

But when he spared the figure of Orba lying down in his cell a single look, he couldn’t help but raise a surprised voice.

“You truly looked a lot like the crown prince of Mephius.”

Fedom thought on it for a while. Even at the best of times, the crown prince was rumoured for his eccentric mannerism. Although no one would truly believe the prince would appear in the arena as a gladiator, doubts on his bloodline could sully the imperial family’s dignity and at most pose a problem in the distant future, which in turn could question Fedom’s loyalty.

So he’d decided on concealing Orba’s face. Which is why he’d made him wear that particular mask.

Of course, Orba believed that wasn’t all there was to it. Although he was surprised to hear he resembled the crown prince, it seemed a little exaggerated to request the assistance of a magician.

The pain that had seemed to completely burn his face with flames. The out-of-place feeling he had of himself when he touched his face after removing the mask. Hadn’t they taken all of those things into account from the very start?

His entire body once again seething with anger, Orba pretended to be calm.

“I understand the reason for having to wear the mask. So, what’s the reason you took it off?”

“It’s as I said earlier.”

“Become the prince? Do you mean to make me a body double?”

“Oh? It looks like you're thinking correctly. It's just like that. If you’re this similar to the prince, you should be able to serve the nation simply because of that. I think you should be honoured. Moreover, it’ll all be in exchange for your release from slavery – and for your freedom. There’s certainly nothing more to tell you than that.”

“Isn’t Mephius supposed to sign peace with Garbera? Is another war about to happen?”

“A body double isn’t someone only useful on the battlefield. But if you know of the peace, do you also know about the prince’s wedding?”

“It’s because I was one of the sword-slaves.”

“Well, now you will proceed to Seirin Valley for a different matter.”

Fedom explained that there seemed to be many people in and out of the country who weren’t at ease with the wedding. By any chance, it might be possible that someone would try to interfere with the wedding by deliberately causing a commotion, and some of them might intend to assassinate the crown prince or the Garberan princess.

“The likelihood that the danger may reach the prince’s person is high. Naturally, we intend to carry out a flawless guard unit. However, because we wanted to build a mutual allied relationship as quickly as possible, we settled on this marriage in a hurry. We’ve decided to use you as an insurance if it turns out to be the worst case scenario.”

Orba spent a little time thinking. It seemed he had now been placed in this position on a very short notice. The wedding was in three days. Having only been a gladiator just a while ago, he had to act as a prince within three days’ time.

''What a bullshit story!''

Although he wanted to refuse, for the story didn’t seem to hold any grounds, if it was true that most of the currently mentioned circumstances were highly classified state secrets, it could already be a life-threatening matter for Orba. If he refused, it meant death.

Earlier, Orba had already bantered with threatening words, but his opponent had not been deterred. Sweat was vaguely forming on the skin of his face that was exposed to the air for the first time in two years. Up until now, it had been different from a gladiator match. This was not an opponent he could win against by fighting. That was the situation right now.

''The prince of Mephius, huh…?''

A fleeting thought popped into his head. His heart was throbbing violently on the other side of his thick chest.
Orba sucked in a small breath, and once again kept up a calm outward appearance as he enquired,

“If I have to take up being a double – for how long should I have to act like the prince? And what of the part at the end of the marriage ceremony?”

“Why? Do you wish to skip to that part so fast?” Fedom said, laughing satisfactorily. “Needless to say, you can’t afford to get sneaked into the princess’s bed at the bridal night. You will have to keep it up until we judge it’s been enough. It won’t be for such a long time.”

“Let me ask one more thing.”

“What is it? Speak up.”

“Where’s the guarantee that you won’t kill me when this business is over?”

“What?”

“If it turns out that you used a body double for a wedding between members of royalty, we can assume that it’ll scar Garbera’s pride and war might spread once more. Even the most insignificant person who knows about the body double can compromise the story. But they say dead men tell no tales, right?”

Orba gave a glance to the soldier and the page inside the room. The page-like boy already had a pale face, but the soldier too showed signs of shivering. Fedom clicked his tongue, his good mood taking a full turnaround.

“You’re just a slave, and yet you intend to strike a deal with me? There’s no need to worry about such unnecessary things. But you’re right, one might act as you say. Obviously, it’s out of the question to let you go because you share the prince’s face. However, and I say this because it does not contradict with what I said earlier, a body double isn’t useful only at the time of the wedding ceremony, right? Although there will usually be some inconveniences that may give reason for you to cover your face, I intend to let you spend a decent life as a person of my protégé.”

Orba sank into silence for a while again. His face resembled the crown prince so closely that it had surprised even this Fedom. So surely that hadn’t been part of his original plan. But of course, that would in no way lead to a perfect guarantee for everything.

“I understand,” Orba said, giving his consent. “It’s a deal. Those aren’t bad conditions. However, I don’t have the confidence anyone will be able to make me memorize the gestures appropriate for a crown prince.”

“It’s a deal then, from what I can tell. The negotiations are complete.”

Giving a smile, Fedom left his seat, as if he didn’t even come here to stand in place and stare at the fruits of his labour.

“Come over. That’s why I brought my page Dinn, who will, for starters, teach you the necessary etiquettes in the meantime.”



A hectic period of time passed for Orba in the three days after that. He did not have to clean the lodgings, look after the dragons, practice his sword, or be occupied with other work that wore down his mind and body. At the beginning, he assumed the only correction needed was to simply set his posture straight. To throw out his chest, straighten his back, and pull in his chin. But he also had to familiarize himself with a new manner of walking.

The page, Dinn, did not only sport charming features but also demonstrated his skills as an excellent trainer, as he gave Orba strict step-by-step orders in succession.

Using parts of his mind he usually did not use, he’d honestly gotten so exhausted that he was short for breath, but another type of training was waiting for him immediately after.

Dinn took out a hand-mirror. When Orba asked what was next, the boy handed him the mirror and said, 

“How to laugh,” while giving him a smile of his own.

That congested schedule, within three days, didn’t seem to spare any time for him to rest his mind. While Orba never expected to suddenly become a crown prince – it felt just like a ridiculous notion, every time he happened to think of how he’d been thrown into this altogether<!--放っぽり unsure about it--> – it reminded Orba of his time as a sword-slave.

''I've lived through these two years for what? I've been ordered like a stupid dog to risk my life, have other people killed, and for what?''

He continued to throw in the firewood to keep the blue will-of-the-wisp flame burning in the back of his heart.

''If I run away from here, I'll be killed immediately, or at best be doubled back as a sword-slave.''

It was hard to take notice of, because it had all happened so suddenly, but there was at least one bright side. And if even a single light shone into his life, for Orba had been walking and fumbling through the darkness all this time, it was unmistakably a sign of progress within this current drastic change in environment.

These past two years, he’d nearly lost himself amongst the blood, vomit, spinal fluids, and entrails, knowing that he couldn’t reach somewhere quiet. But there was no way he would stop reaching out his hand, even though what he aimed to take hold of was almost equal to trying to reach heaven.

At least, that was what Orba himself believed. And so, he continued to obediently receive the boy’s education.

When the sun set, although Dinn also instructed him to, he immersed himself in a tub of hot water and cleansed his body. He could stretch out his body as much as he wanted, and they cut a huge amount of his black unkempt hair that was bound on his back. They also shaved his face with a razor, and when he rose from the tub afterwards, fine linen underwear, a silk tunic, and velvet trousers were prepared for him.

To sleep in, he received a bed with so much space that he had room to spare, even if he excessively spread both his arms and legs. The bed reminded him of the touch of the fair-skinned women he'd spent several times with at night when he’d still been the leader of the boys.

''Where am I?''

While drowsily wandering between sleep and waking, Orba suddenly heard his own voice within himself.

''Brother… I can’t sleep.''

''Take hold of my hand…''

''Brother…''



Seirin Valley – the land where it was said they first set foot on this planet from the Space Immigrant Ship. It was a story from the mythological age, more than five hundred years ago. When you heard the tale, it indeed seemed a sacred, although quite exaggerated, plot of land, but there were virtually dozens of places with similar legends spread all over the world.

The valley lay in a secluded part to the south. Hollowed into the cliffs was a small palace built of wood and marble. There were shallow reliefs displayed on the passage walls that showed the many legendary events that had occurred from the time of the space ship’s ‘holy descent’ up to the founding of Mephius. Because they were decorated with many types of jewels, shadows wriggled to and fro whenever it was lit up by the fire from the iron braziers, making it look like it was alive and breathing.

And, the spacious open hall that lay even deeper inside had gathered a huge crowd of ladies and gentlemen. Although it was inside of the cliff, there was plenty of light, and the sparkling lights of hoisted glass scattered all over the place.

A group of master musicians had taken up place in the corner and played various songs, from old-style up to the currently popular high-tempo music, depending on the request. Several people began to improvise their dancing, and the laughter here and there didn't cease.

“Prince,” someone called out to him.

“Your Highness, congratulations.”

“Prince Gil!”

“Congratulations on your wedding.”

All the people mingled together, although they called him ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Prince Gil’, and greeted him with smiles. Orba did exactly what he was taught when he was faced with them, giving a generous smile and slightly raising his hand in response. 

Fedom was walking perfectly close to Orba.

“Listen, Orba,” Fedom had said that morning, when he came to pick up Orba by coach. A tense air of a warrior ready to fight a battle to the death drifted around him.

“Naturally, the people attending the party from the Garberan side, but even those from Mephian side, have not been informed about your true identity. After all, I don’t know from where such information might get leaked. But the behaviour and such of the imperial family is not something you can master within three days or so after all. You don’t do anything. You don’t think anything. You don’t look at anything. You move when I tell you to and talk when I tell you to. That’s all. Understand?”

Despite all, he felt like his body was in no way accustomed to his manner of walking. It felt to him as if it was hard to walk, even compared to having his feet in chains.

Above all, it was the people – the many people. They were dressed in such fine clothes his eyes were spinning, and not a single one was ignoring Orba. The ones that were nearby bowed, expressed their gratitude, or approached him with raised hands. And they all smiled, mouthing the word ‘congratulations’.

The ones in the distance pointed at Orba. Huddling together and chatting amongst each other as they stared at him. 

No – it wasn’t about Orba. The person they saw in their eyes and greeted with their voice was not Orba. He understood as much. Although he’d known this for no more than three days, he still found it impossible to imagine himself as the crown prince.

Orba suddenly forgot even how to walk and was hardly able to return his greetings to one of his retainers. However, they only passed it off as a charming sight, apparently thinking the tension was caused because he was about to have his first meeting with his bride.

“Throw your chest out a little more,” Fedom obstinately whispered into his ear. “Aren’t you a gladiator? How can you be scared of a place like this?”

He wanted to call him a shithead, but could not, and the more he became aware of his awkward manner of walking, the more his face continued to cramp up. Far from having prince-like behaviour, Orba hadn’t even gotten used to his real face after removing the iron mask.

He quickly turned his look to the table where there was so much food lined up that, no matter how many people were in this hall, they definitely wouldn’t be able to eat it all. To make matters worse, not a single plate was left empty, for if even a single empty plate stood out, it immediately got replaced by one fully loaded with cuisine.

If he would reach out to take an armful, it would probably be worth more than a sword-slave’s yearly amount of food. When he was a child, he wasn’t able to see the shining colourful fruits hanging from the eaves, or have the fragrant aroma of grilled meat stimulating his appetite, unless they’d finished a very big job. But although it was only a small amount, even that was nothing compared to the mountain of high-priced foods piled up before him.

''Were the ones who eat these things every day the ones that burned down my village?''

Even thinking of it now, he couldn’t help but remember, as the Mephian noble families were carved in his heart as the target for his hatred for a long time,

''Our people were just able to manage our harvest for the year, but they took away the small amount of provisions we had left in stock, burned it down, and also went ahead and killed people…''

Orba tightly clenched his fist underneath the long sleeves of his ceremonial clothes.

''With proud faces they claim that something like this wasted amount of eating, drinking, dancing, and laughing is civilization and the noble way of life. They’re looking down on my people, laughing at us.''

''You can all drop dead!''

''You sons of bitches are man-eating barbarians. I’m going to set this place on fire. You can roast in the flames for all I care! I’ll praise you for your noble pride if you can still laugh while your limbs are being devoured!''

A wave of anger passed over for a while, but immediately after the fever got to a high, only coldness remained.

''Not yet.''

Orba struggled to put a smile on his face as he arduously gritted his molars. He would eventually roast and kill them, but right here right now was not the time or place to make his move.

Right now, Orba couldn’t do anything. This situation of Fedom using him here as the prince’s body double happened so fast, but someday he’d eventually find an opportunity. Until then, in a sense to conserve his strength and as a means to obtain information, he had to do what Fedom told him to…

Then, it got noisier around him, and Orba, understanding from experience that the atmosphere in the hall had changed, also raised his head. Up to now, the wind of their gazes had been blowing only against Orba, but now there was a crack in the lid.*<!--いままでオルバのみに吹きつけてきた注視の風が、ふた手に割れたのだ。 That’s what it says, it’s some sort of metaphor, but I can’t think of anything better than directly translating it.-->

A single girl made her appearance at the other side of the hall, and naturally she also attracted Orba’s eyes. Accompanied by an older woman, she gracefully came walking in with her pale face bent down.

“The third princess of Garbera,” Fedom whispered.

Although Orba had expected this, he still couldn’t hide his surprise.

''Isn’t she still just a kid?''

Those were the honest thoughts Orba had. Even the arms coming out of her sleeves were thin, but although it seemed like he was likely to break them off if he only grabbed them, for some reason she didn’t give off a frail impression at all. He even felt the breathtaking dignity, with her spine straightened up and her long hair swaying faintly along her figure as she walked.

The dress that she held up at the hem had hardly any exquisite embroidery or decorations, but the lack of articles did not hinder or make it plain. The pure white silk material actually emphasized even more of the purity of her youthful and innocent beauty, and her womanly sensuality.

“Princess Vileena Owell. Indeed, she’s currently your fiancée. Go and greet her soon. Don’t be coarse, but do not abase yourself either. You’re the prince of Mephius after all.”