Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume3 Chapter3 (section)

===Part 2===
On the third day’s banquet, Orba invited the war slaves to the hall. Their feet were still fastened in chains, though were also permitted a smidgen of a drink. Their expressions stiff, they behaved like some castaway dog thrown into the fray.

Since the time their rebellion had been thwarted, they were in constant fear, not knowing whether their heads would be severed this day or possibly the next. Even after the prince added them into his forces as war slaves, it was ultimately the whim of a man in power, and they never knew when their fates would take a turn for the worst.

They were alive for now. Gowen gave them training everyday, and they were beginning to think that it may actually not be some simple whim or capricious thought of the prince’s meant to kill some time. Nonetheless, it was well known that war slaves were given the most dangerous tasks in battle. They were ultimately disposable soldiers. There were many instances where war slaves were forced to commence suicidal attacks such that it was guaranteed not a single one would make it back alive even as their backs were threatened from friendly fire. 

They proceeded through their meals and wine gloomily. Mira’s figure was also present amidst the female slaves serving the table. She had worked at the grand stadium of Solon, and it was none other than her whom Orba had taken hostage when Pashir and the other slaves tried to cause a rebellion.

In that spot where dark clouds seemed to gather, Mira alone behaved cheerfully. The slaves could do little more than return smiling faces when she spoke to them, but they seemed to suddenly brighten up just from her presence.

And with Mira as the origin, a disturbance took place.

“Hey you, keeping company with those slaves won’t be any fun. Come here to us.”

A single member of Oubary’s Black Armoured Division said, grabbing her shoulders. Mira tried to politely refuse, but another soldier had come along and while laughing vulgarly forced Mira onto their shoulders.

“Hold up, she’s mine.”

The first soldier called out laughingly, taking Mira back with his hands. It had only been an instant after when Mira, being tugged from both sides, raised a scream. The nearby Pashir stood up and, extending his hand sturdily as a log, lifted the soldier by the back of his neck. He flung him at the Black Armoured Division members who’d begun to gather. Several of them fell over and collapsed.

“Y-y…”

“You bloody slave. You askin’ for a fight?!”

As if treating this as a sideshow to the wine, the Black Armoured Division suddenly descended on them, and the slaves snarled back, all standing up to confront them. Naturally, the slaves’ feet were chained, but it turned into a grapple, a scuffle, and eventually an all-out brawl.

“T-This shitty bastard.”

A member of the Black Armoured Division picked up a spear leaning against the wall. While they were allies, the opponent was a slave so he didn’t hold back. At first, he thrust with the shaft of the spear, but Pashir landed on the table with near acrobatic display in his movements and made use of his chains to repel a second and third blow. Blood rushed to the soldier’s head and he readied the tip of his spear.

The instant he began to thrust forward, the soldier swooned and fell forward. Gowen was behind him with a vase of wine in his right hand.

“That’s enough!”

Forcing his way in was Gil. As expected, even the Black Armoured Division stopped moving.

“Do you intend on spoiling my ceremonious occasion? Everyone who participated in this fight gets the whip!”

Firing words of abuse as a drunk would, Gil kicked a nearby soldier’s knee and punched a war slave in the head. From his left and right, Shique and Gowen came in to restrain him.

“Let go of me! These insolent cretins are—!”

“Your highness, your highness. Please calm yourself.”

“Now now, let’s get to your bedroom. The night is late.”

The two imperial guards appeared to partly drag the prince, who wrought further curses, away from the hall.

And the following day, that incident turned to gossip within Apta spreading as far as the urban districts. 

The faces of the people exchanging whispers of rumours were marked with shock and unease at their future.

“It seems the prince himself also participated in the quarrel.”

“Will things be all right? The soldiers are already few, and here they are engaging in internal squabbles.”

“If the Garberan army leaves Apta like this, what’ll happen to us?”

“It’ll be all right. No war’s happening. See there? Don’t make those faces in front of the children.” 

Whether it was their ruler that would change or the country’s infrastructure that would change, the only thing that concerned the denizens was whether or not the change would function duly as a shield to protect them and guarantee peace of mind over their lives.

Unrest and dissatisfaction plagued not only the populace, but also the soldiers in question. However, Prince Gil’s proclamation in his drunken fit that ‘everyone gets the whip’ could not be enacted. They were not Gil’s personal soldiers.  They were no more than soldiers lent to him by Oubary and Odyne, and even as a prince, handling them as he pleased would cause problems for him in the distant future.

It was because they grasped this that they instead acted haughty. 

“Won’t you pass that message to his highness?”

Seizing the imperial guards were these superciliously spoken words.

“Those bloody slaves are mongrels who went against Mephius. I don’t plan to say anything against the prince’s tolerant treatment, but to have them dine in the same place as us regular soldiers is going a bit too far.”

“Beasts are useful because they are properly tamed. Wild as they are, they’ll only indiscriminately bare their fangs at enemies and allies alike.”

“—So they said.”

Orba recited the soldiers’ voices of dissatisfaction in front of Pashir and the war slaves. 

They were at the fortress yard in a spot separated through a stone wall used for military training. All of the slaves had both knees on the ground with the soldiers’ gleaming guns surrounding them. Orba stared at their faces smeared with sweat and dirt from having finished Gowen’s training.

“You sure are awfully hated. As things are now, friendly fire’s sure to happen the day battle occurs.”

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v03 119.jpg|thumb]]
“What are you trying to say?” Pashir said, ready to take a bite at him even now. “Are you saying it’s about time to have our heads?”

“I did tell you to watch your tone, Pashir.”

Orba approached the slave and jerked up his chin with a finger. His glaring eyes in close proximity; the blazing emotions together with the suppressed murderous intent that seemed to blast out; supposing the only one here were Pashir alone, assuming he held not a single sword or even a single arrow in his hand, and even with his legs fastened in chains, there was no doubt he’d sink his fangs into Orba’s neck, or wring his neck in a vise.

However, there were a good number of slaves present. Taking Pashir’s personality into account, Orba knew he wasn’t one to lose himself in his own emotions if it would mean bringing down his companions with him. 

“...Then, what is　it you want us to do?”

“It’s only one thing. Do as I say. And to add, should you carry out even just one task, you get money. Women even. If you hate following me, I’ll even set you free.”

“You wouldn’t,” Pashir gasped in disbelief.  

“There’s no way you don’t know about my Imperial Guards. They’re, the whole lot of them, all former sword slaves.”

The slaves exchanged glances. The reality of the imperial guards had an effect. Their faces were unsettled. They wavered. 

They, at one point, tried to raise the banner of rebellion together with Pashir. Of course, the reasoning being that they could no longer stand a slave’s treatment. It was because they were treated as beasts, living their days not knowing tomorrow that they determined it far better to throw themselves into a desperate struggle for their freedom despite the likelihood of losing their lives.

To say that freedom was standing before their eyes.

Orba viewed their faces in turn. Amongst them was Miguel Tes, whom he’d exchanged swords with at the founding festival. A man who displayed splendidly nimble skill during the uproar. Around his twenties, a handsomely faced swordsman originally not a sword slave, but fallen to one for the crime of attempted rebellion. If it were Pashir or Miguel, even if he gave them soldiers this instant, they would still carry out their respective duties, or so Gowen asserted.

“Stand, Pashir.”

Orba commanded, and then a soldier to whom he had given detailed instructions beforehand approached Pashir and undid his shackles. As Pashir stood up eyeing Orba suspiciously, another soldier came over carrying a complete Mephian outfit. Light armour, a steel helmet, and boots.

“Those are for you.”

“What?”

“I appoint you head of the slave corps. If you don’t like being called the slave corps, then Imperial Guard-supervised independent infantry unit. I’ll permit freedom within Apta to you alone. Be sure to watch over everyone.”

“Wait a second—Er, I-If you could wait. Why only me...?”

“I said it. You’re no longer a slave but a commanding officer of the foot soldiers. You also get a stipend. But you also have a responsibility to follow my orders. In the case you go against me, you will be judged by the Mephian law and I.”

Orba noisily paced back and forth in front of Pashir. Every one of the slaves watched over this development dumbfoundedly.


Possibly understanding the implied meaning Orba made—or rather, it would be Gil to him— his face reddened, then paled instead.

The slaves’ lives rested on his shoulders. Though he was permitted freedom, were he to try fleeing from Apta, responsibility would of course be pushed over to the slaves and they’d be executed. And also, they were no longer conspiring to rebel. No matter how much Pashir hated Gil and Orba, he wouldn’t easily throw away the freedom dangling in front of the other slaves, and he wasn’t foolish enough to commit such acts that would involve them in.

“Mira.”

At that point, Orba called out Mira and had her help fit Pashir’s outfit. Amidst the strange ruling silence, after Pashir was outfitted as a swordsman, Orba drew his own sword from his waist. A light swish accompanying the swing, the tip of the sword pressed against Pashir’s neck.

“I’ll give this sword to you,” Orba said in a whisper. “Wield it only to protect your own body and when I give you my orders. This sword is to kill enemies. But depending on how you use it, it might kill you. Your life, your personality, your entire dignity.”

“—”

Pashir remained silent. His animalistic, pointed eyes fixed on Orba with traces of doubt and unrest he was unable to keep off his face. However, he was no more disturbed than necessary. 

''He’s a hard to get man.''

Able, and a man capable of standing at the centre of a group sharing the same goal.

“I’ll have Mira guide you to your own room. It also has an exclusive bed, though it might be a bit hard.”

“Prince, did you bother testing it yourself?”

Shique, who had been watching the entire conversation, interrupted. Orba laughed.

“It’s much better than sleeping outside. That’s no place to bring a woman along.”

Indifferent to the blushing Mira and leaving the rest to the soldiers, Orba left the training site. 



Orba immersed himself in his own tasks oblivious to the whispered rumours in the streets and fortress interiors.

The next day, he left the fortress in the early morning. Together with Bane and several imperial guards, he made the rounds inspecting within Apta. 

Because the prince had personally gone out, the neighbouring villages were pressed to greet him. To further note, their group included a single noble who had accompanied them from Solon and was appointed as the Apta<!--Aptan?--> administrative official, charged with management of the forest resources. He was Kalgan, third son of Julius, feudal lord of Idoro. Kalgan, who had experience in logging as well as lumbering, met with the so-called lumbermen groups at the villages.

“Your highness, I’ve been thinking of gathering the leaders from all the villages and creating an ordered system from scratch.”

“I’ll leave it in your hands.”

Until two years ago, Kalgan had been commander of the supply division serving the veteran general, Rogue Saian. However, he had suffered an injury to his right leg in the war with Garbera and had been removed from the front lines since then. Nobles who did not succeed the house either became soldiers or their family’s assistant. With a low outlook and an absence of a satisfying job, the prince had come in to personally nominate him and assign him this post. Many of those carrying out the administrative duties were nobles sharing similar circumstances to Kalgan’s. 

Of course, this was also a result of the information Orba collected inside the royal palace. In this way, he collected those who strived to better themselves and aspired to work. Particularly, this was a chance where they might be recognised by the prince, and thus steal a march ahead of their brothers who had succeeded the house. Each of them burned with zeal.

“There was someone called Peewee the Piper,” Orba mentioned to Gowen at the time they listed the officers and sons of nobles that would travel with them to Apta.

“A person with absolutely no skill in using a sword or gun, only good with his tongue. No one paid him any attention, but his lies held a certain mastery to them. I dispatched him to propagate false information against Guhl. Peewee was enthusiastic and did a great job with it. For those like him, it was exactly because no one else recognised them that getting them to think there was someone who paid them attention became their greatest driving force to work.”

“I get what you’re saying. My years of experience have proven that without a doubt.”

Having also received Gowen’s approval, Kalgan’s name had been added to the list amongst the names of the many old men already crossed out.

Outwardly, Orba feigned the carefree fool seeming to enjoy himself in the villages’ warm reception.

''There isn’t anyone I know, huh.''

Just a little farther and he’d reach his hometown village. Of course, it didn’t exist now, and even if it did there likely wouldn’t be a single person he recognised there. But he wanted to see it with his own eyes, to set foot on it with his own feet.

''The last time was when I went to bring mom back was it.''

At that time, he was attacked by some run-of-the-mill soldiers and saved by Ryucown. And pulling his mother’s hand, he escaped to the next neighbouring village, which Oubary’s unit set fire to. 

Orba glanced to the side at Bane, whom he had brought along with him. He was being offered wine by the villagers and grinning broadly. It appeared there wasn’t a single ripple in his emotions at how he had once burned down these people with his own hands.

“By the way Orba,” Gowen secretly whispered into his ears. “Why did you purposely have Shique and the others go separate places at the same time? It’s dangerous with the bandits appearing around here. Isn’t it better to have them patrol together?”

About the same time Orba’s group left the fortress, he had sent Shique and a separate party of Imperial Guards southwards. Krau, the slave girl he borrowed from Zaj, and Pashir were also with them.

“Because it would draw more attention to our grand departure. We don’t want them suspecting their objective.”

“You speak like there’s a spy amongst us.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there was. With the evacuation of the Garberan people, Apta should be flooded with people coming in and out these few days.”

“Your wit’s hard at work.”

“Stop it. —And also, have you noticed?”

“What?”

“The villages haven’t spoken about any bandits.”

After making a face of realisation, Gowen looked at Orba with eyes as if he’d seen something dreadful.

“...Certainly, if a group of bandits big enough to attack a merchant ship is roaming around, there’d be a high chance the villages would suffer damage. Or, even supposing that they weren’t attacked, they’d be driven by the unease of having an armed group of that size in their territory. And in spite of that, they have not uttered a single word to Apta’s new feudal lord, the prince.”

“Which would mean this strays outside of Zaj’s predictions. They’re no washed-up thugs from the west. Most likely, they’re Mephians.”

Their group returned to the fortress before sunset.

In front of the castle gates, they came across Shique and the rest who likewise appeared to be returning.

“How did it go?”

“My lord, I’m dead tired.”

Krau said, her body certainly fatigued. But as she delivered today’s results to Orba with her hands, his eyes lit up.

“You did a great job. Feast to your heart’s content. Pashir, you worked hard as well.”

“...No, it was no trouble.”

At that time, Orba spotted a strange sight at the garden near the castle gates. Several swords were thrust into the ground. He assumed it was likely some master swordsmith burying his failed works. However, that wasn’t anything of concern to him. There were many things he still needed to do.

And from up above in a spire, Noue Salzantes intently observed their situation.