Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume9 Chapter6 (section)

=== Part 2 ===

The next day, Gil spent the entire day looking around Jozu Fortress. During that time, the succession of goods continued to arrive.

When, while still broad daylight, they saw him and his men sharing a toast from the contents of a wine cask that had only just arrived, Walt’s subordinates exchanged whispered comments.

“Is he really the crown prince?”

“With that kind of behaviour, he can’t be the prince.”

“No, if he was an impostor, he’d make sure to behave like a real crown prince and absolutely wouldn’t be so unguarded.”

“At any rate, Crown Prince Gil was known as a ‘fool’, ya know…”

“Shh! If by any chance he’s the real thing and he hears you…”

By and large, Gil seemed to spend the entire day enjoying himself. But when dusk fell, he suddenly complained in a deliberately loud voice that – 

“This is boring.”

As soon as they heard that he had lost interest, Walt’s men were suddenly thrown into a panic. They ran around calling at the villages around the fortress and scraped together whatever pretty young girls and villagers that had any kind of talent they could find. That night, they held a small banquet to welcome the prince.

In that way, they were able to prolong his stay by a day, but the fortress soldiers were wracking their brains to figure out how on earth to arrange an entertainment programme for him from then on, when,
“I want to see what you can do, since you’re the ones defending the fort,” Gil once more abruptly brought something up.

It was in the early afternoon of the second day.

“The attendants I brought with me were hand-picked as the best among the Imperial Guards. How about it? You could have a contest with them.”

That was equivalent to telling them to have gladiatorial contests with the Imperial Guards. The soldiers were naturally taken aback.

“I’m not saying to fight with weapons. You, my friends, are probably thinking that you’re not gladiators. How about bare-handed wrestling?”

“That’s harsh, Your Highness,” the giant swordsman Gilliam laughed out loud. He had officially become an Imperial Guard in Apta. “We’re called Imperial Guards now, but we were all gladiators. There’s no way we’ll lose to them and they’ll just be disgraced at having been beaten by former sword slaves. Who’d want to get into a fight with absolutely no advantage for them?”

The Imperial Guards all roared with laughter.

Most of the soldiers at Jozu Fortress only had experience of doing what Walt told them to on the battlefield. One could tell at a glance that hostility had started gleaming in their eyes. Besides, they were under strict orders from battalion Commander Walt to induce the Prince to stay at all cost. They accepted the contest that he had forced on them.

From then on, the contest was held until the sun set.

The first to go were soldiers who gave an impression of strength, but after several of them were pinned to the ground in no time at all by the former gladiators, people with confidence in their own skills were clamouring to barge in. Even the one who, from the looks of it, had been acknowledged as the boss of the infantrymen within the fortress, was as helpless as a baby in Gilliam’s hands.

Every time one of the soldiers from the fortress lost, a man who seemed to be a company commander would yell for someone to get a certain person, until finally, even those among the guards on lookout who seemed somewhat skilled were mobilised. The former gladiators heaped victory on victory but they were much fewer in number compared to the fortress’ soldiers and, after a series of bouts, they were starting to show signs of fatigue. That being the case, more and more of them suffered defeats, so that the fortress soldiers became increasingly charged up.

“You did it!” the crown prince clapped his hands in delight. “But after all, there aren’t that many of them. I’m not saying that to make excuses, but the fairest way to settle this would be to have a deciding match between the strongest from either side.”

And so it was decided that whoever was the strongest among the Jozu soldiers would compete in the next round.

“Our side will send out Pashir. Oi, someone run back to Apta and get that guy here.”

Since the runner-up from the Gladiatorial Championship was going to come, the feeling of competition became even more heated.

That evening, a new group of visitors arrived at the fortress’ front gate. Because there were a lot of them, and also for one other reason, the sentries were wary; however, as the entire group was composed of women, and as they also explained that their visit had been requested by the prince, they were soon allowed to pass inside. The other reason for the soldiers’ caution was because the women were all Zerdians.

As well as the people, wine caskets, and cages hung with curtains were also carried in at the same time. They were being pulled by several medium-sized Houban dragons, but what was surprising was that the one leading the Houbans was a woman.

The group entered and headed towards the soldiers, who were completely exhausted from the fights. They were all beautiful young women. It was as though the stench of sweat and men that had been hanging over the fortress had been swept away and a cool breeze carrying tinkling laughter had blown in instead.

“They're a troupe of Zerdian dancing girls,” Gil raised his voice to welcome them.

Prompted by the Prince, the dark-skinned women started whirling and dancing throughout the fortress, playing their flutes all the while. The soldiers’ eyes were glued to those bewitchingly supple limbs and ostentatiously contorted bodies.

“This is the least I can do to show you all my appreciation. Zerdian woman aren’t bad to look at, right? Come, drink, sing. The dancing girls are dancing and twirling for the brave heroes.”

For most of the Mephians, it was their first time seeing western dances and hearing the expressive sound of their flutes. Their weary bodies and minds seemed to be lapping up the sights and sounds. As they, of course, also did with the alcohol that Gil had had prepared.

The banquet that was a complete change from the wrestling contest grew lively. There were incidents in which someone mistook the Zerdian dragon-handler for a dancing girl and tried to come on to her only to get kicked; but, other then that, everyone drank and sang a lot, with the soldiers even throwing off their leather armour to join in a large dancing ring. 

The Prince was merrier than anyone, pressing drinks on the soldiers and throwing his arms around the shoulders of the dancing girls to sing together. The soldiers who were under orders to detain him there felt that it was their duty to take part in the revels, and so continued to eat and drink without restraint.

It was probably the most boisterous night that Jozu Fortress had known since being built.

And so.

The night wore on.

Most of the exhausted soldiers were lying collapsed all around. Dancing girls crowded flocked around those who still retained some of their senses and offered them wine or pressed them into dancing with them, so that the number of victims kept increasing.

“What’s this, you guys, you’re pretty undisciplined,” Gil laughed flippantly as he himself staggered along between people. “Even though you’ll be going sightseeing after this – Oi, get it ready,” he shouted in a loud voice and clapped his hands.

At which, cages with a pulley were brought from the front gate. Those who still had some consciousness left strained their eyes towards these huge cages, wondering what he had in mind this time.

But when the curtain was opened, what leaped out completely overturned any of their expectations.

A row of soldiers in full armour and weaponry, complete with guns and swords.

While the soldiers raised their voices in astonishment, about fifty jumped out of the cage and, as though their deployment had been determined beforehand, they quickly ran to every strategic point in the fortress and, encountering almost no opposition, they seized complete possession of it in no time at all.

There were three cages in total. The last man to come out of them had a body no less powerful than that of a lion and he walked calmly towards Gil.

“Did you call for me, Your Imperial Highness?”

Pashir.

Gil laughed. “You’re a bit late. I was going to have them choose the strongest soldier in the fortress, but... Everyone’s completely wasted.”

“Then should we wake everyone up?”

The soldiers serving at the fort were rounded up in one place. Since the majority of them had fallen asleep and those who were still conscious were worn out and had been made to drink far too much, nobody put up any resistance. Naturally, most of their weapons had been confiscated.

“W-What,” Walt’s adjutant shouted, although apparently unable to articulate. He was not tied up but he was surrounded on all sides by Gil’s armed soldiers. “W-What ish thish, Your Highness! D-Did you d-desheive us?”

“I’m having you take some time off,” Gill said between hiccups. “We won’t take your lives. Right then, tomorrow, you’ll be leaving for Birac. Anyone who has luggage to take had better gather it up now.”
There was not a single lie in Gil’s words. Without a single exception, the soldiers were sent away. They were forced to get themselves ready without being able to fight back.

Seated in the reception hall on the ground floor of the fortress, Gil kept an eye on the proceedings as the soldiers scuttled away. Not far from him, Pashir was hurling out instructions to the men deployed throughout the fort. It had only been five days since Gil – or rather, Orba – had reshuffled the unit centred around Pashir into the Imperial Guards, but it looked as though he had already efficiently unified his subordinates.

A Zerdian woman came up to them. Unusually for her, and so as to put the soldiers off guard, Hou Ran was wearing make-up and was dressed up. Her long-sleeved, long-hemmed clothes and the veil over her face cleverly concealed her scars.

Orba was going to give her his thanks but, faster than he could open his mouth, she stomped on his foot with all her strength.

“Drunkards tried to fondle my breasts three times.”

“What? W-Who on earth would do such a thing?” Orba asked with the pressure still weighing down on his foot.

“The expression in their eyes were the same as the Prince’s right now.”

With an air of having said all that she wanted to say, Ran suddenly turned around. Pashir was facing away to one side, his shoulders quivering.

The conclusion was that within one night, Jozu Fortress passed to Gil Mephius.

The next day, the full-scale transfer of supplies and military personnel began.

As far as Orba was concerned, one of the biggest gains was that they had gotten ahold of a great many ships. There were no large air carriers big enough to transport huge groups of soldiers, but there were three each of both the cruisers and the high-speed crafts that could carry four or five people. Furthermore, there were reserves of precious ether since the base often served as a relay station for airships.

He had not only summoned soldiers from Apta, but also several administrative officials. Among those was Kalgan, who had been serving Orba since long before. At Orba’s prompt orders, they rushed to contact all the nearby villages, assembled groups of woodcutters who made their livelihood by felling trees and working the timber, and, just as before, organised a hierarchy with Kalgan at its summit.

Incidentally, although every last one of Walt’s soldiers had been driven away, the non-combatants that were the servants had remained at the fortress. As ‘Crown Prince Gil’, Orba personally addressed them as much possible, so that even though their safety was at greater risk than before, they felt a sense of security about not having their jobs taken away from them.
 


Meanwhile, Walt had arrived at the trade city of Birac and had met with Fedom.

“I don’t remember summoning you,” he had said, his face momentarily bewildered.

As Walt explained about the Prince’s visit to the fortress, Fedom’s expression had changed in the blink of an eye.

“Fool!” He had yelled so forcefully that his saliva went flying. “You were tricked by the impostor. Even if Jozu Fortress is falling to flames right this very moment, I won’t be held responsible for it. It was all because of your stupidity!”

Could the shock Walt received then even be measured?

Before long, news arrived by the airships that were distributed along the highway for carrying messages that his subordinates were heading in a column towards Birac.

When Walt heard the full story from them, his face boiled red with a rage that was no less than Fedom’s.

“T-That, that swine!”

He did not seem to hear anyone’s voice as he threw himself on a horse and galloped towards Jozu Fortress. A dozen of his men, thrown into a panic, chased after him but half were unable to keep up with him and got left behind.

It was late at night two days later that he finally reached Jozu.

“Impostor Prince. You and your cowardly tricks! Come out here. Come out and fight me fair and square, one on one!” He yelled as his horse raced around the fort’s circumference.

Along the fortress’ outer wall, soldiers stood in a row, holding torches aloft. With the light from the flames shining on Walt, all of them threw vulgar jeers at him. Walt’s winsome face was now entirely like that of a demon.

Orba emerged and looked down at Walt’s galloping figure. When Walt noticed him,

“So you’ve come out, you cur. Well, come on. I won’t let your men interfere. Come and fight me!”

He raised his unsheathed sword and brandished in provocation. Orba smiled in spite of himself.

“He’s nothing if not bold, that man.”

“Should we aim our arrows at him?”

He held back the Imperial Guard who had suggested that and had Pashir sent for. The runner-up in the Gladiatorial Championship came rushing.

“That man,” Orba pointed to Walt, “seems to have been Clovis ten years ago. Can you do it?”

“If that is your order.”

Orba found it almost provoking how Pashir gave the impression of neither hesitation nor doubt.

“Shall I take his head?”

“Don’t put your life in danger. Apart from that, it’s fine to just rough him up.”

Pashir gave a single nod then left through the fortress’ main gate. When Walt saw him, he leaped from his horse.

“That damn coward. Is the impostor not coming out?”

“He’s the crown prince,” Pashir said calmly. “Did you seriously think that he was going to fight someone like you?”

“Fine, Brat. I’ll defeat you then drag that man out.”

At the same time, he took his stance with his longsword then slowly started closing the distance between them.

Under the flames lined up along the top of the wall, their two shadows were darker than darkness against the surface of the ground. When those shadows crossed one another – in that instant, both thrust towards the other.

There was a shower of blue sparks.

Walt’s physique had changed a lot since his time as a gladiator, but his skill with a sword still far surpassed that of an ordinary man. He was more agile than seemed possible with that body of his.

However Pashir’s ability was also far from ordinary. When he felt the other draw too near, he jumped back. Time and time again, Walt’s blade cut through empty air.

The blood had rushed to Walt’s head when he had gone racing towards the fortress. All of a sudden, he charged headlong.

The thought crossed Orba’s mind that they would see Pashir’s movements become much faster in response. It was the intuition of someone who had once crossed swords with him, and it was entirely correct.

Pashir drew a semi-circle that let Walt charge past him. The distance between them was so short that it almost seemed measured as to need only the barest of movements. Pashir’s sword extended to the side. Compared to Walt’s assault, it looked lax and dull, but the tip of his blade unerringly struck the back of Walt’s hand.

Walt collapsed forward. As he remained on his knees, groaning bitterly, the soldiers mocked him with their laughter and applause.

Orba lifted his hand and brought it to a stop,

“The match is over,” he announced loudly. “Now then, Battalion Commander, return to Birac. If you want to have a match with me, ask Folker to let you join the front. I’ll look forward to seeing you come at me with your sword drawn.”

Walt threw a glare in which pain and hatred was mingled towards Orba. But their was something of a lack of strength in his eyes. Setting aside his personal feelings, the man he was currently looking up at deserved praise for his attitude, determination, and his ability to take the fortress, so that Walt could no longer think of him as a mere fraud.

He borrowed the help of his subordinates, who had finally arrived rushing behind him, to get back on his horse, and left Jozu Fortress as fast as he could.