Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume2 Chapter4 (section)

===Part 3===
The following day.

Through a small window chiselled into a stone wall, Orba watched the progress of the gladiator games. He was in the waiting room for gladiators. As he held the status of a slave in this situation, he was placed in the same anteroom as the other sword slaves, but his being an Imperial Guard placed him in a narrow, but specially prepared room. Of course, his feet were also free of chains.  

Just as when he had previously come here with Ineli and the others, a great number of games were simultaneously taking place. And yet to be seen amongst them was Orba’s match, whose turn was soon to follow suit.

“Over here please.”

A stadium slave girl entered the room and lay down his equipment. He recognized this girl. She was the girl who carried tea over to them when he came here with Ineli and company. Her refreshingly orderly features had left an impression on him.

She assisted Orba in putting on the leather armour. He inserted the sword as one would in the olden days into a round shield, and wore clothing and sandals that also seemed well past the times.

“These are some pretty old equipment.”

“They bear the symbol of Clovis’ era. There’s likely none who actually know if the gladiators of ancient times had taken part in this appearance. But it’s a matter of setting up the mood.”

He found something humourous in the way she shrugged her shoulders. Somewhat intrigued, he asked for her name, and Orba received ‘Mira’ as her reply. And in doing so, she fidgeted around, as if there was something she wanted to say.

“You are a person belonging to the prince’s Imperial Guard, correct? It is rude for someone like me to request for you to pass on a message, but if you were to happen to have the chance, could you extend my gratitude towards the prince?”

“Gratitude?”

“For offering his aid to Pashir-sama.”

With her face slightly flushed, Mira exited the room.

''Oh?''

Pashir seemed to be hard-headed and the type that was uncanningly popular amongst women.

Once he was alone Orba, just as he had done in the past before a match, leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.

''So I’m here again.''

''So I’m here ‘again’.''

Though he planned to keep a hold on his thoughts, his emotions had wormed their way out and left Orba listless. Early morning, Ineli and the rest had, before Prince Gil, invited him to observe the festival with them. It was to watch none other than the gladiator games, but of course, Orba turned them down, claiming he felt heavy-headed.

''Ineli did say she saw me at Ba Roux—''

That would be the time the Sozos turned violent. He was surprised to find the prince himself had also come. This meant he was still alive at that time.

''Could the prince have possibly been killed by Fedom? Did he plan to make me a body double from the start and has been waiting for this chance all along?''

His thoughts were in pieces, and he couldn’t concentrate the least bit. Then, Pashir’s name was called out repeatedly.

Orba snuck a glimpse and saw Pashir was in the middle of a one-on-one fight. He fought in a well-controlled manner, just like the last time Orba had seen him. He triumphed through three matches unscathed. And before he had any time to admire it, Orba’s turn was up.

His name was called by the guard and he exited the room. The other slaves were crammed into a series of antechambers. All their eyes followed Orba. From the front, from the sides, from all the way around the back, gazes pierced him from all directions.

As he continued to walk down the passage, Pashir exited the stage and made his way here from the other end. With deep black coloured hair and moustache, his height was slightly taller than Orba, though he possessed a massive frame. Seeing it again, it could be considered the ideal proportionate body.

His breathing heaved and his eyes were bloodshot immediately following the battle. He crossed paths with Orba.

“...Damned dog.”

Pashir spat out at a moment’s notice. Orba turned around and saw the back of the bulky man. A branded bruise mark could be seen; the mark of an X with a line straight down the centre. Orba’s back, likewise, bore that same mark. The mark of a slave.

“You damned Mephian dog. You better not lose until you face me. I’ll break you into pieces with these hands.”

Pashir spoke without turning back. Orba saw that mark burn up with his will and passion as it faded into the distance.

''So that’s how it is.''

Pashir was a slave. Granted, he had his own circumstances that led him to become one, but judging from the way he spoke, he hated Mephius. And aside from the Mephians, he hated the one praised as a hero, the one who had become an Imperial Guard.

Though it was an absurd argument, right now it served as Orba’s shackles. It would be difficult to gain Pashir’s trust like this. And that he had gone out of his way to cross paths with Orba sparked a certain conviction within him.

''If it’s like ‘this’, there’s a number of ways I go about this.'' 

Just before he came out the arched entranceway, a bright light flashed at him and with each step he took, the light filled up the large ring, until the ring in its entirety was painted white.

“It’s Orba!”

“It’s the Iron Tiger!”

Cheers roared down on him like a tidal wave, overwhelming Orba from every angle.  

Even those in the first row were situated so far and high away from Orba, that even his face seemed smaller of a grain of rice, and unable to see him, they crammed the seats full in their zeal to get a better view.

Memories of the times when he stood straight out in the open as he worked himself into a sweat battling vividly came back to him. Each time his heart beat, his muscles pumped up, as if every nerve bundled into that single fibre.

“Imperial guard Orba, forward!”

Orba’s opponent was  a man named Miguel Tes. He passed off as a hopeful up-and-coming gladiator, and according to Shique’s impression of his first match,

“He’s a smart gladiator that sticks to the basics.”

So it seemed.

“If you’re gonna do it, do it with resolve.”

Orba recalled how the day before, Gowen had repetitively nagged this to him.

He was first opposed to Orba participating in the tournament. “You haven’t wielded a sword for over a month. You should know that winning through a series of battles in the arena won’t be likely,”—Gowen reprimanded Orba with a sigh, well aware of his stubborn streak. 

“Don’t make light of your opponent just because he’s your typical gladiator. Rather, it’s because they’re like this that makes them strongest in their final moments. No matter how strong you get, how great you become, never forget the basics. Every technique, every scheme, every eye-catching killer move out there is founded on the basics. And maintain your composure.”

Gowen had even intruded into the prince’s room and annoyed him to no end. “If you do this, you won’t die.”

''I know that.''

He walked towards the centre of the Solon arena and faced Miguel Tes. Blond hair and blue eyes, aged near twenty, he was a man with handsome features. His blue eyes looked straight at Orba and a faint smile could be eyed at the corners of his mouth. His current profile in the games was ten matches and ten wins.

“My best regards.”

Miguel greeted him without a hint of hesitation. Orba never once replied back to gladiators who greeted him in this way. He stayed silent this time as well.

“Ryucown should be the strongest of the Garberan knights right?” the young man bluntly pointed out, and then further continued speaking. “He’s also the man Mephius is most afraid of. Which would mean up against any Garberan knight, any Mephian soldier, you who defeated him would still be stronger. There’s no better match I could ask for.”

He smiled and revealed his white teeth. His composure seemed to indicate he had already experienced more than over fifty battles.

“If he beats that Miguel, his popularity will skyrocket even outside of Solon.”       	
  
Today, Ineli was also seated in the exclusive seating area for nobles. She enjoyed herself in the front row as a slave girl poured tea out for her.

“That’s a nice expression on him. He has brains, and I’m sure many women want to support him.”

“As if.”

Baton Cadmos, who sat next to her, said. The fat Troa stood at the stands completely engrossed in buying food.

“And? Is he Orba? I thought so, but isn’t he fairly thin? Or rather, isn’t he just a kid?” Baton arrogantly spat out.

His attitude towards Ineli was clearly different from when Gil was around. But Ineli didn’t really feel the need to nitpick at it.

“Isn’t he just a returning gladiator who’s full of himself? Well, I’d like to see how he lives through this. I’ve always been thinking it was impossible that no matter where he went and who he faced, he was always the stronger. There’s no way a single person can be that resourceful.”

“But, he killed a dragon before my very eyes.”

“That’s also suspicious. It’s a ploy to liven up the crowd, not to mention the dragon was also drugged...Ow!”

Ineli stepped on Baton’s feet with as hard as she could, causing him to jump up. Ineli glared at him the whole time.

“Really, I was attacked! It’d be different if I was in on it.”

She brushed him off with the swing of a hand, as if Baton was asking for it.

“Hmph. Well, why don’t I take a look at his skill then. The skills that Miguel showed yesterday were fairly good.”

She was aware that the crowd was already chanting Miguel’s name. Because he had caught the eyes of the people of Solon within this stage filled with gladiators, it proved his ability was the real deal.

''Well, you’ll just have to see for yourself then.''

Her plump lips formed a smile. The cheers calling out Orba’s name were also loud. But they only knew him in name. A sense of superiority welled up within her, knowing this hero had personally saved her.

On the other end, placed opposite the seating area for the Mephian nobles, was a seating area for guests where the Garberan messenger, Noue Salzantes, was present. He looked on in the midst of the heated enthusiasm, maintaining a refreshingly beautiful appearance that women would die for.

“Begin.”

The one-on-one fight between Orba and Miguel commenced. Miguel promptly tried to dive in. However, that was a feint, and he had only stamped out his forefoot. Orba quickly leapt backwards. Miguel shrugged at the overly excessive response and invited laughter from the spectators.

Only one person.

“See ''that''?”

Ineli smirked, as if she knew everything. When Miguel tried to go forward, Orba retreated back. His back hunched, he continued to maintain a distance that allowed him to gauge his opponent’s move.

“He’s like a cat,” Baton laughed. Ineli ignored him.

Miguel dashed in in all seriousness. And Orba also leapt back, hoping to gain distance. But this time, Miguel did not stop his feet. He demonstrated excellent footwork that made it seem almost as if he were being drawn in to Orba, and pressed on.

Two, three times, blades flashed between the two. Orba seemed to have forced the blows back, but Miguel was steadily shortening their distance. Orba’s feet stopped. Miguel’s attack, disguised as a feint, had finally reached his mask.

The crowd gasped in amazement at how in that instant, Orba was within hand’s reach of Miguel. It was not that the sword had reached the mask so much as Orba stepping in, resulting in the tip of the sword thrusting itself against the mask into a forceful halt.

At a distance where even their hilts were side by side, the slightly startled Miguel hoped for a contest of brute strength. In this moment of hope, Orba once more leapt back. Miguel having exerted his strength, stumbled forward. Orba’s sword came sweeping down on him. The series of skilfully employed bodily manoeuvres left Ineli wide-eyed.

At the same time, the shrill clang of metal sounded off. In an immediate attempt to defend, Miguel’s sword was sent flying in the air. He fell, hands and knees on the ground. As Orba gripped his sword again in an attempt to put an end to the battle, Miguel slammed his fists onto the ground a second time. That was the signal for surrender.

“Oooh.” Gasps absent of despair and praise were let out from the vicinity.

Orba looked up at his surroundings.

In the arena, assuming a situation where the match was decided and the loser’s life was intact, the outcome of his life was left to the audience’s discretion. If the majority gave the thumbs-down in dissent, the loser’s life would mercilessly be brought to an end. Conversely, if the majority of crowd arose and waved their hands in chorus, he would for the present, be exempt from death.

There were many instances where popular gladiators as well as those swordsmen who displayed a brilliant match were allowed to live.

But even if that were the case, should the thrill of the moment be found to be particularly lacking, or the audience unsatisfied with the amount of carnage, they would desire a brutal ending.

By a stroke of good fortune, Miguel received a lot of support and was spared. Orba flung his sword away and left the side of the loser. Orba had displayed an overwhelming difference in ability, but the crowd was instead perplexed by the sudden conclusion.

“Did you see that? Did you, Baton, Troa? His overwhelming strength!”

The only one crying out in excitement was Ineli. “Yeah,” Baton replied, not particularly too happy about it. And Troa, who hadn’t the faintest idea of the rules of the arena simply nodded in agreement.

What Baton found most displeasing was how her eyes moistened and her cheeks dyed red. He suspected it did not result from bloodlust. And in fact, Ineli was unusually worked up. While watching Orba’s fight, the scene that unfolded in Ba Roux vividly came back to her.

At the time the Sozos approached her, she felt nothing but fear. The silhouette of the masked gladiator after saving her, as she slumped down onto the floor and looked up at him, was forever etched into her memory. She was a girl tired of everyday life and always in pursuit of thrills. Thinking back to that scene, her heart throbbed and a pleasurable feeling filled within.

However, while she supported the masked gladiator, she also hated him. He had not spared her a single glance and left her there when he saved her from the dragon. And to add further insult, he offered his hand to that foreign princess of all things, just when Ineli had only been one step away from striking her a blow that would humiliate her beyond redemption. She could not forgive him for that.

''If you’re going to win, win with a bang. I want you recognized by everyone as a hero.''

''And when you die, die a dog’s death. Then I’ll tear that mask off your dead body.”

These two conflicting feelings clashed, stirring up a tempest of emotions, but Ineli could still feel her body trembling from the sway of a pleasant sensation.

“I wonder if he can’t somehow be invited to tonight’s party. It would be improper if I personally sent over a messenger. Baton, can’t you do something about it?”

Many gladiators were invited as guests to the nightly parties hosted in the palace and noble residential halls during the festival. And by inviting the highly popular gladiators, the nobles elevated their standing.

“Can’t you just ask the prince to do it?” Baton replied, not the least bit interested.

“He is the prince’s imperial guard after all.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m asking this because I can’t rely on my brother,” Ineli said with a pout.

Troa smiled with a kebab plastered against his face. “He’s feeling unwell again. He must have been scared stiff from the battlefield.”

“Ah, forget it. That’s right! Maybe I could ask Fedom. He’s the director of the Gladiator guild, right? I wonder if I could negotiate something with him about Orba.”

Even as they were talking, the next set of gladiators came out and proceeded to bet their lives on their sword.

After that, Orba fought two more matches. He was pit against a golden haired animal, supposedly transported over from the eastern lands, of which his name took after, a tiger, and then crossed swords against gladiators in a two for one.

Both ended in satisfying victory. This was different from when he placed himself in the foreign environment that was the palace. In a battle where he held a sword in hand, he had nothing to fear.

His unwavering display of ability did not fall short of the spectators’ expectations, but the way he went about the battles were somewhat plain and left the arena-loving citizens of Solon slightly on the unsatisfied side.



The day’s gladiator games finished before sunset. Orba did not return to the palace this night and requested the supervisor of the camp to sleep in the same room as the slaves. His stated reason was that returning there every time would be annoying.

Orba joined the slaves at the dining location. The barely clothed men sitting on the stone benches handed out the plates that the slave girls would fill with what small meals they had. While eating his meal bare-handed, Orba thought to himself how he hadn’t experienced this in a while, and found it strangely amusing how this environment evoked a feeling of nostalgia.

There was little to no talking. They were all people sent in by slave companies from various regions. Certainly, it would be strange to see them happily talking away when they would be forced to kill one another the following day, but the current atmosphere was somehow different. Like the previous day, they were all conscious of Orba. But no one called out to him. They only continued in silence.

Orba glimpsed at Pashir who was seated opposite him. He was once again looking in Orba’s direction. When their eyes met, he would immediately raise his empty cup into the air and Mira would rush over in a trot carrying a vase and pour water into the cup.

The man apparently supervising the slaves showed himself temporarily, but left without a word. Just as their meals were about to come to an end, Pashir suddenly spoke up.

“The likes of you coming here has had one good thing happen.”

Orba stared half gapingly, without a clue as to what Pashir was saying.

“The warden always drives us out, but he held himself back with the likes of you, an Imperial Guard being here. Thanks to that, we’ve had our fill of time to eat.”

Pashir gave a hearty laugh and everyone similarly chimed in.

A short while after they quieted down,

“Why have you come here? You are a hero of Mephius. Are you that confident in killing others?”

“I was ordered to come. What else could it be? Don’t speak as if I have the same tastes as a slave.”

Orba purposely denied their claims and stood up from his seat. He alone was the only one without chains fastened to his feet. Then just as he was about to leave,

“There’s no difference between you or us. Even if your feet aren’t wrapped in chains, if you were ordered to kill, then you’re the same as a slave. I’d say you’re just a beast in chains made to kill in public.”

“Shut up.”

After raising his voice, he walked off in large strides. 

Shortly after leaving their midst, Orba’s feet stopped as he lost himself in thought. He harvested from the short exchange just now.
 
''Pashir resents Mephius. He hates it.''

This plan then, would not serve to benefit the Mephian nobles.

''Did Oubary and Zaat propose this plan while keeping their names under wraps, or is this Noue’s scheme to retaliate against Mephius?”

Tomorrow, Orba was set to take part in a match on dragonback. It would be a match between two fighters saddled onto a medium-sized Baian.

Of course, Orba had’nt set foot here only to kill other slaves. He needed to make full use of what little time he had.  

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