Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume9 Chapter4 (section)

=== Part 3 ===

By the time he was finally reaching the end of his round of greetings, the evening was fast approaching. But –

“Found you!”

“So this is where you were?”

The Twin Dragons Moldorf and Nilgif, followed by Lasvius, Helio’s commander of the dragoons, ran up to Orba.

As soon as he arrived beside him, Nilgif wound an arm that was just as thick as Gilliam’s around Orba’s shoulders and urged –

“Come join us. And no saying no.”

His breath already reeked of alcohol.

At Orba’s resigned expression, Lasvius stealthily whispered from behind him,

“Don’t worry. Tomorrow we have an informal war council with Sir Ax. Most likely about organising the troop of a thousand to be the reinforcements for Mephius. The Twin Dragons have already drunk plenty so you won’t have to keep them company for long.”
 


That was an outright lie.

The Twin Dragons of Kadyne, Helio’s Lasvius, as well as Orba and Gilliam, who had joined them at some point, were occupying the second floor of a comparatively large inn and were having platters of food and drink brought in one after another. Trade between Tauran and the north had just resumed and, on top of that, the various city-states had in turn presented gifts of food and wine to “Lord Ax, the leader of the west” so that in Taúlia, the mood of thrift that had accompanied the war only recently and suddenly turned into one of gaiety.

''What do you mean, ‘not for long’?''

Lasvius, the very one who had vouched for that, did not have a high tolerance for alcohol and had left in less than an hour; and Orba had the distinct feeling that the Twin Dragons had, from the start, no intention of letting him go until morning as they kept offering him wine cup after wine cup.

“It’s a contest,” he had been told, but apart from those involving swords, horses or a battle of wits, Orba had no concept of ‘contest’.

He was very much afraid of revealing his real identity if he got too muddled up but no matter how much he set his mind to not getting wasted, the more time passed, the more he became light-headed and he repeatedly had to shake off the drowsiness that was creeping into the back of his consciousness.

“So you were on a mission for the crown prince of Mephius?” Nilgif had been going over the same topic for a while now. “Is that sharp brain also something you learned from him? The etiquette and methods of war are probably different between the west and Mephius,” he nodded with conviction to himself as he thought it over. “Huh? Your glass is empty. Well then, have a refill.”

He started to fill the cup to the brim. It seemed that Nilgif had no patience for a situation in which the wine was not constantly flowing.

“No, I’ve had enough.”

“What’re you saying? I bet it’s because you still resent us for the time when we were enemies and haven’t opened your heart to us yet. Am I wrong? Right, we warriors are the sort that feel that whatever the past, once we drink together, we’re like comrades-in-arms who have had each other’s backs since long ago. Here, drink, come on, drink, just drink!”

Orba had long since passed his limit. How long had it been since they had entered this store? His sense of time was become increasingly vague and he finally succumbed to sleep, starting to nod like a boat bobbing up and down.

As soon as he noticed it, Nilgif made to slap him on the back to wake him up, but then, his eyes happened to fall on the mask.

Glancing around, miraculously, no one was looking that way. His brother Moldorf had only just left his seat. He must have gone to the kitchen to order something directly.

He softly cleared his throat once.

There was no sign of Orba waking up.

Nilgif gulped. Slowly, taking his time, he stretched out his large arm. A dark shadow fell on Orba’s mask. He still did not wake up. As he gradually extended his fingers, Nilgif felt the touch of iron.

“Sir Nilgif.”

A voice called out from behind and the Blue Dragon’s burly shoulders leapt up. Looking around, it was Gilliam with a bottle of alcohol in hand. Although they had not encountered him on the battlefield, the Twin Dragons had taken an instant liking to this Mephian soldier.

“What are you doing?”

“N-Nothing.”

“Then let’s have another drinking contest. Morning is still far away.”

“Just what I wanted.”

Hearing that exchange, Orba suddenly woke up. At some point, the Red Dragon Moldorf had also reappeared nearby.

“That was dangerous.”

“What was?”

“Weeeell, who knows. So, are you joining us?”

“No, I’ve had enough to drink.”

Instead, Moldorf invited Orba to go outside the inn and behind the building. Thinking that anything would do as long as he could escape from the alcohol, Orba quietly went along. The gentle touch of the night breeze felt good against his flushed skin.

As he was wondering what they were doing there, Moldorf exposed his lower half and vigorously spewed forth from it.

They were in Taúlia’s better residential area, in a slightly elevated location. Moldorf’s urine drew an arc, flew over the fence and disappeared among the flickering city lights beneath them.

“Go to the privy. Why come here especially?”

“It was jammed packed when I went earlier.”

Orba sighed but before long he too felt the urge to urinate and, in the end, started pissing outdoors alongside Moldorf.

Sometime later.

“This Gil fellow that you serve,” Moldorf asked abruptly. “What kind of man is he?”

“A man with many secrets.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Moldorf laughed. Because he was still urinating energetically as he shook, Orba leapt to one side.

This bravest of all the western generals had seen Orba’s face when he had removed his mask in the temple at Eimen. And he had, of course, been present that very day when Orba had appeared in Taúlia’s audience chamber as Gil Mephius.

“Conversely,” this time the question came from Orba, “how does the Red Dragon see that man?”

“He doesn’t give himself room to relax.”

“Room to relax?”

“Or rather, outwardly, he pretends to be relaxed. Taken the opposite way, that’s proof that his heart doesn’t have the leeway to be as composed as he pretends. Although the show he put on wasn’t bad, I haven’t accumulated all these years beneath my belt for nothing. The hidden side of such a heart is easy to read.”

“I see.”

Orba had already emptied his bladder but Moldorf was still going on.

“Moreover, it’s best not to create too much distance from yourself. If someone is always on their guard, even more than for the person himself, the hearts of those below them will shrivel. Being a prince is different from being a platoon leader. The number of lives they’re responsible for is different, and so is the number of people watching them.”

“…”

“I wonder if that was meant to be taken seriously.”

“That?”

“Sir Ax said that he wanted to have you marry the princess.” The momentum having finally abated, Moldorf jiggled his large body up and down while he laughed.

“Oh, King Ax did, did he?” Orba acted as though he was hearing about it for the first time.

Moldorf glanced at him sideways. ''So you didn’t fall for it?'' his expression seemed to say but then he immediately burst out laughing.

“It’s like what we were talking about earlier but above all, it’s a very good example. Take a look at Sir Ax. Does that lord even know how to create a distance? But that’s absolutely fine by me. His retainers and his people are also really carefree. It’s my first time coming here, but I’ll remember Taúlia with all the nostalgia I would my hometown.”
 


The next day, Gil Mephius bade his farewells to Taúlia’s court and, properly showing his face this time, he made his way to the air carrier, showered in cheers from the people.

That he sometimes swayed as he rode along, was it because the serious gun injury he had received had still not healed, even several months after the fact? And since his complexion was pale, it gave rise to needless speculation among the crowd that was seeing him off.

“It’s absolutely heart-rending that the crown prince of Mephius almost lost his life because of a base, cowardly vassal.”

“Even though he’s in this state, he came all the way back here for our master, Lord Ax. He’s such a gallant man.”

“Ah, he’s waving his hand this way! Prince, Prince Giiiil!”

Gil Mephius – which is to say, Orba, somehow managed his horse while enduring the violent nausea in his gut. It felt like his stomach was roiling like the sea in a storm every time he was jolted up and down on horseback, but even so, when the horse had taken a few steps beyond the castle gate, he suddenly turned his head over his shoulder and looked up high above his head.

Esmena Bazgan was at a castle window.

Orba nodded lightly and then once again faced forward.

Where he was headed was, of course, Mephius. Apta.

Nabarl would soon be arriving in Solon and would transmit the report of the crown prince’s survival. Which meant –

''Finally.''

The fight would start. Orba’s personal fight.

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