Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter1

Chapter 1: Iron and Blood

1.

The outcome was decided.

The amphitheatre of Ba Roux shook. The many spectators that were crowded together unanimously shouted out the victor’s name and stamped their feet, creating a racket that sounded much like a tidal wave.

While the winner was being bathed in the passionate and boisterous cheers, the one who had received the opposite fate lay motionless beside his feet. Eventually, the loser’s headless body was struck with a hook and dragged away by the hands of two slaves.

The sun was still glaring even though it was near evening. The spectators’ faces were covered with sweat and glittering brightly, as if someone smeared them with oil, and their eyes, too, were sparkling with bloodlust, as they anticipated the next fight to be yet another battle to the death. Whoever just won or lost didn’t stay on their minds for long. It was only the heat of battle that left an everlasting taste, stood in the air, and kept whirling around the arena.

“Go, go!”

“Do it, kill!”

Today was another success. Because the more virtuous people living in the city, to whom the admission fees were no more than about a child’s weekly allowance, were able to watch the games, over a thousand spectators were gathered.

The next match was a cavalry battle. Both men were armed with spears, emerging from the east and west gates, and crossed each other at great speed. At the second charge, one of the men got flung off of his mount and, as he scrambled to get up again, the other swiftly jumped off his own horse to give the finishing blow.

Up next were two barely clothed men, who started to grapple each other with their bare hands.

Sword-slaves, the men who were the so-called gladiators. In compensation for doing these public, life-threatening battles, with just a few days of living, these people were granted all the food they wanted. Some of them were already born as slaves, some had been thrown into the arena for committing crimes, and there were even those who had personally applied to cast themselves into this living hell.

But if gladiators get well-known enough to become veterans, they receive a different kind of popularity from the crowd. One of them, named Shique, was a handsome gladiator who was popular among women and had just won the brawling match. He was strangely pretentious, bowing in a way much like a nobleman would, and notably, shrill voices rose from the crowd.

“Are you watching, brother? Shique just won!”

It was the voice of a girl yet in the more tender years of age, who was sitting in one of the grandstands among the front row seats. High pillars, that rose from the corners in the left and right, supported a roof that covered the stand. Only those who were able to pay a large sum of money were able to view the match from those special seats.

From the looks of it, the young man resting his chin on his hands next to her, whom she called ‘brother’, seemed to be dissatisfied. With a long cloth wrapped around his head, the ends dangling from both the left and right just like a believer of Badyne, it looked like he was concealing his face from the glances of people around him.

“Ahh, it is as you say,” he said. “The gladiator you had your eye on won. Now, isn’t that enough? Can we hurry and get something to eat? This place is giving me a headache.”

“Don’t say silly things.”

Not at all worried about the youth’s clear boredom, the girl gave a fickle laugh.

The next fight had already started, and the young man eventually decided to stay after all, although he rested his cheeks on his hands again with a bitter look on his face. How much blood had to be splattered around, and how many sweaty muscles did she have to see before getting tired of it?

He occasionally stole a sidelong glance at the young girl’s white skin and beautiful face. She had an innocence that matched her age, but a strange sensual and mature beauty as well – it was a view much more charming than that of the savage fight below.

Then, after about two battles, a new stage was being set in the arena. One huge stake got established in the centre, and a single woman was fastened to the top. She was a beautiful woman. Purposely made to wear torn clothes, each time she writhed in pain, her breasts and thighs swayed about while whistles came from the heated male audience.

Even so, there wasn’t one woman among the crowd who was worried about the tied-up woman’s ungracious position. At the same time the stake got put up, a big cage with approximately the same height was being carried in.

Inside was a raging beast, that was roughly seven or eight metres long. It’s slimy, green scales were flickering in the sunlight. It was a large dragon. Bred through repeated selective breeding by humans, it was of a variety called ‘Sozos’ that Mephius also used in wars.

Its clenched, humongous teeth, and each of its claws extending from six legs, were just like sharp swords. Probably because it was drugged, it seemed to have a somewhat repressed ferociousness and dulled instincts, but being hit by that bulk would nevertheless cause serious injuries, and it looked like it could blow away the steel cage like a toy.

“Now then! Gathered ladies and gentlemen!”

While it didn’t break out of the cage but tried to press against it, suddenly an orator standing on an elevation began to speak over a loudspeaker.

“Next, is the start of our programme. Once, the great dragons that established our culture roamed on the earth’s surface, but they were just the same as the bloodthirsty beast we look down upon now. There is no need to fear. We are the brave souls, the purest of minds, that took over from the Age of Flight.(!) Not even by the dragon’s tusks and claws – not to mention its fearsome, terrible breath! – will we be outdone. Please, take a look at the evidence. On a terrifying false god’s mission to challenge these dragons of old, the figures of these brave men!”

From the eastern gate, a single gladiator stepped forward. In the man’s hands, who sported a muscular body, was an iron ball connected to a chain.

“Ballchain Verne!”

The audience’s cheers became even louder, for he was a gladiator with the intention to compete for either first or second place in Ba Roux. The man was about in his mid-thirties with dark skin, and he responded by waving a hand to the ladies and gentlemen in the audience. Then,

“It’s the Tiger!”

“Look, Iron Tiger Orba!”

A swordsman, also alone, walked out, but from the western gate.

He was a little eccentric, and there was little else that could be said about this young man, as the gladiator’s face was covered by a steel blue mask. As if imitating a tiger, small fangs protruded up from the lips, leaving only a small space for the mouth of this man named Orba underneath. Cut out into two splits were openings where the tiger’s eyes would’ve been, but naturally it was only Orba’s eyes peeking through. And, despite a tiger normally having rounded ears, the mask had pointed ends at both sides instead – it was almost as if horns were coming out from the corners.

However, it certainly caught attention.

He had no other outstanding character features, either. In comparison with Verne, he had an almost feeble body build, and he only held a simple, common longsword in his hand.

The spectators started ridiculing him, saying,

“Look at his thin body. Just one hit of the ballchain will completely smash him up!”

“They say he took off Meier the Baron’s head at the Arena of Tidan after only two strikes. Let’s see him do the same to our Verne. Go on then!”

“This Iron Tiger Orba,” the girl said, as her cheeks blushed with excitement. “Isn’t this his first appearance in Ba Roux? But he seems to be famous. Do you know of him, brother?”

“How should I know?”

“My, what a cold reply. Fine, if you’re so bored with being here, why don’t we have a little bet on this game? Maybe it’ll end up getting you a little interested.”

“A wager, is it? For what, and how?”

“Simple. Of those two about to fight, who do you expect to win?”

“That’s stupid. How’s that even a bet? Even I know the name of that Verne guy. And his physique is way better. Even an amateur can see that. Besides, no matter who I bet on, you will try to rip me off in the end anyway.”

“My, you’re a difficult customer! But that’s fine. You can just sulk away like that as long as you like. And I even thought of bringing you along so you could have a little distraction. But I got it, I understand – you hate spending time with Ineli. If that’s the case, I will never invite you again, don’t worry!”

The girl stiffly turned away her face, as the young man panickingly stopped resting his chin on his hands.

“W-Wait. I was wrong,” he said. “I’ll bet on that masked swordsman. That’s okay, right?”

“No. Ineli decided to bet on that swordsman first. You can take Ballchain Verne, brother.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I like him.”

Even though you can't see his face? – was what the young man was about to say, but he stopped himself in time. He couldn’t afford to displease her even more.

“Now then,” the orator said, raising his voice again. “Will Orba or will Verne take up the role of the hero and set that woman free? Or will these rivals be fighting in vain, as the cage breaks and this poor, beautiful lady ends up in the dragon’s stomach?”

From there on, the two swordsmen would battle, and the winner would rescue the woman – or, as the orator stated, ‘a certain third daughter from a ruined country’ – from the dragon’s clutches, and also earn a night of love-making. Or so the scene was set out to be.

The two men both stepped forward at the same time. As they approached each other, the lack in Orba’s physique became all the more apparent. Verne spoke in a voice that could be heard by those in the front row seats.

“So, you call yourself a tiger, huh? I’ve heard your name. But, there’s nothing more unreliable than a rumour. You can try to hide your face, but I can see the skin underneath. You’re still young, just a kid.”

Ballchain Verne’s thick lips, in proportion to the rest of him, bended into a smile.

“I’m sure the mask is just a bluff so people wouldn’t make fun of you. You’re not a tiger, you’re just a mangy cur! I’ll teach you what a real man’s battle truly is all about!”

Facing Verne, who was loudly laughing at his shoulders, Orba didn’t reply. Probably assuming his nerves were blown away, Verne gave a sneering look, took up a defensive stance, and slung the ballchain over his shoulder.

“Start!”

There was a pointed signalling voice, but it halfway disappeared into the further increasing sound of the audience’s cheers. In an instant, Verne made his move.

He wielded the iron ballchain with all his strength. At first, the masked swordsman was about to rush in, but, as if panicked by his sheer force, he quickly stepped back. There was a small spark as the iron ball chafed against the mask. It was enough for Verne to take pursuit of the stumbling Orba. The huge iron ball, which was much larger than a human head, approached with the howling of the wind, and Orba continued to avoid it by stepping back.

He rolled over the ground, excessively jumped aside, and finally bustled about by making an evasive gesture – which invited laughter from the spectators.

“Look at that, it seems the swordsman you like can’t get out of a tight spot,” the same young man said. “Or could it be that this fight isn't so fair and square?”

“You think?” the girl said, looking straight ahead as she put a finger to her plump and florid lips. “If that’s so, then why hasn’t the match ended yet?”

“That’s because his opponent keeps pitifully running from place to place.”

“I wonder why Verne can’t corner an opponent who so clumsily keeps running away.”

The young man wanted to say something in return but kept his mouth shut. As he watched, he noticed that Orba wasn’t outright retreating, but kept circling around his opponent while maintaining a fixed distance. And it looked like Verne was no longer able to attack and pursue his opponent so hastily either.

Probably because he lost his temper, Verne put all of his strength into tossing another blow. The iron ball flew past Orba’s shoulder and – although it seemed obvious to the bystanders that this was like a golden opportunity – he only returned a slight thrust with his sword, while once again taking his distance.

“Get serious!”

“Stop messing around!”

The audience stopped laughing and started jeering down at the arena. Not only at Orba, but also at Verne who didn’t seem able to take down his constantly fleeing opponent.

“You bastard!” Verne howled.

When he tried to rush at Orba diagonally, the girl suddenly raised her voice, “Ah!”, in surprise.

Orba, who had until now only retreated to the back, suddenly started to pitch forward. Stopping in his tracks, Verne, too, took the opportunity to strike another blow.

Orba widely tilted his body over to the right, avoiding the iron ball and, as he rotated on his left toe, flashed his sword in a diagonal uppercut. The moment the chain got cut apart, a strange, clear sound echoed throughout the arena, then Orba twisted his body again and swung his sword downward with the force of a thunderbolt.

Verne’s cranium was split in two and the giant collapsed soon after.

“M-Magnificent!” the orator cried.

However, because it had happened so swiftly and came with such an unexpected conclusion, the audience was looking rather flabbergasted. Although the awkward silence wrapped around the arena, the victor didn’t seem to care either way and headed up to the stake, and, borrowing the hands of a number of slaves to lift him from the ground, used his sword to cut the ropes that kept the woman bound.

With a shout of delight, she joyfully clung onto his neck, only to be pushed away with a confused look on her face as Orba immediately started to return to his gate.

The girl in the special seat – she had also been staring agape at the sudden fall of the curtain – slowly began to form her lips into a smile. That gladiator named Orba didn’t seem aware of the audience at all. As if stating the only reason he was here today was to fight, and to kill.

“He… took out Verne.”

“With one blow.”

After that moment of silence, voices praising Orba began to raise little by little. Now that the mood had grown uneasy for the visitors, slowly the clapping of hands, the awkward stamping of feet, and cheers appropriate for a victor started to fill the stands. Then, almost at the instant he nearly left the grounds, the air shook heavily.

It was the roar of the Sozos Dragon.

It might have been the drug wearing off, or an instinctive reaction at the smell of blood, but all of a sudden it started swaying its enormous body from right to left, shattering a portion of its cage. One of the slaves who’d been in the process of towing everything away, was caught and raised from the head by the dragon’s claw. Before he could resist, his torso disappeared into the Sozos’s mouth.

There was the sound of breaking bones. And at the same time as the awful sound of salivated chewing could be heard, the arena grounds with suddenly filled screams broke loose. In the midst of all the fear and panic that rapidly swept over the area, the Sozos rather calmly stretched out its limbs further and emerged from the broken cage.

Being pulled along into the crowd that strived to be the first to escape, the young man from earlier almost fell to the floor. But then, he was pulled along by a hand from the side.

“This way. Hurry!”

It was one of the soldiers who’d been guarding the special seats. As he rattled around with a sword and gun, he tried to bring the young man back inside.

“W-Wait. Ineli’s…”

Although he tried to resist, he couldn’t move freely as he kept being jostled by the crowd of people that tried to escape. Then, he heard a suspiciously familiar, high-pitched scream. Right in front of the Sozos’s forepaws beyond the dividing wall, was a figure that belonged to no one other than Ineli. The girl had turned a pale colour as she had tumbled over from the gallery, and it looked like she was about to lose consciousness any minute.

The dragon’s long snout opened from top to bottom. As the rows of tusks, similar to sharp pointed swords, opened up, they formed long threads of slaver. The young man was about to involuntarily avert his eyes, when a thin streak of blood spouted from the Sozos’s neck. The gladiator arena’s employed guards had rushed in with guns. However, because they were close to the seats, they couldn’t just shoot at point-blank range, and from the way they stood, they hardly had the nerve. While they were conflicted at what to do while it approached, the Sozos turned around quickly and hit them with a single blow of its tail, fully sending several people flying.

The girl had sank down to the floor, her eyes opened wide looking at her surroundings.

Then, from those eyes, she saw.

There was a shadow that ran past the Sozos’s flank like a gust of wind. Just before it came up against the brick wall that divided the seats from the rink, the shadow kicked against it and soared up into the air. A man with a tiger-imitating iron mask jumped into the girl’s sight, the figure of Orba the gladiator landing on top of the Sozos’s head.

Even though she had just witnessed him running up to the Sozos from behind while dodging stray bullets, she couldn’t suddenly believe it.

Despite Orba’s slim body, his joints and muscles seemed to fortify his arms like steel as he grabbed a firm hold of the dragon’s neck. While further sandwiching its neck between his legs, he held on tight with one arm and, with his other, brought his sword down into the head.

It swung its long tail around, rocked the ground by stamping its feet, but the dragon still struggled, not able to shake off the gladiator, as it shook off a second and a third attack tearing through scales that were equal to an iron armour, and flesh and blood got splattered around. However, although the sword broke when it came to the fourth attack, at that time the other gladiators rushed in.

“Orba!”

Receiving a thrown sword from a brown-skinned swordsman, Orba once again raised it for a fifth attack, following the exact same process as earlier, until he fully caved the middle of the blade into the crown of the dragon’s head.

Its golden eyes goggled longingly at the skies. Just before its huge body sunk from the neck, the swordsman had swooped down next to the guest seats.

The girl, still kneeling on the floor, was looking up at him. It was almost as if he came from a tale, for she felt like a princess caught by an evil wizard, and although she fixed her eyes on him with a throbbing heart, of all things, the would-be-hero gladiator continued his walk, completely ignoring her, and nimbly jumped off the dividing wall and back into the rink.

Although there was still a cloud of chaotic fear hanging over the arena as he showed her his back and took his leave, rather than drifting the air of a victor, those collected stares he received seemed to bother him, and he looked like a solitary figure.

“A-Are you okay?”

She turned her eyes to the young man and his companions, who were running up to her with bated breath, and suddenly got an odd sensation. She had only seen it with a passing glance earlier, but the eyes underneath that swordsman’s mask seemed to closely resemble those of the young man.

And someone else,

“No way, he is alive.”

There was a man who focused a long look at Orba’s back, surprised for another reason. He wiped the sweat from his slightly slacking chin with the back of his hand. Standing behind the young man’s back, after all, he was also one of the men who’d been at the special seats, and as the unique smell of blood drifted about, he was speaking to himself in wonder.

“So it is Orba. Was it two years? Yes… two years.”

2.

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