Rakuin no Monshou - Book 12: Chapter 2: Ignition

Part 1

It was the dead of night, and Dairan, surrounded by its high ramparts, was as silent as it always was at that time.

Or so it pretended to be.

The gate was thrown open. Leaving through it was a force led by Lord Eric. This was done in consideration of the possibility that there might be enemies in the area, spies from Allion, and to make them believe that they were just conducting regular reconnaissance.

Kayness, the current head of the Plutos House, was not in his bedroom but in his office, sitting perfectly still in a formal posture. His eldest son, Darowkin, was also in full armour. He was waiting on standby at the centre of the city with seven hundred soldiers, ready for if the prince sent a call for reinforcements.

The troops which launched themselves from the gate, excluding those led by Darowkin’s younger brother, Belmor, were essentially Ende’s national army, although almost all of them were soldiers from Dairan.

If our prince is going to battle, it probably won’t be before dawn.

There was still time. Their hearts were not pierced by any feeling of tension. The soldiers of Dairan were use to sudden outbreaks of battle, so the rows of faces beneath the helmets were as calm as could be. Their enthusiasm, however, was strong.

Lord Eric himself was just as eager. In the coming war, I need to personally complete feats of glory. Since he would be carrying Ende from now on, he needed to demonstrate his own might to those both inside and outside of the country.

It was the same for the Dairan soldiers. Even though they carried out the duty of defending the north, Safia, in the centre, criticised them as “barbarians” and “country bumpkins,” and had, up until now, kept them away from politics.

“Now we’ll show them the mettle of Dairan men!” A lot of soldiers were getting fired up.

Until today, Lord Eric of Ende in Dairan, and Prince Kaseria of Allion, who had halted in Zonga, had been confronting each other in a silent standoff. This was not like Allion, which had only just come out of a long military campaign. Some had even wondered if they were going to pull up camp without crossing spears so much as once.

Yet Eric had now left Dairan with a troop of one thousand.

They had obtained information from captured spies that Kaseria had sent out. According to that, Kaseria had already led a select few south of Zonga. There was an unoccupied fort to the northwest of Dairan, and they were apparently planning to hide themselves there. After that, a large-scale force would be deployed from Zonga, and when Eric left Dairan to confront it, their plan was to attack him from the flank.

If I can strike at that fort first… Eric believed that he might be able to kill Kaseria with little effort.

This was information that two of the eight spies had revealed under torture that threatened to take their lives. It was not surprising that it was deemed trustworthy. And the information was certainly no lie: they had spoken the truth because they wanted to live.

Eric, however, did not for a moment consider the possibility that the “truth” that the spies had been taught was, itself, a lie…

Those spies were the ‘dogs’ that Allion’s prince had released from Zonga, in the north. Out of eight of them, not a single one had, in fact, been born in Allion. Quite the opposite: all of them had once been secret agents from enemy countries – such as Dytiann or Atall – which had once slipped into Allion.

When their identities had been discovered, each had been thrown into an underground dungeon, yet they had not been killed on the spot. Rather, they had been kept alive. For a very long time – more than ten years sometimes, depending on the person – they would be kept alive in a small and filthy prison cell.

Then one day, all of a sudden, a new person would be thrown into the cell that had turned into their living quarters. A woman. Moreover, a woman who had been born and raised in the same homeland as them. Allion had secretly kidnapped them.

A man who had endured solitude for so long that he had been on the verge of losing his mind, and a woman who had abruptly been torn away from her family and carried off to an unknown, foreign country. A man and woman from the same hometown. Almost inevitably, the two would be drawn together. They would exchange private wedding vows. Before long, a child would be born.

Thereupon, Allion would move them to different living quarters. Naturally, soldiers kept a strict watch on them, but at least the place was larger than the dungeon cell and provided them with a bare minimum of humane living conditions.

Another two or three years later, depending on the case, they would meet a high-level Allion official for the first time. “I have a job for you,” he would say.

The spies could not refuse. Their family was being held hostage. Even if this had been the aim all along, even if it was a family that they had deliberately been made to create, they could not go against the feelings that had instinctively developed.

Allion called them ‘dogs’. ‘Dogs’ picked up from another country that could easily be thrown away. They had cost them in time and money but, since these were not spies that they had originally trained themselves, the men had practically no information about Allion, and it didn’t matter if they were slain once they had served their purpose.

The eight people who had slipped into Ende were all ‘dogs’. They would obliquely be given information that Kaseria would go to a fort north of Ende, and when they were interrogated, they would keep their lips shut tight to protect the ‘truth’. Some of them, however would eventually be worn down and would spill it. Thanks to that, the information would appear more reliable.

Furthermore, there had originally been nine spies sent out from Zonga. The one which had not been caught was an agent trained by Allion. When they had been approaching the enemy headquarters dressed in Endean armour, he had hung back to the rear of the group, and had deliberately caused a disturbance to attract the attention of the Endean guards.

Once the guards shouted for them to identify themselves and started fighting warning shots, the Allion-trained spy had, of course, escaped to the north.

Eric had not realised.

The men of Dairan burned with quiet fighting spirit, and just as quietly, the troops moved forward. They forded the River Daivim across the shallows that they had identified long ago, and headed further north.

They joined up with the scouts that had been sent out earlier. A sharp-eyed man knelt before Eric, and a single nod from him was enough to tell Eric what he had to say.

“So they’re there?”

“Aye,” the spy nodded once more. “By the time we started investigating, there were already a number of people coming and going from the fort. At nightfall, some lights filtered through and we heard singing, as though they were having a drinking party.”

“Oh, how bold.”

Eric slowly, steadily approached the fort within the forest. The clouds overhead were dark that night, but moonlight occasionally broke through. They advanced with their helmets removed and the tips of their spears wrapped in cloth. The horses also had wooden silencers placed in their mouths. Dragons, of course, could not be brought along for covert night actions, nor could they bring canons because of the rattling noise of the wheels. Still, they had enough guns, and fire arrows had also been prepared. There was more than enough; nothing was lacking to attack the old fort.

Even so, although Eric was a little hasty when deciding to take action, he was the sort to grow prudent once the troops had started moving. In that respect, his personality was the complete opposite of Orba’s. When he had previously marched on Garbera, Eric had sent scouts in every direction while he rode forward.

This time as well, he started investigated the surroundings once the fort was within sight. The narrow path to the northwest led to a wide valley, with a hill that gave an unbroken view of that valley. Eric had been wary of it. He had worried that Kaseria might have divided his forces in two and positioned them there, with the intention of launching a surprise attack from two directions against the Dairan troops.

He concluded that there were none of Kaseria’s soldiers on that hill.

Eric’s prudent nature however brought fortune amongst misfortune: his actions caused Kaseria to become impatient.

At that same time, Kaseria Jamil was concealed north of the fort. With him were a thousand soldiers lying low among the sparse trees, the reflections from their armour and spears likewise hidden. To the east, there was a further seven hundred soldiers, led by Lance Mazpotter, who had taken part in the planning along with Kaseria.

It’s not working.

While Eric had been chaffing impatiently in Dairan, Kaseria had discreetly sent people to the fort on Lance’s advice. They had carried out repairs to allow soldiers to conceal themselves inside it, and had also transported dismantled cannon parts and then reassembled them.

Currently, however, there were no more than a few soldiers inside the fort. When the enemy charged to take it, first Kaseria, then Lance would strike at the enemy’s flank and rear, reversing the intended surprise attack.

If they succeeded, it would be Allion who would be dealing a heavy blow to Ende with very little effort. Moreover, just as Kaseria had hoped, the one leading the troops was Eric, the future grand duke himself.

Such fun.

Since hearing the news, Kaseria had been licking his lips incessantly from uncontrollable excitement. His mentor, Lance, had told him over and over, “Don’t take black water lily to the battlefield.” Since Kaseria often consumed it, if he had it at hand, he might forget where he was in his excitement and give in to his bad habit.

How should I kill him? Handing him over to that fool, Jeremie, might be fun, but it’ll be even more fun to slice through Jeremie’s neck and send the severed heads of both brothers to Safia. Yeah, but if I do that, Father would probably get angry. Hmm, what to do…

The enemy was drawing closer, planning to attack the fortress by surprise. Kaseria waited impatiently for the moment when the tables would suddenly be turned on them, his heart thumping in excitement like a child. Be it friend or foe, he loved nothing more than to make people jump and shout in surprise.

But instead of hurrying, Eric was moving much more slowly than expected, exactly as though he wanted to keep them in suspense, and on top of that, he had started checking in every direction.

Shit!

The enemy’s dragnet had not reached them yet, but Kaseria was overly-anxious about those actions. That anxiety was not the fear of defeat: he couldn’t stand the thought of someone taking the initiative from him. He should be the one jumping out and yelling. He did not want to miss the opportunity of reversing the surprise attack and making the enemies scream in shock.

As a result, he was too hasty.

“Prepare to charge!”

He threw himself onto his horse, put on the helmet that entirely covered his head, and roared loudly as he brandished his longsword.

“Sound the horns! We’ll overwhelm the enemy in one go!”

Ende’s side weren’t the only ones startled when the sound of horns suddenly erupted throughout the forest.

“What that… That damned brat, it’s too soon!”

Elsewhere, waiting on standby, Lance Mazpotter spat out the jerky he had only just popped into his mouth.

Now that the commander had charged earlier than expected, the cannons, which had taken so much trouble to set into place, were rendered useless. Nevertheless, Lance’s actions were swift. His foot was already in the stirrup as he yelled encouragements to his men.

He would chew Kaseria out later. At all cost, they needed to capture Eric in this battle or take his head.

“Enemies, enemies!”

“Enemy attack!”

As pitch black groups swooped in to attack Ende’s army from the side and from the rear, voices rose from each direction. And just as loudly –

“Make way for Kaseria Jamil, prince of Allion!”

Kaseria galloped in the lead in his steel helmet, and blood already clung to the tip of the sword he swung.

By nature, he disliked wearing a helmet. It was hot and stuffy, and it restricted his field of vision, but, just as with the black water lily, he had received strict orders from Lance to “Absolutely make sure to wear your helmet,” and he sometimes chose to follow them. This time, given that he had disregarded Lance’s intentions and gone bolting off, it was a way of balancing the books. It was because he also disliked hiding his face that Kaseria was stating his own name like this.

“I, Kaseria Jamil, am here to take the head of Lord Eric of Ende. If Eric wants to prove that he’s a man, let him show himself before me!”

Ende had never dreamed that they would be the ones on the receiving end of a surprise attack and, for a moment, they lost their chain of command. The shadows of night were no longer a cloak of invisibility for them, but were instead like the mouth of some demon which was breathing life into enemies.

Of all of them there, less than a third raised their spears or pulled the trigger on their guns and fought back. Their nerves were probably shaken from not knowing what had happened, and many of them were struck with steel through their necks.

Hit with the successive attacks from Kaseria’s and Lance’s troops, the lines of ranks collapsed all at once, and one after another, soldiers threw aside their spears and guns, and fled.

“Lord Eric,” Belmor Plutos called out loudly as he pulled his horse up alongside Eric Le Doria. “It’s a trap. And it looks like the enemy is Prince Kaseria himself!”

“What?!” amidst the rough voices howling in the darkness, Eric ground his teeth. “Then we’ll align our spears in formation and fight back. If it’s certain that Kaseria himself is here, then victory is…”

“Impossible,” asserted Belmor.

Eric glared at him with bloodshot eyes, but Belmor returned a gaze just as sharp – or even sharper, towards him. Eric felt a sudden stab of surprise.

It’s the same as back then.

During the battle against Garbera, because he had believed that their side had the momentum to win, he had misjudged when to stop. Because of that, Belmor had been captured and they had been put in a position where they could neither advance nor retreat. If Gil Mephius had not taken on the role of mediator, Eric’s luck might have run out there, in foreign soil.

I can’t make the same mistake.

His over-excited brain cooled down all at once; however, the path of retreat to Dairan was already blocked.

Eric considered quickly. He remembered the survey of the terrain that he launched earlier.

“There’s a hill to the northwest. Let’s start with heading there.”

“Understood,” agreed Belmor, and he pulled out his spear. “Then let me serve as the rear guard.”

Eric was about to say something. However, the eyes of his childhood friend, although still as sharp and gazing directly at the him as they always did, now held a different meaning.

“I’ll leave it to you,” Eric said shortly, and with the same preparedness for death.

Belmor’s bearded face broke into a grin. He changed it back to a stern expression, then swung his spear over his shoulder with a shout that was almost a roar.

“Villar, Spirit of Flames, come dwell within me! Men, let the braves who do not fear death step forward and follow behind me!”

“AUGH, AUGH!”

“A, AUGH, AUUGH!!”

As Belmor kicked his horse’s flanks and sped off, a crowd of young men followed after him, raising the war cry that was characteristic of Dairan warriors.

Guided by some of his men, Eric left the place. As he followed the route to the northwest, the regrets and reluctance that he left behind were anything but small.

Part 2

Although Kaseria’s charge had slightly modified the plan, there was no doubt that Allion held an overwhelming advantage.

The Ende side, however, showed unexpected perseverance. Although at first their soldiers had dispersed, now that Allion was trying to push forward, Ende was rallying to counter-attack with equal vigour.

The Dairan platoon led by Belmor Plutos noticeably stood out, and there were many soldiers who stood their ground thanks to his actions.

From the outset, Allion had not been able to perform a particularly organised strike, and once it turned into a mêlée and free-for-all, it was impossible to tell who had the upper hand, and who was at a disadvantage. Ende had its surprise attack turned against it, but Allion, who had not believed that they would be able to put up this much of a fight, was equally dumbfounded by their perseverance.

“Shit!”

“Move, you damned small fry! Where’s Prince Eric?”

“Oh, small fry, am I?” Belmor laughed as the tip of his spear whirled and jabbed into the enemy soldier’s neck. “Five!” he called out, both to give himself encouragement and to show his mettle to the enemy.

What the… – Another purpose was to attract enemy hostility and disgust, and to lure their attention to him.

His spear broke as he slaughtered the sixth.

However, he wrested the spear from the hands of an enemy who had leapt forward, then swung around and jabbed an approaching soldier in the face.

“Seven”

It was a hard fight.

Belmor roared with laughter as his beard was dyed in enemy blood, one strand at a time.

He was in a kind of ecstasy. The enemies’ movements seemed awfully sluggish. The spear he wielded seemed as light as the weightless metal made from dragonbone, and it effortlessly pierced through enemy flesh. He felt as though he would be able to fight for a full day, a full two days, without stopping.

It’s as though every one of the spirits has entered my body. No, rather, the spirits are using my flesh as a medium to protect Ende’s future.

Aba, the Spirit of Wind, dwelt in his hands and feet; and Villar, the Spirit of Flames, was lodged at the centre of his body, where an inexhaustible will to fight burned strong.

The spirits were breathing life into his spear, his armour, and even his cherished horse; all seemed to come together to construct the warrior that was Belmor Plutos.

“Eight!”

From the distance, Kaseria Jamil heard Belmor’s shout.

The charge was not advancing as he had anticipated, and he was starting to feel irritated.

“Eric, where is Eric of Ende?” he drove his horse forward, violently mowing down the soldiers who stood in his way.

Although his frame appeared slender, his fighting-style was fearsome. He twisted left and right, his spear flying wild and vigorous. Ende’s spears weren’t even grazing him. His horsemanship was as bold as it was skilful; one moment, he spurred his horse to where he could most efficiently slaughter his opponents, and the very next, he had driven it to where their blows had no hope of reaching him.

Lance Mazpotter, then known as the “One-Eyed Dragon of Atall”, had once been deeply impressed by his brilliance.

Kaseria had already been thirteen-years-old when Lance first met him. On top of that, he had only ever held a sword in play. Lance was convinced that, as an instructor, he would not be able to make anything out of such a novice.

As for Kaseria, he wasn’t in the least bit enthusiastic. Or rather, he hated this man called Lance who did not cave in before him. When they had met along the palace passageways, Lance had not given way to him, so they had collided head on. Kaseria had hit his nose and gone tumbling. “I’ll kill you! One day, definitely, without a doubt!” he had bawled.

And in actual fact, when he had first grasped a sword and started training with Lance, Kaseria had attacked him again and again with the intention of taking his opponent’s life.

The result went without saying, but in the process, a huge change occurred within Kaseria. Once he had steel in his hand, it was as though he had been familiar with swords from the moment of his birth, or perhaps it was the sword which had chosen Kaseria. The boy who lost interest in any toy within three days, and who broke them as soon as he received them, was completely absorbed in this new game called swordplay.

Lance was equally entranced. Like parched ground absorbing water, Kaseria’s body absorbed every one of his teachings. He had never had such a student before. Lance had three sons and had trained them all himself, but although they had some skill, they all fell far short of their father.

This kid…

At the end of their whole-day training, Lance was exhausted. That was how deeply engrossed he had been. Kaseria’s power of absorption was nothing ordinary. He was like a bottomless hole.

… has an inborn talent.

Lance, a man who shone more brightly than anyone on the battlefield, who truly felt alive there, sensed it clearly.

He’s overflowing with talent for destruction and slaughter.

Lance did not believe in fate, but it was enough to make him think that the reason why Kaseria had not picked up a sword before now was so that he could be the one to train him.

He hasn’t picked up any bad habits, I’ll hammer my style into him completely.

That was nine years ago.

Kaseria Jamil was Lance Mazpotter’s masterpiece.

It was while he was advancing and bringing down a rain of blood on the battlefield that he heard Belmor’s voice. When he saw his figure in the distance, he immediately realised that this warrior was the heart of the rear guard.

For all that he had gone rushing out, Kaseria was no mere fool. He had already ordered his men to cut off the path of retreat to the south. It was probable that Eric had escaped northwards.

If I get this guy out of the way… Then Eric would be right within reach.

Kaseria smiled astride his horse and pulled on the reins once more. If his master, Lance, had been there, perhaps he would have stopped the prince from charging towards Belmor.

That guy has gone berserk – he might have said.

“If you see a man on the battlefield who is noticeably berserk, even if he only has a small build, don’t go near him. I’ve only seen it a few times in all my life but, very occasionally, there are warriors who will fight like demons when death is upon them. In that moment, those guys can brag of being the strongest in the world, and they’ll take scores of enemies with them, without even noticing that they’ve been shot through the heart. You understand? The trick to surviving the battlefield is to basically work out how not to die yourself by keeping an eye out for dangerous situations and enemies..”

But Lance was not at his side.

Kaseria’s sword had already tasted blood. Although he was normally calm and collected, once he saw carnage on the battlefield, there was no turning back. A red fog seemed to cloud his mind, and that dark red impulse urged his body forward independently of Kaseria’s will and reason.

“Move, move!”

Kaseria spurred his horse onwards through his hesitant subordinates. Those of his allies who were too much in his way were kicked down by his horse or received a blow from his spear.

Belmor had also noticed the signs of an enemy galloping towards him like a gust of wind. Someone who wore a helmet that projected forward like a horse’s head. Belmor’s feelings were close to being friendly towards this enemy who was breaking through to the centre of the terrified Allion soldiers.

“Come!” he gave a single roar and took up position to intercept him. The charging enemy thrust out a spear without any further warning.

In Belmor’s current state, he could read each one of his enemy’s movements, point by point. From his opponent’s position, posture, and speed, he could predict how he would move and from what angle he would attack. A skill cultivated through experience.

It felt as though the trajectory of the opponent’s spear was tracing a visible ‘line’.

Belmor was about to draw back his own spear to counter-attack while avoiding that ‘line’.

But at that moment, Kaseria’s strike deviated utterly from the predicted ‘line’. He could not hit him.

Kaseria swung the part of spearhandle that he was holding in a sweeping side blow. Struck by a heavy blow to the helmet, Belmor reeled on top of his horse.

The blow was not one that could lead to a fatal injury but with that one strike, Belmor Plutos felt like he had been dragged back down to earth. The Spirit of wind which was supposed to be dwelling in his limbs, the Spirit of flames which was supposed to be roaring and blazing brightly at the core of his body… – vanished abruptly.

“Thil?”

Hearing herself being called, Thil turned in surprise to the quilted mattress beside hers. Reen was peering up at her older sister from the edge of her blanket.

In Dairan, the night was still quiet.

“You’re still awake?”

“You too, Thil.”

Darowkin’s daughters talked in a whisper so as not to wake up their mother who was asleep in the same room.

Thil, the older sister, couldn’t sleep well after going to bed, and every time she woke up, she prayed to the spirits. To the many spirits that dwelt in the earth, water, fire and wind, of course, but soldiers also had a custom of naming each spirit that sprang forth from every component of their weapons and armour. So she was mentally reciting the provisional names of the spirits that resided in her father’s and in Lord Eric’s equipment – the spirits’ true names were known only to those who held the armaments.

Eric and Darowkin had naturally not told the two very young sisters about what would be going on that night, but although she was only nine, Thil was still the daughter of a Dairan warrior. She had a premonition that – there’ll be a battle tonight.

Judging from the mood enveloping Dairan, it would be a large-scale one. Their mother must have sent her two daughters to bed especially early because she didn’t want them to become unnecessarily anxious.

“It’s alright,” Reen grinned, showing her white teeth. “Father taught me how to hold a spear before. So even if the enemy comes, I’ll protect you, Thil.”

“Silly,” the sensitive Thil immediately felt her eyes fill with tears but she forced herself to smile. She pulled the blanket over her little sister. “Now, sleep tight. Since I’ve prayed to the spirits for you too.”

Around about that same time, Eric had taken refuge at the hill northwest of the fort.

Having called a roll-call for each platoon, it was established that they numbered less than five hundred. It was believed that half of their force had been killed in action, had fled, or were even now fighting hard to defend the entrance to the valley.

In short, they had been utterly routed. The young future grand duke of Ende felt like pummelling his fist against the ground.

It was at that point that Belmor Plutos, passing through the narrow path to the valley, arrived at the hill. Or, to be more accurate, that he was carried in.

When he first saw the friend that he had studied swordsmanship and competed with since childhood, Eric uttered a groan wrested from the depths of his throat.

“Belmor.”

“I failed,” blood oozed from his head as he spoke. A spear must have struck him in the thigh, because it looked as though he could not walk unaided. It was clear to everyone that his life would be in danger if he did not immediately receive medical treatment.

“What are you saying? It’s thanks to you going on a rampage that I’m here, safe and sound. This fight was Belmor Plutos’ win.”

“The enemy…”

“Once we take up formation on this high ground, they won’t be able to break through so easily,” sweeping his gaze around their shadowy surroundings, Eric made a point of smiling. “Sir Darowkin will bring reinforcements at some point. We’ll take that time to charge and catch Allion in a pincer attack.”

“Aye,” Belmor’s face had lost all colour, but he too smiled. “My lord, please keep in mind that you mustn’t act hastily out of concern for the likes of me.”

“I know.”

“No, Prince Eric: you are unspeakably kind. That kindness could become fatal to you. If ever I see you worrying about me more than necessary, I will rip open my own my chest to die.”

Eric fell silent.

Meanwhile, Kaseria Jamil and Lance Mazpotter had joined up at the entrance to the valley. Having removed his helmet, Kaseria’s hair was standing on end. His skin was sweaty and flushed, and his eyes were brimming with fiery bloodlust.

Seeing Kaseria so full of enthusiasm, Lance glared at him with his good eye to keep him in check. Just as Eric had said, the terrain was advantageous for the enemy. Even if their side had the greater numbers, there was a fear that they might suffer considerable losses in vain.

“Have the cannons brought over. They’re sure to smoke out the enemy.”

“That’ll take time. Reinforcements will arrive from Dairan.”

Kaseria ground his teeth and his expression made it clear that he wanted to wallow once more in a sea of blood as quickly as possible, and that every second counted. Thereupon, however, he hit on an idea that would not have occurred to some mere foolhardy daredevil.

“Or how about… What if we attack Dairan?”

“What was that?”

“Loosen the net encircling the south for a bit, and let an enemy messenger get through. Dairan will send reinforcements as soon as they hear about the prince’s plight. That will reduce the city’s defences, right?”

“Right…”

“I’ll lead a unit beforehand and go and hide near Dairan, then launch a surprise attack on the troop of reinforcements.”

“…”

“Afterwards, we’ll set Dairan on fire. In which case, Eric will go down as having abandoned the land that supported him. How about it, Lance?”

If Lance had been an ordinary military staff officer, he probably would not have expressed agreement. It was clearly a plan that Kaseria had come up with simply to give him an excuse to fight some more. It was, so to speak, an end to justify the means.

However, while Kaseria could be called twisted, it was Lance himself who had raised him that way.

“An interesting idea,” he said. “If Dairan goes up in flames, Garbera will be lured into taking action instead of keeping our second wave of troops in check to the east. Once Phard’s unit arrives, we’ll be able to sweep them all up in one go.”

“That’s my master for you, quick on the uptake.”

“However,” Lance tossed a warning at the prince whose entire face had lit up with joy, “don’t take your time attacking Dairan. If you can’t deal with the enemy reinforcements quickly, leave at once. If you’re too slow to return, I’ll come and fetch you myself to haul your ass back.”

“I get it, I get it!” as though to show his agreement, Kaseria once more covered his head with the tight-fitting helmet. “Then, I’ll be heading off first. When I send you a signal by airship, unfasten the net to let their messenger out.”

Part 3

Lance Mazpotter pulled back the soldiers who were fighting at the mouth of the valley, and swiftly reorganised his troops. As expected of such a veteran, his skill at this far outstripped that of Allion’s prince.

With his reorganised unit, he encircled the hill where Eric’s forces were. They stoked up bright fires. From Eric’s perspective, it would look as though they were surrounding him with a ring of flames at his feet.

While they busy holding the enemy in one place, Kaseria was leading eight hundred soldiers southwards. They drew near to the river that served as the national border.

Using their spears instead of sticks; soldiers jumped into the water and felt about the shallows. Because they were using the absolute minimum amount of light, there were some who lost their footing and were swept away by the current. They had seven airships with them, but these were mostly being used to transport two cannons. Although aware of the danger, Kaseria himself jumped his horse into the river.

The moon was covered by thick black clouds. It probably didn’t want to show itself so as not to have to see the brutal fighting below.

Within that dark night, Prince Kaseria’s group quietly approached Dairan. Once they were close enough to see the ramparts, the troops stopped and Kaseria sent out scouts.

“Oh, one of the gates is open?” when he heard the information, the prince’s thin, narrow lips curved into a smile as he sat atop his horse.

In that case, the enemy will definitely be coming out through the north gate.

They waited for a while.

Finally, a rider came galloping from the northern direction, flying almost right in front of where Kaseria lay concealed. No doubt the enemy messenger who had slipped out through the opportunity that Lance had deliberately created. He disappeared as though being pulled in by Dairan.

It was obvious even from a distance that the city suddenly burst into activity. The news flew around that Eric’s main force was isolated in enemy territory.

At that point in time, Kaseria divided his force into two groups, and had a further unit stay at a distance with one of the cannons and position themselves to the east of Dairan.

This time, things did not take long enough for Kaseria to get impatient.

They’re here.

There was the clip-clop of hooves and Dairan’s iron gates spat out a group of cavalry and infantrymen. They numbered seven hundred.

“Fire!”

A few kilometres to the north of the city, the order was given for the soldiers lying on either side of the road to shoot.

It was as though the stillness of night had been torn apart by the roar of thunder.

The screams of men and horses overlapped, and Ende’s cavalrymen were thrown to the ground with a clatter. When the bullets ran out, Kaseria Jamil personally charged forward in the lead.

“Get them!” he bellowed, then rushed towards the battle front, which was enveloped in thick gunpowder smoke.

The torch carried by a rider fell to the ground. Kaseria’s sword reflected it, emitting the dazzling light of flames, as he cut down two, then three of the foot soldiers.

While the elite force that he led clashed with the enemy reinforcements, three hundred passed by their side and headed towards Dairan. Their aim was to gain control of the gate. Befittingly for troops that had put countries to the sword, Allion’s vigorous army moved with lightning speed.

A messenger was sent hurtling to the domain-lord, Kayness Plutos, with news that the enemy had successfully invaded Dairan’s territory.

“What!?” even a warrior like Kayness went pale.

When he had heard that Eric was isolated, he had felt that the situation was beginning to turn dangerous. He had sent soldiers to fight back, with the majority of the soldiers being entrusted to his eldest son, Darowkin, which had already left. There was no doubt that it was Darowkin’s troops which had been violently attacked.

Bastards – Kayness’ expression was thunderous as he changed by himself into his armour.

He was fifty-three years old. In recent years, he had not being out to battle, but, as was customary here, he did not neglect his daily training. He called a page to hand him a spear.

Meanwhile –

First, we need to set a grand fire – Kaseria was seeing to it that his attack force carried that out. Having penetrated into Dairan, Allion’s army easily got rid of the first lot of soldiers that Kayness had sent, and were now embarking on merciless slaughter and annihilation. The houses were a matter of course, but they also set fire to the granaries in which the people had desperately stored provisions from the impoverished soil.

“Bastards!”

Unable to bear watching it, the men broke free from their families who were holding them back, and grabbed weapons to attack. Allion’s soldiers shot them, skewered them, and trampled them beneath their horses’ hooves. Spears mercilessly struck the backs of the mothers who were fleeing the fires while protecting their children.

Corpses piled up in the streets of Dairan and, even as the horses’ iron-shod feet crushed through them, new heaps of remains were being amassed elsewhere.

The soldiers of Allion’s army wore helmets that almost entirely covered their heads. Because of that, they looked exactly like expressionless, emotionless dolls faithfully executing their master’s orders, performing one act of destruction after another.

With no way to resist, Dairan was set to the torch. Meanwhile, a few kilometres to its north, Darowkin’s troops, which were fighting Kaseria, were shaken by a further problem. The leadership was in disarray, and there were those who looked like they were intending to turn back without permission to defend their city and families.

His helmet and armour red with blood, Kaseria was dashing around the battlefield, searching for the commander, but the enemy leader, Darowkin Plutos, had in fact taken a bullet and fallen from his horse in the early stages of the fight. He had already withdrawn from the frontlines, pulled away by his men. This saved Darowkin’s life, but as a result, his troops were unable to regain their fighting spirit, leaving Kaseria free to trample them down.

With sword and spear, Kaseria put down every obstacle that rose before him. When they were just about to march into Dairan, he got in touch with the unit that he stationed to the east beforehand, and had them start bombarding the city’s east gate.

This lured Kayness. Fearing that the enemy was also approaching from the east, he split his soldiers in half. It was, however, no more than a decoy, and Kaseria was easily able to break through the thinned-out ranks of the enemy.

As sparks flew from the buildings on either side, he had the second cannon carried into the city. It’s target: Dairan’s castle. The convoluted city layout was designed to make it difficult to reach, but the airship unit overhead guided the prince.

The Dairan soldiers, of course, rushed in to attack with sword and spear in hand, but they were outnumbered.

Bathed in the reflected glare from the fires, Kaseria rode along leisurely. His attitude was the same as if the city were already occupied territory. No matter how often his men warned him that, “Riflemen might be lying in ambush,” and despite the fact that enemy gunshots did occasionally ring out, Kaseria simply laughed each time.

“Aha ha ha.”

He looked joyful.

Kaseria had a cultured side to him that loved paintings and music, and he had even produced works of art himself, but now that he stood on the battlefield, it was as though his everyday self, the one that lived protected by stone walls, was an impostor. It made him realise that the beauty of pictures and the poignancy of music and poetry were no more than substitutes for the rapture of slaughter and that moment of fear, not knowing if he himself might be killed.

Ignoring the townspeople who were trying to flee from their burning homes, Kaseria’s unit arrived in front of the Plutos mansion. As was to be expected, soldiers armed with guns were lined up in formation to attempt to defend it. Kaseria lured them out with infantrymen while the cannon was being placed in position at the rear.

At that same time, Darowkin’s daughters were running through the mansion’s corridors.

As soon as their mother was informed of the enemy attack, she had jumped to her feet and, accompanied by escorting soldiers and ladies’ maids, had taken her two daughters by the hand and had left the room. The mansion, however, was in chaos because of how sudden it was.

Armed soldiers were shouting angrily as they raced along, rushing this way and that. Their lamellar armour[1] and the handles of their spears seemed about to hit the two girls in the face at any moment.

“Reen!”

Thil hurriedly let go of her mother’s hand and stooped down to shield her little sister. Just then, the building shook to the accompaniment of the roar of artillery fire. With the soldiers pushing and shoving, the two of them were separated from their mother before they even realised it.

They simply ran in search of a place with no fire, which brought them to a garden surrounded by a fence. The two of them often played there, and there, the men’s angry bellows and the women’s screams sounded far away. There was a shed in a corner of the garden, so Thil led her little sister by the hand and rushed over to it.

They held their breath in the darkness.

For a while, they grasped each other’s hands and stayed quiet, and amidst the silence, it felt as though they were the only two alive in Dairan.

The shed’s window was high up, so Thil piled up what she found around them into a sort of staircase and, from on top of it, tried to see what the situation was outside.

She could see flames rising from all around Dairan and, in their shadowy surroundings, she could vaguely make out that even darker shadows were jostling against one another. The fighting was probably at its height.

“And Father?” Reen stood on tiptoe, looking up. Her hair, which was usually tied up in two bunches, hung to beneath her shoulders, and she looked utterly forlorn.

Thil shook her head.

“Mother?”

Thil climbed back down and sat on the floor next to her sister.

A short while later, Reen asked again,

“Where’s Father?” the usually confident little girl had eyes brimming with tears. “And Mother? Where’s the Lord Prince?”

“I don’t know,” answered Thil, staring down at her knees which she had drawn together. “But, it won’t be long. They’ll come running to find us really soon.”

Finding the silence unbearable, she talked about everything and anything to her sister. She hummed the songs that their uncle, Belmor, always sung.

“Uncle promised you yesterday, right? That when he gets back, he’ll read your favourite book, Reen. And also, he’ll do the fairies’ voices.”

She forced herself to smile as she spoke. Her little sister’s favourite stories involved fairies, and she especially loved it when Belmor put on a woman’s voice when reading them to her. Right now, however, there was no topic that could distract Reen. Hearing her say nothing but repeatedly ask “And Father?”, “And Mother?”, Thil finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“I don’t know either!” she screamed, shaking their clasped hands free. “If you’re that interested, you should just go outside and look for yourself.”

“Fine, that’s what I’ll do,” frowning indignantly, Reen stood up.

Thil did not believe that she meant it. “You can’t do it by yourself, right? So stay here quietly. It’s always, always the same… because all you do is imply nasty things about me.”

“Thil, you’re a dummy. I hate you!”

Reen lost her temper and broke into a run. By the time the startled Thil had stood up, her younger sister had opened the shed door and disappeared into the night. Thil gasped and stood petrified. The darkness that stretched out on the other side of the door seemed to have swallowed up her sister, and she felt as though she would never be able to return to her side.

Her hands and legs had begun to shake involuntarily. She wanted to drop to her knees and wail.

But –

“You too, Thil. You have to protect your little sister.” At that moment, the words that Prince Eric had told her a few days ago spun around in her head.

The girl bit down hard on her lower lip. I’m the daughter of a Dairan warrior.

Her legs still trembling, she stepped outside.

References and Translation Notes

1. ↑ The soldiers are described as wearing kozane, a type of traditional Japanese armour made by lacing small scales made out of leather or metal. Worn mainly during the Heian period and pre-Sengoku period, kozane armour is fairly “old-fashioned” in terms of samurai armour. More information here and here (under ‘Classical Armour’)