Rakuin no Monshou - Book 5: Chapter 4: The Battle at the Coldrin Hills

Part 1

Orba, Shique and Gilliam were all three of them punished by being put under house arrest. The same went for the platoon leader who had been so lacking in zeal for his supervisory duties. Locked up in the cramped private house, every time Orba or the others entered the corner of the platoon leader’s field of vision, which was constantly, he hurled insults and curses at them. In the end, Gilliam threatened him.

“I’ll stop you from ever being able to use that mouth again,” and so the platoon leader didn’t speak on the third day, although he hadn’t been on the receiving end of any violence.

Red Hawks mercenaries also passed in front of the house once, laughing out loud in an unnatural way. The figures of those who had brawled in Kay’s shop were among them.

“Those bastards used to be gladiators.”

“Then a cramped cage suits them. Please don’t feed the beasts without permission.”

They laughed but at that moment, Shique’s face appeared through a crack at that window.

“I’ll remember your faces,” he said with a smile. “We won’t be in here for ever. You do understand that sooner or later, the wild beasts will be released into the fields. At the moment, you’ve gathered in a large crowd, but how long will that last? There’s no one along the unlit streets at night, is there? At times like those, please watch your backs. A starving wild beast with gleaming claws and fangs might be lurking in the shadows, no longer locked up.”

His features were like a woman’s but as he narrowed his eyes while smiling, that face was somewhat chilling. The Red Hawks’ laughter gradually faded and, spitting out words somewhere between contempt and justification, they left.

It was unusual for Shique to threaten like that. He seemed to very much bear a grudge over his face being hit.

Their circumstances back when they had been gladiators had been much harsher: it had been far more painful to have sword practice and to have to take care of the beasts during the hottest part of the day until they were dripping with sweat. Orba was far from having a patient personality. He had a goal he had to accomplish and for that purpose, he was a man who could endure waiting, be it three days or three years, but he had never been able to stand waiting for nothing.

By the fourth day, he was even considering deserting but luckily – if it could be called that – on the fifth day, the situation changed. Garda’s forces finally departed from Eimen. They numbered roughly two thousand. A thousand had been left in Eimen as their base.

“I can’t believe it.”

It wasn’t surprising that Bouwen spoke with suspicion as he folded his arms. The enemy totalled three thousand as they had absorbed most of the military strength of city after city that fell before them. It was said that hardly any soldiers had been left at the ruins of the Zer Illias temple, thought to be the headquarters of Garda’s army.

“Garda’s forces should have almost no control over the possessions they’ve only just seized. They should normally be leaving large numbers of soldiers there, yet they’re using practically all of their increased army corps to advance. In the first place, it should be difficult to take command of the soldiers and it wouldn’t be surprising if revolts arose in the cities.”

“They must be controlling the people and soldiers through sorcery.”

Greygun’s answer was simple. He had received permission from King Jallah and they were finally to march. On their side, they numbered two thousand five hundred. They had the numerical advantage. The rumour among even the lowest-ranked soldiers was that although a general from Helio had been chosen to take command for the time being, he was no more than a figurehead and in practice, Greygun was the one who made the decisions.

Orba and the others were also released from house arrest. Duncan, the commander of the mercenary unit, had personally gone turned up for the occasion,

“The next time you get into a fight with the mercenaries from the Red Hawks,” he had solemnly declared, “do it somewhere where nobody will notice.”

He was a man with a strange sense of humour. Perhaps that was necessary for one who managed professional warmongers.

Helio’s troops, Taúlia’s troops, the Red Hawks led by Greygun and the mercenary corps led by a several commanders, starting with Duncan. Those forces started off, weaving their way through the crowd of spectators that thronged the road before the gate.

The vanguard consisted of Helio’s regular cavalry. Behind them, amidst the sound of thundering footsteps, followed the dragoon corps. Speaking of the dragoon corps, their commander, the far-famed general Lasvius whose loyalty to Helio’s royal family was absolute, had disappeared during the revolt following King Elargon’s death. Because of that, their numbers had been reduced by half.

Behind Helio’s army followed Taúlia’s troops. Cavalry, dragoons, artillery then the mercenary corps led by Duncan followed in a line. They consisted of a hundred riders and three hundred and fifty foot soldiers, and naturally Orba was among those infantrymen. They advanced hoisting their long spears.

Although he was heading into battle wearing the military gear he had longed for as a child, pennons fluttering bravely, marching while being seen off by a great crowd of people, the haze within Orba’s heart had still not cleared.

Then, before they passed through the gate, Shique who was walking beside him, nudged him with his elbow.

Looking in the direction he indicated, there were Kay and her brother Niels among the crowd. The two of them were waving their hands and he inadvertently waved back. No matter that they were headed towards mortal peril, when the soldiers were greeted by the cheers of the crowd, for that one proud moment, every one of them was a hero who didn’t fear death. The tramping of their footsteps and the clatter of their equipment resounded. Even if the kings of the various countries were turning over all sorts of ingenious schemes, even if the fight had started through all sorts of ambitions, what each and every soldier was fighting was a crusade to protect the country they were born and raised in, their family and neighbours.

However,

Both for gladiators and for mercenaries,

The torrents of cheers and the looks from the people seeing them off didn’t hold any meaning at all. Orba walked at the centre of space that had been painted entirely grey.

The last to pass through the gate were the Red Hawks, commanded by Greygun. Five hundred of them were leaving for the front, with two hundred remaining along with fifty of Helio’s regular soldiers to defend the city.

The line of military troops left Helio behind.

The sky was cloudy.

The wind was dry.

“Lord Hardross, it is bad for your health. Please return to your room.”

Hardross Helio stood on the rooftop of a tower projecting from the castle walls. The woollen mantle he wore over his toga was fluttering.

Without responding to the chamberlain’s appeal, he continued to gaze down in silence on the crowd below until he got tired of it, then suddenly turned to face southwards and narrowed his eyes. When the weather was good, one could see the shadow of the forest surrounding Lake Soma in the far distance.

Hardross was contemplating Lake Soma with particular attention.

The land around the lake was fertile and it had been an important grain-producing region since the days of Zer Tauran. East of that lake was Helio, and south of it was Cherik. The two countries had competed countless times for supremacy over it.

Because it was fertile land, naturally not only those two countries but other powers as well aimed for Lake Soma and had constantly kept a vigilant eye on it. Their claws and fangs gleaming, they had waited for the two countries to weaken.

And so, as that land risked being easily snatched away, Hardross Helio had proposed an alliance with Cherik. They pledged that they would have joint jurisdiction over the pasture land, farms and fields, and that they would divide the harvest in even halves.

The result of Cherik’s consent was that as proof of the alliance, Marilène had left Cherik to marry into Helio twelve years earlier. Although still only fourteen at the time, the girl already possessed an adult-like beauty. Hardross had rejoiced more than anyone at the arrival of this emissary of friendship. Because he was so innocently delighted, his subjects had gossiped that His Majesty Hardross might be intending to make the young princess queen.

His successor Elargon was an only child born when Hardross had been in his mid-thirties. He had raised him with great care and it was heart-warming to see the king exulting over going to greet his son’s bride. Moreover, his son’s generation was promised the rich blessings of Lake Soma without there being war with Cherik. For Hardross, there had been a sense that his work as king was complete.

But now,

Elargon had died in battle and his grandchild Rogier, born to Elargon’s concubine, had disappeared. It was the same as saying that apart from himself, the royal lineage had died out. Princess Marilène of Cherik whom he had been so happy to welcome sat next to some man who was in the position of king and yet whose name Hardross didn’t recognise, while among the people and in the shadows it was whispered more and more that she intended to sell Helio out to Cherik.

I must endure for now.

Hardross continued to gaze in the direction in which he had once spurred his frail body to run through battlefields, the direction that would be filled with the deep blue of Lake Soma.

The rampage of that accursed Garda’s army has to be safely held in check.

He vowed to himself that when that time came, he would be awaiting the final task for the former King Hardross.

It was said that having left Eimen, Garda’s army was advancing through the grasslands that spread north of Helio. The area was a region dotted with nomadic herders, but it seemed unlikely that they would oppose troops two thousand strong. The combined Zerdian forces on the other hand were advancing towards the Coldrin Hills, which lay northwest of Helio and northeast of Lake Soma, at roughly the same distance from both if you drew a straight line.

North of the hills was the steppe. The only pass through which a great number of people could advance was a narrow one, and Greygun’s strategy was for the main body of their troops to take up position on the high grounds there.

“The enemy probably has airships,” was the assessment made by the upper echelons of Greygun and the others’ forces.

According to rumour, Garda’s army possessed three large aircrafts and instead of installing guns on the ground, they fired from the air and massacred all indiscriminately.

As the Tauran countries were not close to the sea and the routes for purchasing ether were scattered, supply was unstable. It was therefore an accepted opinion that the Tauran countries were vulnerable to air battles.

“Where the hell is Garda getting ether from? Even a sorcerer can’t produce it out of thin air!”

Advancing in front of Orba and the others, their platoon leader grumbled complainingly.

Also, according to another rumour, the people in the areas that Garda controlled were treated like slaves. The women were taken away and it seemed that most of them were sacrificed during strange, suspicious ceremonies. The men saw their families and lovers taken hostage and were forced to take the path of soldiers. It was said that black smoke rose incessantly from the cities occupied by Garda’s army.

“It’s a secret ritual of Garda’s sorcery,” someone murmured as though telling a ghost story when they ate their crude meal around the open fire late at night. “They say he makes ether from living humans. That’s why he needs so many sacrifices. Actually, they say that when the historical Garda performed powerful spells, he also demanded a proportional number of sacrifices.”

Just as Orba had previously heard from Stan, it was claimed that Garda sank those sacrifices into Lake Kurán. There was such a history, or at least various legends, handed down about Kurán.

Another story was that not long after Zer Tauran had collapsed, a powerful clan which had settled in the area had apparently planned to build a town on the lake’s estuary as part of the northern trade route. However, as the people in charge died of illness one after another, the project remained at a standstill. Consequently, ships coming from the north had to unload their cargo at the mouth of the river and take an overland route towards the south.

As the people in Tauran were superstitious, when a strong wind sometimes blew in the dead of night, the soldiers would look at each other uneasily. It was as though the wind was blowing through skulls abandoned in the wilderness and the tune it played was the same as the wailing of departed souls.

Their opponent was a magician whose true nature was unknown and who might use any kind of strange art – enemy soldiers might suddenly appear right here, or a monstrous bird or dragon manipulated by magic might come from the sky, or perhaps Garda himself might step out from the deep shadows and lay a death curse upon everyone there – and the Zerdians remembered their dread.

Probably sensing the soldiers’ unease, Greygun was continuously choosing the best riders out of his own men and sending them out as scouts. This backfired however when, just before the Coldrin Hills, one of the scouts failed to return.

Greygun had the main force advance with caution. To march while feeling uneasy about the possibility of a surprise attack put the soldiers under stress. It had to be said however that as was characteristic of them, the Red Hawks mercenaries alone threw their chests out and roared as though unconcerned by superstitions.

But –

When they arrived at the upwards slanting terrain with the Coldrins right before their eyes, Greygun gave the order to halt the march.

The enemy troops had already taken up position on the high plateaus overlooking where they were.

Part 2

“What is this!” Bouwen muttered in utter surprise, almost inadvertently letting go of the reins he had grasped in his hands.

And no wonder. According to the scouts’ most recent reports, even if they had leisurely taken their time to line up their formations, their enemy should still not have reached the hilly area until a day later.

“You must be joking, is this also the so-called sorcery of Garda’s army?”

At this rate, Orba thought while he could hear the soldiers loudly yelling the same thing, the enemy will very soon be in sight of Helio.

To the troops that had marched from Helio, the first low slopes of the Coldrin Hills looked like castle ramparts. They broke through the ground’s surface and rose up to where the plateaus spread out. The enemy seemed to have established their headquarters there. Even more worryingly, they had set up an artillery battery at both the east and west of the hill range. Contrary to the rumours, there didn’t appear to be any large ships. However,

“The enemy must have carried their soldiers here by ship. In that case, we have to attack quickly and snatch away the high ground before they arrive with reinforcements,” insisted Greygun.

Certainly their opponent did not number the ‘two thousand’ reported by the scouts. There were no more than perhaps half that many.

“With that in mind, we should also install guns on the heights in order to intercept the ships.”

It would be dark in less than two hours. Which also meant that if they successfully seized control of the Coldrins by then and if they enemy were to arrive with reinforcements during the night, they might also be able to capture the ships by skilfully using the cover of darkness.

Those two hours would be decisive for the confrontation. Once the sun had set, defensively speaking, the enemy side encamped in the highlands would be in a much more advantageous position. The fires lit by the attacking side would become targets for the guns and cannons, and since they would be unsure of the ground beneath their feet in the dark, a charge was also unlikely to succeed.

There were of course those who showed disapproval of Greygun’s tactics but, just as the soldiers had gossiped, that mercenary commander had seized full power. As soon as their headquarters had been established, he called together all the commanding officers.

As they judged that there would soon be a fight, the soldiers’ mental strain also increased all at once.

“What’s the opponent’s status?”

“According to the scouts sent out on reconnaissance, they seem like perfectly normal Zerdians. Nothing like the demons and fire drakes that accompany Garda in the legends.”

“Shit, why are those Zerdians obeying that sorcerer?”

All around was the sound of weapons being inspected and prepared. As they were at a distance, the enemy shouldn’t be able to notice, but even so the atmosphere was so tense that every so often someone would go “Shh!” to quieten the noise.

Duncan returned from headquarters.

“Well then, you warmongers who’ve sold your lives for money,” he said to Taúlia’s four hundred and fifty mercenaries, his voice carrying clearly, “you have been honoured to receive a task that will make it easy for you to distinguish yourselves by service in the face of danger.”

Having learned from the scouts that the enemy’s right flank was thin, Greygun planned to intentionally put on a display of clashing from the front then attacking by manoeuvring around the left-wing. The mission for Taúlia’s mercenary unit that Orba and the others belonged to was to suppress the eastern artillery battery near the enemy’s left-wing. They were to make a straight charge and attract as much attention as possible to their fight.

“Raise a racket, charge then return. While the enemy fire is turned this way, General Bouwen will head to the front. When things begin in earnest, Greygun’s main force will rush out from the rear.”

From the front? As was to be expected, there was a stir among the mercenaries. Bouwen’s unit which intended to break through at the front would borrow a hundred cavalrymen from the mercenary unit and would combine with Helio’s main troop, but even so Helio’s forces amounted to no more than two hundred. As for Greygun’s Red Hawks, half would be sent as a detached force to the left flank while the remaining half would be waiting at headquarters, poised to join in the assault led by Bouwen’s forces. In other words, the reinforcements sent by other countries had been placed in the most dangerous positions.

We’re being provoked, Orba thought inwardly. He had only met Bouwen directly once or twice, but he was still a young commander. Whereas Greygun was undoubtedly a veteran.

He must have taken the choice away from Bouwen by saying something like “Can the central breakthrough really be left to Taúlia’s fighters?” And the mercenaries had gotten the short end of the stick. In a sense, charging the battery was an even more dangerous task than that of Bouwen’s troop.

How will we do it? Orba wondered. For example, they could feign to throw a large force at the enemy’s weak right flank then immediately change course after the charge began. Then at the opportunity created when the enemy moved in pursuit, they could attack the battery. That way there should be few sacrifices.

But he was no longer a country’s crown prince and Orba didn’t think that anyone would listen to the advice of a simple private soldier. For a private soldier, the decisions made at the top were absolute. At Zaim Fortress and then at Apta, Orba had had his orders thoroughly enforced.

“Dammit, it’s your lot’s fault for annoying Greygun,” Talcott said bitterly, while repeatedly pulling his sword in and out of its scabbard. “Thanks so much for the chance at a ‘great achievement’. Do you think Kay will let me court her if I dangle enough enemy heads at her?”

Recently Orba had realised that Talcott didn’t always mean it when he cursed at him. It was as though he didn’t know when to shut up and always said whatever came to mind without thinking about it first.

“Stan, as usual I’ll leave it to your intuition to decide where I run to. I believe in you so stay in front of me.”

“Got it, Brother.”

It seemed that this was how the two of them went around battlefields. Stan went trusting his kind of supernatural intuition and Talcott followed behind. And because they had survived so far by doing so, they had a blind faith that this time too everything would be alright.

To different degrees, most soldiers who risked their lives in war each had a superstition or a jinx. When cutting down an enemy, never slash at them diagonally from the left; if you break into a charge with your right foot first, enemy arrows and bullet won’t be able to hit you; if hidden under your armour you carry a lucky charm given by a lover, you will definitely survive and return… Another way of saying it was that without some kind of belief to cling to, they wouldn’t have been able to face a battlefield of flying bullets and swinging blades.

Thinking about it, didn’t Alice say that she’d given a lucky charm to Roan? He had heard about it from Alice after his brother had gone to Apta. He had regretted it then: if he had thought about it sooner, he would have given his brother something too. To the very last, Alice had never told him what that lucky charm had been.

Not good, not good.

Orba shook his masked face left and right. When had it been – at Solon’s imperial court or when he had been leading a gang of boys in Birac – he had read a note from a soldier who had stood on the battlefield. If you thought about a dead person when on the battlefield, you too would be possessed by death. And,

Roan died.

It was a cruel truth. He had died as a private soldier, carrying a lucky charm, following orders from above.

On the battlefield, death was always by the soldiers’ side, waiting impatiently. Even Orba who had so often escaped from the very verge of death could easily lose his life to a single stray bullet if he let down his guard.

Orba forced himself to give himself encouragement.

“I’m going to live.”

“What’s the matter, Orba?”

“Nothing,” Orba answered Shique, who looked like he had come to check on him, as he made sure of the weight of the sword in his hand.

The day started to grow dark.

As per Greygun’s instructions, the mercenary unit had begun their assault. The plan was that the main body of Taúlia’s troops, led by Bouwen, would soon attempt to break through at the front. For when that time came, the mercenaries were to fight like all hell or the main forces risked being annihilated by enemy gunfire.

For that purpose, Bouwen had passed guns to the mercenaries. Although since they weren’t long-range rifles, they wouldn’t be able to take up a safe position and shoot from there.

“Right, line up before going off to be reckless. You’re going to be shields against the guns. I’ll keep your names and faces in mind so after this, if you survive, come on forward. I’ll give you your money three times over.”

Duncan had quickly devised a battle plan.

The sun was finally approaching the horizon and the ridges of the Belgana Summits formed a crimson border.

It was the moment when Duncan handed down the order to “Go!” They opened fire on a look-out tower while an artillery platoon loaned out by the main force advanced from the east hill, camouflaged within the narrow trees that grew there.

This was the signal for the start of the battle at the Coldrin Hills.

At a sign that the enemy was in disorder, allied voices rose vigorously from all around. Enemy fire opened in counter-attack from the top of the hills. When Duncan swung down his arm, tens of the mercenaries who had been designated as gun shields, each with their preferred weapons in their hands, raced upwards.

The enemy soldiers guarding the battery on the hill probably numbered about two hundred. Lined up side-by-side, the enemy gunners took aim and fired at the mercenaries below. Several lives were lost that way. Immediately after though, most of the mercenaries nimbly leapt about left and right.

Then guns opened a gaping hole in the enemy’s front. They had been pulled there by Yunion dragons and had been installed under the cover of the soldiers’ charge.

Boom. Boom, boom. The thunderous roar shook the area around Orba. The first impact struck the ground halfway up the hill, the second ploughed through the position of the enemy gunners. The smell of gunpowder assailed Orba’s nose.

“Now! Take it!”

There was no plan for after that. Nothing but to charge. For one moment, the enemy’s spirits could be seen to be overwhelmed, but that didn’t change the advantage of their position on higher ground. A second group of riflemen immediately took up position. Orba also dashed forward, a spear in one hand.

Over his slouched back, he heard the nearby whine of bullets flying swiftly by.

Tsk.

Things like skill with the sword no longer had any bearing on survival.

“Kya!”

The soldier running to his right screamed like a woman. His lower leg had been shot through and he fell backwards. With no time for so much as a sidelong glance, Orba raced on. His heart beat faster with every step and he ran as though flying. Finally, the distance seemed to have been covered but then suddenly, the mercenaries running in front of him scattered left and right.

Looking up, a row of spearheads formed a single, glaring line. A group of enemy cavalry had galloped down.

One of the ones at the front swung his spear and the head of a mercenary who hadn’t escaped in time went flying. He probably hadn’t even noticed when he crossed the border between life and death.

Orba kicked at the ground to leap sideways and put some distance between himself and the group. But the soldiers who escaped that way were gunned down from above. One by one, one after another, bodies riddled with holes fell and went tumbling down the hill.

The lancers galloped down with unabated vigour, broke through the crowd waiting for them below and turned to the north side of the hill. They would be charging once again.

Orba crouched under a slightly overhanging wall of rock.

“What about the artillery on our side?”

Talcott and Stan were under the same wall of rock. Both their faces were drenched in sweat, but they didn’t seem to be injured.

It looked as though the riflemen were hesitating as to whether they should be covering the soldiers who were rushing upwards or ambushing the cavalry that was returning from below.

“Shit, they’re useless! Shall we go and give them a talking to?”

“Brother, wait! That’s Kurun from our platoon.”

Looking at it, Kurun was standing unsteadily in a place with almost no protection. Blood flowed from his side, probably from where a rider had slashed at him.

A foot soldier ran down the hill to where he was. The face under the helmet was young. Maybe he was looking for an achievement or maybe he was bent on challenging Kurun because he looked like an easy target.

“I’ll do it,” Orba made a quick decision. “I’ll bring Kurun here.”

“Why do I -”

“Got it.”

Stan’s response was the faster.

Ignoring the cursing Talcott, Orba timed the interval in the enemy gunfire and leapt out.

At the third step, a bullet ricochetted by his feet.

Phew. With that kind of timing, he whistled unintentionally.

“Augh!”

About to jump out at Kurun with his sword, the soldier’s angry voice broke into a squeak as he just managed to repel Orba’s spear. In his hurry, his opponent dropped the sword that he had swung overhead for the second time. He was too close to stab. Orba hit him in the face with his hilt. His opponent collapsed backwards, his face up. Just as he was about to deal him the final blow, his allies started concentrating their fire in their direction, probably as protective covering.

“Retreat, retreat!”

“Over here, Kurun.”

Orba and Stan, along with Kurun who they were pulling by the hands, hurried through a rain of bullets and crowded under the same wall of rock as earlier.

“Oi, you alright?”

“Ye-Yeah.”

His wound appeared to be superficial. However, Kurun’s face was covered in beads of sweat and his breath was ragged. More than his body, it was his heart that had been at been at bay. Stan patted his back,

“Come on, pull yourself together. Breathe calmly. But I watched the enrolment test and you, weren’t your sword skills pretty good?”

“T-This is my first time on a battlefield, I’m an apprentice.”

“Is there such a thing as a mercenary apprentice?”

It looked as though Duncan had issued an appeal to the artillery unit as the Taúlian side also attacked by opening fire from below. One hit landed on the crest of the hill, sending earth and sand flying. If the enemy line of fire veered away to the cannons, that would create a chance to attack. Orba carefully looked around.

“Did you see who was leading the cavalry? Hell, that was definitely Moldorf,” Talcott spoke in his ear.

“Moldorf?”

“You don’t know him? Moldorf, the Red Dragon of Kadyne. His younger brother is the Blue Dragon, Nilgif. Both brothers are matchless generals. Garda managed to make even the likes them surrender to him! Still, if we defeat them, there’ll be an extra special bonus.”

Just then, they heard the roar of the dragoon unit’s war cries. No doubt at Duncan’s request, the main force had changed trajectory. Their mobilisation showed flexibility and proved the mutual understanding between Duncan and Bouwen.

As Orba had judged, when the enemy fire began to concentrate on the guns, Tengo riders galloped upwards in one go, causing the enemy’s aim to become unfocussed.

“Kurun, stay here.”

Orba crouched down and once more broke into a run. Behind him followed Stan, then Talcott.

Several of the Tengo riders” dragons fell to bullets, but the group itself didn’t lose speed. The dragons’ leg strength steadily carried them up the slope. Finally, they flew over the fence and leapt towards the artillery unit. “You bastards!”

A roar like thunder seemed to come crashing down from overhead, and the front Tengo riders were sent flying from their dragons. It was Moldorf. He wore red armour and a helmet in the shape of a dragon. He lightly wielded an unusually long spear, and not a single one of the mercenaries was going to pass.

“You soldiers of Taúlia, know that I am the Red Dragon Moldorf! If you value your lives, turn back.”

A dragon barred their way uphill. Every time that dragon roared, dragoon riders were mowed down left and right. Sprays of blood rained down as he wielded his three-pronged spear, which looked as though it could inflict wounds that would not heal in a lifetime.

“Wait for the artillery unit to arrive.”

Orba had no intention of halting his racing steps. A rush of wind howled behind his ears. Inside his head, blood was swirling in a whirlpool strong enough to carry everything away. No unnecessary thing was left. Onwards and onwards, all that was needed was to lose his body and mind in a feverish urge to kill.

Moldorf noticed Orba’s figure, as he rushed headlong on. From the perspective of the long-serving general, he truly had a small build. Buried beneath his moustache, Moldorf’s mouth split into a grin.

“Whoa-ho, I’d need to dismount. There’d be no glory in killing you. I’ll let you off.”

Without answering, without even a single yell, Orba plunged with a spear. He was far away. Moldorf lightly swung his trident. A single breath from the dragon smashed Orba’s spear – and even as it happened, Orba had already pulled out a sword with his right hand and with terrifying speed aimed for Moldorf’s face.

“What!”

He hurriedly turned his spear to repel the blow. Orba staggered to the right but then braced his feet firmly on the ground and thrust at the horse-riding Moldorf again and then again.

“Ha, ha! I’ll do it!”

As though he were training new recruits, Moldorf jabbed in every direction, lashed out and slashed downwards. But not one blow landed. Every time –

T-This guy! Orba’s sword aimed for the horse’s neck. Just as he was about to defend against it, the gleam from the sword changed trajectory. A rush of air swept by the tip of Moldorf’s nose. Moldorf tried to spur his horse to create a distance, but the ferocity of Orba’s attack didn’t leave a single opportunity to do so.

During that time, one after another, the mercenaries reached the top of the hill. The artillerymen had thrown aside their guns and foot soldiers raced forward to cover their retreat, but in the hand-to-hand fights that broke out, the mercenaries had the impetus of victory.

“Orba!”

Gilliam and Shique belatedly arrived and joined in as Orba’s reinforcements.

“Tsk. We’ll have to postpone this contest.”

Assessing the situation at a glance, Moldorf pulled on his horse’s reins and moved to escape. He galloped towards the opposite slope from the one Orba and the others had climbed up. It could be called an excellent way to quit.

With that, they gained complete control of the gun battery.

“Good, turn the guns around. We’ll fire them at the enemy headquarters to back up General Bouwen’s assault,” said Duncan as soon as he arrived.

At those instructions, the mercenaries with their blood-soaked swords and armour unanimously roared out a battle cry.

Part 3

We won.

Every one of the mercenaries thought so. There was still no sign of enemy ships in the sky. In other words, there were no reinforcements coming.

And in addition, looking down from the hill, Taúlia’s main force under General Bouwen was sweeping through irresistibly. Ahead of the protective fire from the captured hill, they had already driven the enemy higher and higher, and were now within a stone’s throw of attacking the enemy headquarters.

Gilliam grinned broadly.

“Look, at their headquarters. They’re steadily drawing back. They’re just a cobbled together mish-mash that Garda bullied into fighting for him after all. They’re fine as long as they’ve got momentum on their side, but they’re no good in face-to-face fight.”

Is that really the case? – the thought flashed through Orba’s mind. If that was the case, how had so many states fallen to Garda’s army in such a short amount of time? An idea occurred to him,

A trap.

However, as at that point the bulk of Greygun’s forces had begun to move from the rear, if the enemy had set some kind of trap, not even Orba could tell what it was. It had been decided that Greygun would assail the weak left flank, but at this rate, they had the momentum to break through from the front. As for Bouwen, it looked like he would be able to triumph over Greygun with this.

“Catch your breath. We’ll wait for Greygun’s main troops to turn as reinforcements then join up with them,” Duncan went around clapping each one’s shoulder in turn. The man was a tireless walker. As he was drawing towards Orba,

“Oi, enemies! Hidden themselves.”

At that voice, the soldiers who had started to relax instantly leapt into action. What they dragged out however was a single enemy soldier. Moreover, an injured soldier who couldn’t walk and who had been left behind.

Duncan stepped up to him. When Orba looked at him, it was the man who had been about to cut down Kurun. No, rather than a man, once his helmet was removed the face that was revealed looked like a boy’s. His age couldn’t be different from Orba’s. He seemed to have been trampled by a dragon and his right leg was mangled. Duncan took a water canteen from one of the soldiers and held it out to boy’s lips.

“Which state are you from?”

“Eimen.”

Water spilled from the side of his mouth as he answered. His face was pale.

“Why are you following the likes of Garda? Do you actually believe he really is a sorcerer who’s awoken from several hundred years of sleep?”

“I don’t know if he is the real Garda,” the boy said with a look that seemed to see that he wasn’t sure what was a dream and what was reality, “but his sorcery is real. Nobody can defy him.”

“Is it true that the cities’ women, children and elderly are held hostage and the men forced to fight?”

“Yeah… Me too, my mother and little sister were taken hostage. My father was murdered where he stood for resisting Garda’s soldiers. My mother was made an example of and was offered as a sacrifice, and to save my little sister, I had no choice but to become a soldier.”

As he was sometimes overcome by violent choking, just saying that much took him time. A heavy atmosphere hung among the mercenaries and no one was able to say a thing.

“I understand your situation, but even Garda is only human. Among that collection of soldiers, wasn’t there anyone with the guts to incite you all to stand up against Garda? No, it’s not too late yet. If we attack Zer Illias, you guys can stoke the fires of insurrection from the inside and…”

“Attack Zer Illias?”

Despite the situation, the boy laughed scornfully.

“That’s absurd. Besides, Garda, he’s – always watching us. He’s always observing us.”

“Observing how? Or maybe, is Garda himself in that camp over there?”

“That’s not what I mean. But in a sense, you’re right. Garda isn’t one, he can be anywhere. Maybe he’s behind you. Your home country will probably become a sea of flames just for thinking about opposing him.”

Duncan pulled a face that showed that he didn’t understand the meaning of those words. Was the meaning that they were being misled by magic, or was it that one of Garda’s confidants was keeping a close watch on each military unit?

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like nothing but one of Garda’s tricks, so Duncan cut the conversation short and had each of the platoon leaders assembled their soldiers into formation.

“Oh, where’s our esteemed platoon leader?” Talcott wondered idly. “I haven’t seen him since he gave the order to charge.”

But that was the last time that the mercenaries were able to smile. Greygun’s main force had finally started out and their own preparations for the assault were arranged in time, when an unbelievable scene unfolded right before their eyes.

“Go!”

Straddling a black horse, Greygun waved his hand and three hundred of his men hurtled down like an avalanche to attack Taúlia’s main force from the rear.

“What!”

Naturally, Bouwen’s troops were one-sidedly overwhelmed by the unexpected assault. The cavalrymen with the blazing red hawk pattern on their chests severed the heads of the Taúlian soldiers, skewered their hands and feet with their spears, or trampled them beneath their horses’ hooves. As the hill’s slope filled with screams, Garda’s troops which had seemed about to retreat altered their course by a hundred and eighty degrees.

As though by mutual agreement – no, in reality, that is what it was – the two armies caught Taúlia’s troops in a pincer attack. From their position at the battery above, they could see Bouwen’s horse rear upwards.

The mercenaries watched in utter shock.

“That bastard Greygun, h-he betrayed us?” No sooner had he spoken than Duncan had leapt on his horse. “Follow my lead! Forget battle formations. We’re going to save General Bouwen!”

“Wait!”

Orba cried out reflexively. Duncan shot him the same look he would an enemy.

“What!”

“Leave about two platoons here. Once Bouwen is escaping, force your way through this front. The enemy will be chasing after, so by attacking them from the side, it’ll be possible to slow their pursuit.”

“Your platoon leader isn’t here, huh? Right, I’ll leave Rouno’s archery platoon here as well. Rouno, you’re in charge!”

The mood now was already only for dragging Bouwen away from the slaughter at the Coldrin Hills and escaping. Duncan kicked his horse’s flank and started racing down the slope.

“Keep up, keep up! In this fight, losing the general means defeat. And then you won’t get paid either!”

Thud, thud, thud – the horses’ hooves drilled innumerable holes in the hill’s slope, kicking up a cloud of dust through which the foot soldiers charged, their spears at the ready.

Only the six of them – Orba, Shique, Gilliam, as well as Talcott, Stan and Kurun – as well as the seven from Rouno’s platoon remained on the hill.

Orba fixedly focused his gaze beyond that cloud of dust but,

“I’ve thought about it,” said Talcott, “Let’s get out of here.”

“I-Idiot,” Kurun answered. “That damn traitor. I won’t be satisfied until I’ve sliced through Greygun’s neck!”

Looking to be in agreement, Gilliam hefted his beloved battle-ax onto his shoulder.

“That fucking shithead, Greygun. He was always looking down on us as though he was a king and he’s gone and tied himself to Garda.”

“At any rate, this is a lost battle. For mercenaries, it’s vital to know when to quit.”

“That’s Brother for you: working for free is what Brother hates the most.”

Among the mercenaries whose feelings were frayed and on edge, Orba alone gazed cool-headedly at the battlefield through his mask. The heat in his blood had cooled compared to when he had rushed ahead, intent only on the sword in his hand. It was a strange characteristic of his. In an unfavourable situation, when he was cornered to the point of being driven against the wall, Orba’s head was clear and chillingly cool. Rough voices flying past each other, the stench of gunpowder, the glitter of swords and the red sprays of blood. If he was amongst those, he could forget himself and be no more than a swordsman eager only to swing his sword once more, but if he took a single step back from them and surveyed his surroundings from a distance, in that instant, he would come back to himself as though his skin had been hit with water cascading from a high waterfall.

Orba went up to platoon leader Rouno. He was getting guns ready. As they would be covering for Bouwen’s troops with arrowheads, it seemed they would be able to use them at once.

“Can you shoot that way?”

Orba suddenly pointed to a corner of the hill. It was a spot away from the mêlée. And for a moment, Rouno looked over his shoulder as though startled. He was around forty and was a man who gave the impression of being some kind of craftsman rather than a military officer. Whatever it was he felt upon hearing Orba’s cool voice at a time when the others were on edge, Rouno nodded to his fellow mercenary.

“We can. To provoke unease among the enemy, right?”

“Yeah. Just before Duncan’s group joins the mêlée would be best. The enemy’s morale might be perturbed if they think we’re willing to go as far as to get our allies caught up in it.”

According to what that boy soldier had said, the enemy fought so desperately because their family and their birthplace had been taken hostage. Even though that gave them a reason to fight, it didn’t follow that they were intent on exterminating their opponents at all cost. Orba judged that they should crumble easily in an unexpected situation.

“Got it,” Rouno agreed. Orba’s tone of voice had a ring that was characteristic of a person who was used to giving orders. In this situation, it also helped that his mask helped to make it difficult to judge his age. Even though he hadn’t deliberately calculated such a thing, Orba was aware of a point of heat in his chest that was like a lit fire as he returned to his companions and confirmed their arrangements for what was to come.

Runo’s group readied their arrows while Orba and the others sat astride horses left behind by the enemy soldiers. “Let’s go!” At Rouno’s shout of encouragement, a cannon was fired with a bang.

Slightly away from where friend and foe were mingled in mêlée, an explosion blew away part of the hilly terrain’s surface. Obvious agitation appeared within Garda’s troops. Without wasting any time, Duncan’s mercenary group cleaved through the battlefield like an arrow, parting it in two. Greygun’s troops divided to the left and right of them, they made their way to the centre and galloped to General Bouwen’s side.

“Once more, this time towards the other side.”

“Understood,” Rouno nodded, his face sooty from the fumes of the gun’s discharge.

At that moment,

“Enemy incoming!”

Talcott yelled. Perhaps they had sensed the threat from the battery as the enemy was reacting faster than expected.

“Tsk. It’s Moldorf. The cavalry is coming!”

Clicking his tongue, Orba pulled on his reins, his spear in his hand.

“I’ll pull them away. Rouno’s group, back me up with your arrows.”

Below them to one side, angry roars resounded as swords and spears, axes and hammers collided. Once again, the battery position became a scene of thick, frenzied bloodshed.

In the midst of that, Orba observed the mounted warrior clad in red. Moldorf’s expression was overflowing with fierce energy. He looked up from the bottom of the hill and saw Orba.

“You. The masked man.”

“Oh? Hadn’t you run away, Red Dragon?”

“And let you off?”

As Moldorf galloped upwards, Rouno’s group unleashed a flood of arrows. Those left and right of the dragon warrior fell, but Moldorf plunged on without a care. Shique came flying towards them.

“Orba, General Bouwen broke out of the pincer attack. He and Captain Duncan are headed this way.”

“Leave Moldorf to me. You guys break through the enemy’s flank then join up with Bouwen.”

“And you?”

“I’ll catch up with you later,” Orba said shortly. Shique fixed his eyes on Orba’s profile for a short while then,

“Got it. We’ll meet again later. Definitely!”

He lightly turned back towards Gilliam and the others. At that moment, Moldorf’s figure drew close at hand. He was the sort of man who would overwhelm an enemy’s spirit on the battlefield. Each time his horse took a step closer, that figure seemed to swell two or three times larger. Steam seemed to rise around him.

Part 4

It was a terrible fight.

Friend and foe were jumbled together at close range, there were neither positions nor battle formations and all anyone could do was swing their weapon of choice at those who stood out as opponents. Among the mercenaries who had suffered Greygun’s betrayal, it was impossible to tell who was an enemy and who was an ally, and so there were allies who killed each other by mistake.

Amidst that, Duncan finally managed to get away from the free-for-all fight and, at a gallop, escort Bouwen to the hill.

“General, you are safe.”

“Where is Greygun?” Bouwen asked hoarsely. He was half lying atop his horse. His shoulder was broken. And the one who had smashed it was that very same Greygun. When the Red Hawk unit had drawn up to them from the rear, Bouwen had made the mistake of reacting too slowly. He hadn’t been able to believe their betrayal.

“If he’s alive, we’ll meet him and face him again.”

Duncan encouraged him, though his own limbs were covered in inumerable injuries. Even just now, he had taken a spear to the shoulder from enemy riders in hot pursuit. He had smashed it by force and, brandishing a longsword, had cleaved open his opponent’s skull.

“Bouwen’s head. Take his head! There’ll be a reward from General Greygun!”

Like vultures flocking towards carrion, the Red Hawks swarmed. Shique, Gilliam and the others plunged headlong down from the side.

The soldiers who had come galloping up to the side of Bouwen’s horse were sent flying from their saddle by Gilliam’s ax. Shique meanwhile jabbed at a Red Hawk soldier who was moving in on a pincer attack towards the spear-wielding Duncan.

“Oh?” Shique smiled as a spurt of blood splashed across his face. “It’s you.”

It was the man who had hit Shique. For a moment, he glared at Shique hatefully then fell from his horse with a crash.

In that time, Orba was still defending the battery position to the death. Before the enemy could move into a mop-up operation, the gun was preparing to fire another shot. In order for that to happen, he couldn’t let Moldorf pass. However,

“Your back is light. You won’t hit me with a spear that way.”

Orba was embarrassingly unused to fighting on horseback. Against Moldorf, who was an expert at handling a spear from atop a horse, he was at a disadvantage. While Rouno’s platoon readied their guns’ aim, Orba could only engage in a defensive fight.

“Aren’t you coming, boy?”

Reading his opponents’ intentions, Moldorf decided on a forcible breakthrough. His impetus was such that he looked like he was going to slam into the other horse. And that was the chance that Orba had been waiting for. Maintaining his posture with his back lightly raised, Orba suddenly pulled his feet out of the stirrups, kicked himself off the horse’s back and leapt. Losing its target, the spear tore through empty space.

“Guh!”

While jumping off, Orba gave a single jab with his spear and struck Moldorf in the back. But it didn’t pierce through the armour. Even so, his breath agonisingly knocked out of him, Moldorf tumbled from his horse and was forced to hear the roar of another shot from the cannon.

“Good, retreat. Retreat.”

Orba shouted as though he were a commanding officer. He quickly grabbed Moldorf’s horse.

“W-Wait!” The Red Dragon of Kadyne yelled while getting to his feet. “This match isn’t settled yet!”

“We’ll have to postpone it.”

Orba who responded thus was far from being uninjured. Rather, of the two, he had received a greater number of wounds. However, without so much as a groan of pain, Orba set the horse at a gallop and dashed down the steep slope to join up with Shique and the others.

Thanks to their assault and to the cannon strikes, the enemy’s pursuit had somewhat slowed down. For now, they could only rush at a gallop. The fast-moving riders protecting the wounded Bouwen at their centre were not even fifty strong. The others had been taken down during the pincer attack by Greygun and Garda’s armies, had been too slow to escape or had scattered and escaped elsewhere.

Less than half an hour later, the Taúlian soldiers tasted the true flavour of despair.

Although behind them was a cloud of dust kicked up by a group of enemies, they halted their steps. Flames were rising up from the direction of Helio.

“They were attacked,” from atop his horse, Duncan’s clenched fists shook. “Those bastards, they’ve seized Helio.”

At the same time as Greygun’s army made its move, the Red Hawk unit that had been left in the city must have set fire to the palace. Everything had gone according to the enemy’s plan. It was as though their path had been torn to pieces before their very eyes.

Duncan glanced towards Bouwen; his face was nearly chalk white and he was about to lose consciousness. At this rate they were racing headlong towards the enemy and furthermore, they had pursuers at their back; even a valiant and uninjured warrior would not be able to make his way back to Taúlia.

Duncan seemed to think about something, then called thirty of the regular soldiers to gather around him. Not long after, he also beckoned Orba to him.

“Several kilometres north of Helio, there’s a bridge. Take the general, cross the river and head towards the Belgana Summits. After that, hide yourselves and wait for an opportunity.”

“What will you do, Captain?”

“It’s called being the rear guard. All the regular soldiers will defend it to the last,” said Duncan.

Rear guard or whatever, if the regular soldiers stayed behind here, those that were left were almost all mercenaries. It was saying that Bouwen alone was considered to be the ‘main force’ and that he was entrusting him to Orba and the others.

“Why are you saying this to me?”

“Why indeed. You’re quick-witted and seem trustworthy. And besides,” Duncan’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, “you drove away that Adelber that I couldn’t stand.”

“You’re a fool. I might sell Bouwen to Greygun for the high reward.”

“And when you do, my ghost will seize you by the throat.” From Duncan’s voice, it was impossible to tell if he was joking or serious. “Anyway, as things are now, all we can do is wait to be annihilated. Mercenaries aren’t suited to act as the rear guard so all I can do is to take a chance on you.”

Next to Duncan there was also the platoon leader Rouno. He too seemed to have determined that this was a fitting place to die.

Stars had begun to be scattered across the sky. After taking a moment to look up at them, “Hurry!” was all Duncan said as he turned his horse’s head back to the direction they had come from. The thirty regular Taúlian soldiers did the same. Duncan held the position of captain of the mercenary unit, but such was his calibre that it was rumoured he would sooner or later be given the command of an army corps. Nor did the faces of the soldiers who accompanied him show any hesitation.

They didn’t know how many soldiers were pursuing them but naturally, no one believed that they would be held in check by thirty men. The cloud of dust rose before them.

Then, I too…

It was the image of a hero that Orba had idealised in his childhood. ‘I cannot watch a companion die without doing anything, I too will stay here.’ Prepared to face of death as an overwhelming number of enemies closed in on them yet finding a means of escape at the last minute thanks to miraculous ingenuity and insight, and through sword skills that no ordinary person could compare with – he had longed to be the protagonist in that kind of tale.

But here and now, there wasn’t a single plan he could prepare, and Orba wasn’t a superhuman who could mow down enemies who outnumbered them ten times over and who were noisily descending upon them.

At that moment, Shique drew his horse up to his.

“Let’s go, Orba,” his face that was daubed with his victims’ blood seemed the same as usual.

“Yeah,” said Gilliam, likewise drawing his horse to theirs. “This is an honourable duty that can only be performed by Taúlian soldiers. We can’t lend a hand.”

“Stan, take the lead and let’s get out of here fast,” Talcott yelled while looking in horror in their enemies’ direction. “Stan will find a safe route. Right?”

“If you depend on me, I’ll be bothered by it.”

“You’re supposed to say ‘Absolutely, leave it to me’. This is why you’re an idiot, an idiot.”

Orba looked towards the backs of Duncan and his group.

An honourable duty…

“Shit!” He spat out through the mask then he and Shique placed themselves on either side of Bouwen’s horse and broke into a gallop, propping him up between them.

A long, long night began.

Two fell along the way. Their wounds were deep and they were unable to endure the march on horseback.

The first one fell from his horse as he died. Gilliam got down from his own horse and took the soldier’s emergency rations and water canteen. They couldn’t afford to mourn the dead. Instead, they hid them somewhere inconspicuous so that their pursuers would not spot them.

The second one dismounted by himself.

“I can’t carry on. Go on ahead – Don’t worry, I won’t make the mistake of being found by the enemy.”

The middle-aged mercenary was in agony. They couldn’t take food and water from a dying man, but it was obvious that he would be dead before long. Even so, there was nothing that Orba could do.

Gilliam and Stan pulled the two horses. For the soldiers who no longer had anything, the horses were valuable. They might be able to sell them for a good price in some village or, if it came to it, eat them as food.

The bitter truth was that they were the remnants of a defeated army. Orba was exhausted. In terms of physical condition only, he had been brought lower than this before. But his spirit was utterly exhausted. The heroes of legends could demonstrate their virtue and chivalrous spirit because they were in good health and didn’t have to deal with situations like being pursued, or not knowing where to get fresh food and water, or being worried about someone else.

Those remaining were Orba, Shique, Gilliam, Talcott and Stan as well as Kurun. There were only two regular soldiers and they were so exhausted that they couldn’t speak. Bouwen was in the same state, and if hadn’t been for the faint heaving of his back, they might have thought that he had died.

They fled on without lighting torches, without looking back.

It reminded Orba of that time in his childhood when he had been forced to flee from his native village. He had been terrified from the dread of not knowing where Garberan soldiers might appear from as he pulled his mother by the hand during their journey by night.

It’s the same as back then.

The darkness shrouding their surroundings wore away at the fugitives’ nerves. Before you know it, the darkness is speaking, a voice flickering in your ear. Don’t make a sound, don’t breathe, behind you – There! – an enemy is drawing near. No, it’s from the side. From the front. Instead of this, you want to scream and ride your horse at full speed. You want to break into a gallop as you wait for certain death without being able to move, while your throat slowly starts to tighten.

That damn Greygun.

As he was now, Orba was remembering a bitterness strong enough to burn up his own body.

If he wanted to accomplish something at all cost, Orba could even throw away his own feelings, but if that purpose was lost, then he couldn’t suppress the hot-headed boy, or rather, he couldn’t suppress his own emotions. At the Coldrin Hills, his purpose had been to somehow prevent his allies’ annihilation. Because of that, he had been able to calmly assess the situation and come up with tactics, but now, his body and mind both exhausted, all that remained was anger, seething in his belly like fire.

In that way, several hours passed without anyone saying a thing.

“Where do you want to go now?”

When the light of dawn had begun to dye the wilderness a bluish-purple, Talcott spoke. Ahead of them was the bridge spanning the river. It was probably that which made them think that there might be some sort of settlement nearby. Shique answered,

“There does seem to be a village nearby, but we can’t go looking like this. We should hide in the Belganas then send one or two of us to scout things out.”

“You really are stupidly honest. You’d do that for the sake of an employer who can no longer pay us?”

“Are you thinking of selling out Bouwen?” Gilliam asked threateningly. “If you do, you’ll be a disgrace among mercenaries. You’ll be known far and wide for it and you won’t find employment anywhere, or anyone to trust you. I’m going to make my name as a mercenary. There’s no way I’d stoop to being a two-bit villain like you.”

“Shut up, Jumbo. Where there’s life, there’s hope. I’m not saying to sell out Bouwen. First comes food, then wine! I’m going to go take looksie for a village.”

“But you’re injured and anyone can tell at a glance that you’re a defeated soldier. We can’t afford to be reported to Helio,” Shique pointed out.

“Tsk, you Mephians are all the same. If you want to stop me, try it. Even you lot won’t get out of it unscathed.”

Everyone was in a state of physical and mental collapse. His expression angry, Talcott was like a different person. He looked like he might swing a sword if anyone approached him. Just as Stan was starting to try and calm him down,

“There’s food in the Belganas.”

“What?”

Everyone turned their startled eyes towards Kurun. Blood that looked like dirt now that it had gone dry clung to his face, but his gaze as he looked at Orba and the others was unusually direct.

“I’m not sure about wine but I think it can only provide water. Since there’s an underground river flowing there.” “Oi, newbie who can’t even swing a sword properly. Have you finally gone mad?”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“Wha…?”

“Anyway!” Kurun spoke in an unusually loud voice, “I’ll guide you. Because I have a request for you.”

“A request?”

At Gilliam’s question, Kurun nodded. And said something completely out of place for the situation.

“So that he can return as rightful king of Helio, I want you to work for the prince of Helio.”