Rakuin no Monshou - Book 8: Chapter 1: Reparations

Part 1

Even though it was not yet close to morning, the streets of Taúlia were filled with a jumbled crowd of people.

A noisy hubbub filled squares, back alleys, and all around.

Smoke rose from one corner of the town. Buildings had been reduced to rubble and lay scattered around the neighbourhood. Not, however, because of an enemy assault. The one who had ordered cannons to be fired at them was none other than the general in charge of all the troops in Taúlia, Bouwen Tedos.

Naturally, just before that, Bouwen had the populace take shelter. Whether they had wanted to or not, knocks on their doors had roused people from their beds. As they had finished carrying their household goods outside, with the help of the soldiers, the preparations for the guns were being arranged. Before long, the roar of cannons and the impact of the explosions had torn the everyone in the city from their sleep.

“War again?”

As they gathered at a distance around the rising flames, the people looked at each other gloomily.

War was not rare in the west. Battles arose every day in one place or another. But it was clear from their faces that they were pretty well fed up with it. Such was the extent to which the assault by Garda’s army, which had plunged the entire region into turmoil, had transformed the mood in the west.

“Is it the remnants of Garda’s army?”

“Cherik tried to keep Taúlia in check previously and might have moved its troops. Isn’t that it?”

“No,” a man who had an acquaintance at Court, and so was well-informed, shook his head. “You’ll be amazed when you hear. They say the opponent is Mephius.”

“Nonsense!”

It was proof of how the west had changed that a voice immediately rose to refute him. Compared to in the past, the anti-Mephius feeling within Taúlia had also shifted considerably.

The inhabitants of Taúlia remembered how, just a few months ago, Mephius’ Crown Prince Gil had clearly been waving his hand as he rode through their streets alongside their lord, Ax. It had been at that time that the two countries, which had been long-standing enemies, had almost miraculously been bound in friendship. However–

“Prince Gil is no longer with us.”

Imperial Prince Gil had been betrayed by a vassal and his young life had been torn to nothing. The people of Taúlia naturally knew this fact. It was surely because that retainer could not gladly accept the peace negotiations with Taúlia.

“They even say that it was the Emperor himself who gave the order.”

“But because Prince Gil died…” an elderly man shook his grizzled beard.

“Even so, it’s wrong of them to say that there’s no need to keep the promise with the west, isn’t it!”

“There’s no point getting mad at me.”

“Whatever the case, it’d be nice if it doesn’t drag on too long. The fields outside are going to be wrecked all over again.”

When night had almost completely lifted and the morning light shone on the people in whose faces anger and gloom overlapped, soldiers acting as forward messengers came rushing up and shouts erupted all around the town.

“They’re returning in triumph, they’re returning in triumph.”

“A triumphal return!”

In that instant, it felt as though the dark atmosphere that had settled in the town was completely dispelled with the morning sun.

The gates were thrown open and Taúlia’s troops, Bouwen at their head, rode in one after another. There were the orderly echoes of horseshoes, the jaunty figures of the soldiers, and the bold sharpness of the spears held high.

Even those who had been exchanging glances with worried faces until just a moment ago, now wore bright expressions and greeted them with cheers. All else aside, they had won. All else aside, Taúlia had protected their lives, their belongings, and their families.

Bouwen waved his hand in response to the crowd’s welcome. Although he was young, he was the commander-in-chief who shouldered the entire responsibility for Taúlia’s defence while Ax was away. He had achieved fame by protecting the city, along with Princess Esmena, when Raswan Bazgan had risen in rebellion.

Along with the hero-king Ax, who had defeated Garda, he was the pride of the people of Taúlia. Bouwen had once again demonstrated his rare talent and had protected them from the calamity of the ravages of war. The people could still vividly remember the feeling of victory after Garda’s defeat. Now that they were tasting it again, even though they didn’t know the details, even though the enemy’s name was unclear, they were for a while intoxicated with ecstasy.

But Bouwen’s emotions, as he smiled left and right from atop his horse, were anything but carefree. He sensed that, rather than it being over with this, the fight had only just begun. Just as it had been rumoured among part of the population, the identity of the enemy that had attacked Taúlia was the neighbouring country, Mephius. They had also received information that military forces still remained in the border fortress of Apta.

Bouwen had already sent a request for reinforcements throughout the west. But if the number of their troops swelled up because of that, and Mephius still did not give up on its invasion, he was afraid that it might escalate into all-out war.

Garda’s rampage and his subjugation had exhausted the west. Did it really have enough strength left to prevail in such a large-scale fight?

And on top of that…

If Ax and Bouwen were heroes, there was one other who had gained renown in the war against Garda. But his figure was not to be seen in the long line following behind.

For a moment, as Bouwen Tedos pondered about that hero, his smile was tinged with gloom.

“Hang in there.”

“Your child is going to be born soon right? What’s going to happen if its father isn’t around!”

On one side, Bouwen’s soldiers were marching in a grand parade along the main avenues –

While in Taúlia’s back alleys, the soldiers who were too wounded to walk were being transported on carts and stretchers while their friends encouraged them.

There were those who had taken a bullet to the stomach, those who had an arm or a leg cut off, those who had their bones crushed by being trampled by a dragon… there were also those among them who were so badly injured that it would be difficult to find a part of them that was unharmed. One of them, his face covered in streams of his own blackened blood, had died.

And also –

“Orba!”

The swordsman who was being thus called, was in one of the carts. It was undoubtedly Orba, the masked swordsman who had defeated Garda; but now, a number of cracks ran through the mask that was like his symbol and almost half of its left side had been blown away. Nonetheless, the colour of his bare skin could not be seen. It was completely hidden under viscous, flowing blood.

“Orba… Orba… Hang in there. You’re not going to fall here, right.”

Shique and Gilliam were racing through the back alleys, keeping up on either side with the cart that was carrying him. For a while now, Shique had been repeatedly reaching out towards him, as though to shake him awake.

Several times already Gilliam had stopped him, saying “It’s best not to touch him for now,” and each time Shique had complied, only to do the same thing again a few seconds later.

Right then, Orba was racked by a violent coughing fit. The foam of blood that had been hardening like a paste around his mouth was shaken off. “Orba!” Shique kept calling his name.

There was no answer. Even though he was breathing, he had all but lost consciousness. Watching as his chest heaved violently but at times weakly, Shique held his own breath.

The previous evening, the few remaining forces left within the city walls of Taúlia had ambushed the Mephian army which had suddenly crossed the border. As a matter of course, Orba’s mercenary unit had been added to them. Moreover, on Bouwen’s decision, they had been entrusted with a pivotal strategic position.

Orba’s unit had accomplished their mission magnificently. After ambushing the enemy’s detached force in a surprise attack and annihilating them, they had ridden to their opponents’ main army, which was hot on the heels of Bouwen’s “fleeing” forces, and charged at their flank.

It happened after they had won the hard-fought battle and just as it seemed that Mephius’ army had finally been driven back.

Orba had been shot at by an enemy soldier who was concealed among the corpses. The bullet had essentially brushed against his mask and his head had not taken a direct hit, but the impact had been fierce and Orba had been knocked unconscious from his horse.

The left side of his mask had been blown away. But in the situation, the remaining half was the greater problem. The countless cracks running through the mask were biting into his forehead and were, even now, causing his blood to flow continuously.

“Shit,” Gilliam groaned as he ran alongside the cart. “He was as fit as a fiddle even when he defeated Garda and now you’re saying he’s going to be killed by Mephians like us?”

“He isn’t going to die!” Shique screamed. Compared to his usual self, his face was like another person’s. “He, at a point like this… He won’t die. There’s so much more he…”

“Ah-ha, yeah. Right. That’s right. We’re gladiators who lived through hell. We’ve given the slip to death time and time again. Especially this guy. If it comes calling, he’ll just pretend to be out or something.”

The wounded were carried to the barracks’ courtyard. The commanders or those who were related to Taúlian aristocrats were carried to exclusive medical facilities, but soldiers other than them were sent to simple tents set up in the courtyard. Dark-skinned doctors rushed about, the white robes that indicated their status becoming dyed in blood.

Soldiers who couldn’t fit in the tents were stretched out on mats in the courtyard.

“This way.”

Several soldiers rushed up to where Orba had been lifted from the cart and were about to place him on a stretcher. They had apparently received orders to, as consideration towards the hero, make an exception and carry him to the medical room. However –

“Wait,” Shique blocked them sharply. “Let him rest a bit here. He’s completely worn out. Orba, do you need water?”

He offered his own water canteen to Orba, who was laid out on the ground. As Orba’s consciousness seemed to still be hazy, there was no reaction. Shique dripped a little water onto his dry lips.

“Oi, it’s better to hurry.”

Gilliam urged from behind him, but for some reason, Shique didn’t want to get up. He grasped Orba’s hand as though trying to offer him even just a little of his own warmth. While on the one hand he was worrying about his health like a mother would, a different concern was also occupying Shique’s mind.

It will be absolutely necessary to take off the mask for treatment.

And naturally, that meant that Orba’s face would be exposed for all to see.

Just as in the townspeople’s earlier recollections, many of Taúlia’s inhabitants had seen Gil Mephius’ face.

He didn’t know how many of them there were who would remember it after only having seen it once, and then only for a few seconds. What would happen if even only one person had scrupulously memorised Orba’s undisguised face?

Dammit.

Behind him, Gilliam once again asked him what he was doing. And of course, Shique also wanted to hurry. He wanted to have him be treated as soon as possible.

If it comes down to it, even if it’s a ridiculous explanation, I’ll just have to say that it’s a case of different people looking a lot alike.

Because he resembled the crown prince and that caused all sorts of disasters, in the end, he had put on a mask and fled from Mephius… There was no alternative.

Just as Shique was finally about to stand up, an unexpected person stepped into the courtyard filled with the wounded.

T-This is – The instant he saw who it was, Shique gulped and rose to stand between that person and Orba. “She” was one of the people who knew Gil’s real face well.

“P-Princess. How is this possible. Why is the princess in a place like…”

“You said your name was Shique, did you not?”

It was Esmena Bazgan.

Lord Ax Bazgan’s daughter, Esmena, had her hands clasped before her waist and her demeanour was utterly calm; yet even so her eyes blazed with a determined light.

The soldiers also noticed her and quickly stood to attention. Even among the injured, there were those who tried to force themselves to rise and bow to her. Esmena held up a hand to stop them.

“Everyone, please be at ease,” she said in her gentle voice. “You are the braves who protected Taúlia. Please take care now to rest well.”

Although she spoke cheerfully, Esmena’s face was pale. There were soldiers who had lost an eye. There were half-naked soldiers who had taken bullets and whose sinews were swollen and distorted. There were soldiers whose fingers or ears had been sliced off. For Esmena, who was seeing something like this for the first time, it was like a scene from Hell itself.

For a Court-bred lady, it would not have been surprising if she had fainted at a single glance, but –

“Shique,” she walked towards the Mephian mercenary, “I heard that Orba is here.”

“Eh?”

“I heard that the hero was carried here. Where is he now…”

As he hadn’t thought that Taúlia’s princess would personally come to see Orba, Shique was for a moment flabbergasted.

During the opening that created, Esmena caught sight of Orba from over Shique’ shoulder. She to, for a moment, was left speechless. When Shique noticed, he shifted his position to obstruct her line of sight, but –

“Somebody. Is there anybody here?” Esmena called out in an unexpectedly loud voice. The soldiers who had been about to carry Orba away rushed up. “How long do you intend to leave this gentleman to sleep on the ground? Hurry and take him inside.”

“R-Right away. On General Bouwen’s orders, we were about to carry Captain Orba away.”

“This is the great hero who saved the west. In a manner of speaking, his concerns are the country’s concerns. Please move him to the detached wing of the castle. I will call one of the Court physicians.”

“P-Princess.”

Unusually for Shique, he was so stunned that he couldn’t say anything. While on one hand he felt that this was the safest for Orba’s health, on the other it would be dangerous letting the princess, who knew Gil’s face so well, get any closer to him.

“We should not expose his face to too many people either,” Esmena said decisively. Shique was now taken aback for a different reason. “Taúlia is not so ungrateful as to ignore the hero’s wishes and expose what he has hidden. Now, Shique. Please lend your help.”

As she said that, she lowered an eyelid slightly. In a way, that surprised Shique more than anything.

Don’t tell me – the thought flashed through his brain – don’t tell me that the princess knows about Orba and Gil?

Esmena had been captured by Garda, and the one to save her had been none other than Orba. Probably in order to thank him, she had invited Orba to her chambers after returning to Taúlia. What had passed between them at that time?

Shique’s mind was in turmoil over a number of things; but at any rate, it was certain that Orba’s face could not be exposed to any great number of people.

He accompanied those carrying Orba on the stretcher. Gilliam watched at a distance as their figures left the rear courtyard and disappeared into a corridor that led to the castle.

The mercenaries from the same unit belatedly arrived. When they heard that their captain was apparently going to receive treatment at the Court, for a while, they looked relieved. But –

“The victory celebration… I don’t really feel like it,” said Talcott.

“No, I’m going to be drinking the liquor we’re offered,” Gilliam shook his beard as he spoke. “I know myself: I can’t sit around quietly worrying about a friend in that state.”

“There’s that too.”

Talcott energetically swung his left arm. He seemed to have taken a blow from an axe to his armguard and was still feeling numb.

“Mephius is going to come back, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

“But above all, just when it looks like we could carry on with the mercenary business, the opponent is Mephius of all things. It means that, even apart from the injury, things are going to get bad for the captain.”

Although he was young, Talcott had grown worldly-wise from switching between all sorts, from a pirate to a nomad to a mercenary. His words half sounded like a prediction, and even Gilliam couldn’t help but feel a touch of anxiety.

Arriving in an annex of the castle, Esmena left the room for a moment and had her ladies’ maids call a doctor she was acquainted with. She had known him for a long time and he was the previous Grand Steward of the Court Physicians. He was already advanced in age but his skill at surgery was certain. His name was Faisal.

Naturally Esmena chose him because of the trust she had in his character and talent, but there was one other important reason. Previously, when Gil Mephius had come to Taúlia as a goodwill envoy, Faisal himself had been sick and in bed. Esmena remembered it because after the reception banquet for Gil was over, she had personally paid him a get-well visit. In other words, Faisal did not know Gil’s face.

Although it was early in the morning, Faisal had readily agreed to Esmena’s request.

“Oh, that tiny little princess appointed me herself?”

It had to be said that Esmena had been raised in an overprotective way. So from when she was much younger, whenever she had a cold or whenever she had fallen outside, Ax would summon Faisal. Whether it was the dead of night, whether he was in middle of examining other patients, at any and all times.

He was a doctor who was already in his sixties. But he was still sprightly. He was also a long-time associate of Ravan Dol’s, whose injuries he was currently treating.

Led by a soldier, he entered the room where Orba had been laid.

And witnessed a strange scene.

A man who looked like a woman was almost entirely draped over the patient who was lying flat. He appeared to be taking advantage of the confusion to strip the wounded man of all of his possessions.

“What are you doing!” Faisal shouted but the other didn’t act as though he were surprised. His face glistening with sweat, he seemed to be winding fresh bandages around the injured person’s upper body.

“I will take over from here. Amateurs can draw back.” At first glance, Faisal had a gentle appearance but when it came to medical matters he was as overpowering as a general.

“Don’t come closer!” The man who looked like a woman – Shique, naturally – yelled back.

He was wondering whether the man had lost his sanity but the eyes that stared back at him held an unexpectedly intellectual light and Faisal halted his steps with an air of surprise.

Shique finished wrapping the bandages then quietly laid Orba down. Looking at him, the bandage was completely coiled around him from his chest to his abdomen.

Shique jumped off the bed and went towards Faisal. “It’s something like a Mephian charm,” he explained in a completely different tone. “Someone who is close to the injured person envelops them in sincerity and wraps a bandage around them. Ah, it doesn’t have to be where they were actually wounded. Until after he wakes up, please don’t take it off without permission. Or you will lose your life to a curse.”

At that moment, his expression was one of restrained fury. Rather than a “curse”, this man himself might turn his blade against him with murderous intent if he broke his word.

Faisal gazed for a while at that expression of Shique’s.

“I get it,” he scratched his head and agreed. “I hate a wife’s nagging about as much as I do curses and sorcery.”

Shique bowed as though to signal that he entrusted the rest to him and left the room. The reason for the bandages was to hide the slave mark branded into Orba’s back. The people in Taúlia knew that Orba was a former sword slave, but who knew what would happen from here on. He was preparing for a situation in which it became known that Orba was Gil Mephius.

Shique trusted that he had done everything he could. He didn’t believe in any god worshipped in this world, so he didn’t pray. From here on, he could only bet on Orba’s own luck and vitality.

As he leaned against the wall. He felt like he could hear his body, which had been overexerted since the previous evening, screaming.

Is he going to be killed by Mephians like us?

The words Gilliam had muttered earlier floated across his mind.

Mephians? Right, we’re also Mephians, huh?

Gilliam probably hadn’t previously had any particular awareness that he was a Mephian. But after coming to the west, he couldn’t help but become conscious of the difference in nationality. The same went for Shique.

Orba… Is also Mephian. There’s no denying it.

The sun was about to rise. As he walked along the corridor that ran from the castle annex to the courtyard, a warm wind blew from the side.

He gazed up at the sky that was turning blue. There, on the other side of a border that he couldn’t see, was Mephius. Mephius, which was the current enemy and also his native country.

Part 2

In that very Mephius, at Apta, its westernmost tip, a large crowd was milling about despite the early hour. Just like the people of Taúlia, their expressions were filled with anxiety and trepidation. The roar of artillery fire that had reverberated around dawn had been more than enough to disturb their quiet sleep.

It was after the sun had fully risen that the troops led by Nabarl returned.

Unlike in Taúlia, this was not a “triumphant return”. The armour of the soldiers on horseback seemed heavy. The figures of the wounded were conspicuous. No matter how you looked at it, they were a bedraggled, broken-down group from a defeated army.

Unerasable exhaustion and humiliation also clung to the face of Nabarl Metti, who rode first; but as the commander-in-chief, he struck as proud a pose as he could. However, that was only after he had passed through the gate.

He had been riding his horse hard until they had crossed the River Yunos, focussed on nothing but escaping. Pashir stuck close to him from behind, a behaviour he was forced to adopt to protect Nabarl’s back, and which only served to expose the general’s shameful behaviour all the more.

Nabarl was a commander who took pride in his many military achievements. Before leaving for the front, he was confident that this battle could not be lost. They had gotten information that very few troops had been left in Taúlia; the tactic that he had chosen was that once he had himself lured those remaining forces to the border, a detached force would attack Taúlia by surprise.

Even if by some chance his perception was wrong and it took a little more time, defeat was unthinkable.

In effect, Nabarl believed he had a ninety percent chance of victory on the battlefield, then suddenly the situation had been reversed. The ones caught in a pincer movement were not Taúlia but instead the main body of Nabarl’s troops. Darren’s detached force had probably been annihilated. César, who was acting as vice-commander of Nabarl’s troops, was also nowhere to be seen.

It was an overwhelming defeat.

In these few hours, Nabarl Metti’s plump cheeks, which usually jiggled when he was on horseback, seemed to have completely sunk in. But, even so, as he went through the streets of Apta, his face was expressionless to the last. His attitude as he jumped off his horse was as though he had only gone for a long ride or something routine like that. Then, after handing the bridle to the attendants and without paying any attention to the voices that hailed him, he returned with long strides to the highest room in Apta’s castle – the room that Prince Gil had once stayed in.

As soon as he shut the door, Nabarl went wild. He knocked down the vase displayed by the entrance, drew out his sword, sliced through the table and chairs, and then kicked away the fragments with all his strength. By the time Rogue and Odyne had hurried over, having learned of Nabarl’s return, there wasn’t even a chair left to offer them.

When he was informed of the two generals’ visit, Nabarl very much considered yelling; but by then he had somewhat regained his composure and, breathing hard, he ordered the chamberlains to quickly clean the room. A long table was brought out of a spare room and a map of Apta’s surroundings was spread out on top, exactly as though he had been closely examining strategies.

Receiving Nabarl’s permission, Rogue Saian – general of the Dawnlight Wings Division – and Odyne Lorgo – general of the Silver Axe Division – entered the room.

They had come to Apta having been ordered to conquer Taúlia. However, because Nabarl had gotten worked up about “doing it with my soldiers alone,” they had remained in Apta to hold the defensive line. Although neither of the two generals was enthusiastic about the conquest of Taúlia, they still couldn’t hide their surprised expressions that Nabarl had returned after being routed.

“Does Taúlia have that great a number of soldiers?”

“About double ours. Ah… no, more than expected but not… not that much…”

Nabarl articulated falteringly. He was ashamed at having been defeated by a small armed force. But if he said that the number of soldiers had exceeded his expectations it would also make his own reading of the situation, on which he had based his strategy, seem shallow. To top it off, before taking the field, Nabarl had declared with great dignity that this strategy had been “elaborated together with His Imperial Majesty.”

Rogue Saian suddenly felt pity for the man.

“War is a living creature. No matter how carefully a strategy is laid, the situation can change at a drop of a hat. Besides which, there’s the matter of luck. It seems that this time fortune was on Taúlia’s side.”

He spoke sympathetically but his manner had the opposite effect and only stoked the flames of Nabarl’s anger.

“No!” Nabarl suddenly raised his voice and pounded his fleshy fist against the table. “I am no god and I could accept it if it were said to be fate, but this isn’t the kind of thing which can be settled with a few words about luck. This was vile treachery!”

“Treachery?”

“Yes, Garbera’s princess, Vileena Owell. That accursed woman betrayed us to Taúlia.”

“Impossible!” Both generals cried out together. Because the name which had been brought up was so unexpected, they suspected that the shock of defeat might perhaps have caused the man in front of them to lose his sanity.

They were more than half right.

Although it was true that the princess had betrayed secret information, when he had heard about it, Nabarl had not believed that it would overturn the war situation. Rather, he had judged it to be convenient, since on top of undoubtedly drawing the enemy to the border, the information brought by Vileena would rile up the enemy.

But Nabarl craved a good excuse to be able to recover from the shock and heavy blow of losing the battle. Although he had often stood at the front lines, he was not use to the position of commander-in-chief and was not able to bear the entire burden of responsibility.

Vileena giving up secret information was a perfect detail for Nabarl to grasp onto.

That damn viper. She was definitely sent from Garbera to sink her poisonous fangs into Mephius.

While he was telling Rogue and Odyne about the scene in which she had put on airs like some kind of hero and had haughtily ordered him to “pull up camp,” Nabarl even started believing in his own heart that such was undoubtedly the truth.

Odyne called one of his men, whom he had left on standby outside the door, and had him check whether the princess was currently in the castle. The answer was immediate. Since the previous evening, the princess’ lady’s maid had been kicking up a ruckus as the princess had not returned.

“Why did you not alert me at once?”

“B-Because after all, the war was about to start… My deepest apologies.”

Odyne clicked his tongue. He exchanged glances with the old general Rogue next to him. Each seemed to expect to see their own emotions in the other’s expression. Nor was that expectation misplaced.

The princess has taken action.

It wasn’t that either Rogue or Odyne had a particularly deep connection with Princess Vileena but neither did they believe, as Nabarl did, that she was “just an empty-headed little girl”. Of course she must have known what the repercussions of her actions would be – for Mephius, for the west, and also for her home country of Garbera.

“There’s no point in talking about the Princess’ betrayal any more this.” Nabarl said, although it was he himself who had spoken about it interminably, and then immediately started to reorganise the troops as he was determined to get a second shot in at Taúlia. “It’s true that the enemy ambushed us, but even with that, Taúlia is practically in our grasp. If anything, it’s their side that barely made it out alive. They will be full of themselves from having driven us back, so we will attack without delay. This time, I will be asking the two of you for your assistance as well.”

Staring into the eyes of the two generals, he said that almost half threateningly.

The two of them however firmly objected. Nabarl had not yet cooled down from the excitement of war. If they let themselves engage with the enemy again, there was a high chance that they would suffer another blow.

“Have you lost your nerve?” Nabarl glared angrily at them.

“The situation has changed from when you received His Majesty’s orders. Before anything else, send a messenger to Solon. Or are you saying that His Majesty’s orders were to wage a war of extermination no matter how many times we are driven back?” coaxed Rogue.

Nabarl was just as terrified of being blamed by the emperor for his failure as he was of altering the emperor’s orders. His mental state before he had left for battle was that of one who didn’t fear even the gods, but once his support was removed, that confidence turned flimsy.

He reluctantly agreed. He may have lost some of his composure but he certainly wouldn’t think to attack Taúlia again with only his own partially annihilated troops.

A messenger was sent to Solon and, while they waited for a reply, this time he asked Rogue and Odyne for their cooperation in strengthening Apta’s defence line. For the moment, Taúlia was not making any move. Neither an attack nor a messenger seemed to be coming their way, and all they had was information that reinforcements were gathering rapidly.

Nabarl’s impatience increased day by day.

Rogue Saian similarly received a detailed report from a soldier on look-out duty. There were movements that seemed to indicate that the west was banding together against Mephius. If that was the case, then as soon as either one crossed the border, it might turn into a large-scale war. Even Emperor Guhl Mephius should not easily decide to make a move but –

The emperor as he is now – Might try to make the west submit by force.

When he had decided to seize Taúlia, Guhl Mephius had not had any just cause to do so. He had heard from Nabarl that it was because Crown Prince Gil had been assassinated by Taúlian underlings; but even the so-called emperor faction – to which he suspected Nabarl belonged – were unlikely to believe that was the truth.

If His Majesty gives the order to charge yet again… Doubts about what he should do swirled within Rogue’s chest.

If his orders were to fight grandly against a detested enemy and die, even now Rogue would not shake his head and refuse. As long as he could write a single letter to his family, after that, he would have no regrets. Clad in the armour that had been passed down from generation to generation by his ancestors, he would gladly face his final battlefield with sword in hand.

But Rogue had no grudge against the west. Besides, Prince Gil had chosen friendship with that land. Even if it was his lord’s command, would he be able to drive his men into a fight devoid of any righteousness, and order them to die?

Even at my age, doubts don’t go away.

Not a day went by that there wasn’t a crease in Rogue’s forehead, which didn’t disappear even during full-day training sessions.

From what he had heard, the feelings of Apta’s inhabitants were split in two. Only in this land, which had shared a connection with the Prince, were there voices yelling furiously that they needed to destroy Taúlia and avenge the Prince, and also voices that calmly rebuked them, saying that there must be some mistake since not so long ago a messenger of friendship had come directly from Taúlia.

If the people of Taúlia remembered Prince Gil, the people of Apta remembered seeing Princess Esmena.

Above all else, there was the practical issue that if war broke out again, Apta might become a battlefield. The fortress had been bombed by Prince Gil himself in order to repel an all-out attack and, with its full reconstruction finally almost in sight, the people were deeply worried.

As these voices reached his ears, Rogue’s hesitations grew increasingly strong.

He was, however, a born warrior. Separate from his personal convictions or from his concern for the people’s mood, there was a part of him that was carefully examining the war. If an exchange of hostilities could not be avoided, how should they fight?

Rogue had already heard the details of the battle from Pashir, a soldier who had taken part in it alongside Nabarl. He had formerly been an Imperial Guard but, because Nabarl wanted the skill of the runner-up in the gladiatorial tournament, or perhaps to make his unit look better, he had forcefully incorporated him into his troops.

According to him, it wasn’t through lack of tactics that Nabarl had failed to break through to the enemy’s centre. He had attempted a surprise attack by boldly advancing his soldiers through the Belgana Summits, which could be called a natural stronghold – a daring method that Rogue’s age would not have allowed him to consider. Nabarl had no doubt meticulously investigated the terrain before marching. It was not a common plan and it had been carefully prepared.

Yet in spite of that, Taúlia had pushed back Nabarl’s troops with only a small army.

Even if they had the geographical advantage and the information from Garbera’s princess, I don’t think that’s the entire reason.

The Princess. Right, the Princess, huh…?

No matter how much he knew that he should be focusing on the war, the doubts within the old general’s chest wouldn’t die down. Every time he thought about the Garberan princess’ actions and worried about her whereabouts, Rogue had the impression that his cheeks were tensing involuntarily.

Elsewhere.

Although he had suffered a defeat, the commander-in-chief at Apta was still Nabarl Metti. Neither Rogue nor Odyne could move a single soldier without his permission. The two of them had pestered him into organising a unit separate from the defence formation.

A search party for the princess.

Since the battle with Taúlia, her whereabouts were unknown.

Hmph – Nabarl snorted in disinterest.

It seemed that Rogue and Odyne still did not believe that the princess had acted as she had, but Nabarl had seen her head towards Taúlia with his own eyes and had heard the information she held with his own ears. He had also personally witnessed her creating a disturbance on the battlefield in an airship.

“She’s missing? She must have gone back to Taúlia. Around about now, she’s probably making a show of being the heroine from some old tale and fanning the Taúlian’s morale by spreading slander about Mephius.”

Nabarl had been completely uninterested in looking for her, but then he received an unexpected visitor.

He was said to be a messenger from Solon. Nabarl had gone pale, wondering what kind of reprimand he would receive from the Emperor. But thinking about it carefully, it was too early for it to be a response to the news of his defeat.

Moreover, the visitor’s appearance was abnormal. Maybe he was a follower of Badyne as he had a cloth wound around his head that made it difficult to distinguish his features. At any rate, he wasn’t someone that one would immediately associate with Guhl Mephius, who was said to want to make the Dragon Gods faith the state religion, but what he held out was unmistakably a letter bearing the emperor of Mephius’ signature.

Nabarl was cornered into a state of utter nervousness, but the visitor had a surprising purpose.

“Garbera’s princess?”

“Precisely,” the man spoke in a rusty voice and it was hard to tell whether he was young or not. “His Majesty allowed her to go to the Nedain area, but she unexpectedly and without permission took one of our country’s air carriers and proceeded towards Apta. Even for a guest, her willfulness goes too far. The Princess will not be allowed any further freedom and it is my duty to escort her back to Solon.”

“B-But the Princess is…”

“I know. And so, please lend me some soldiers. We will go and search for her.”

The man who had introduced himself as Kiril did not falter as he answered. The Princess had betrayed secret information to an enemy country and, on top of that, she had gone missing in enemy territory – although this situation should have been completely impossible to predict, his attitude was as calm as could be.

“Y-You will?”

“It is more convenient if I am the one doing the searching.”

Kiril’s fingers parted the cloth that hung on either side of his face. Nabarl almost gasped rudely, as what came into his sight was the face of a Zerdian. He felt as though he had been tricked by a shape-shifting fox, but thinking about it, the elders with whom the Emperor had recently been growing closer were all, without exception, Zerdians.

He appeared to have brought about thirty other Zerdians with him. One would have thought that would be more than enough for a search party but as he pointed out –

“We will search along the border. So there is a chance that we will be attacked by the enemy.”

For the moment, Nabarl was rendered speechless.

Even having seen Kiril’s face, he was unable to say from his features whether he was young or old. The space between his eyes was plump but his cheeks were so hollow that they seemed to have been scrapped off with a knife. Although he wasn’t particularly tall, his arms that were stretched out on the desk were surprisingly long.

Nabarl felt that the conversation was strange, but in the end, he had twenty or so soldiers join Kiril. It was a small price to pay if it meant that Rogue and Odyne would stop pestering him.

But I don’t understand…

After hearing that they had immediately left Apta, Nabarl closely studied the letter that Kiril had handed over. In it was Empress Melissa’s name. It appeared that she had negotiated directly with the elders to have such a large number of people dispatched.

I wouldn’t have thought that the Empress minded the Garberan girl that much. Hmph, well, it doesn’t matter however it goes.

If the princess’ misconduct came to light, Nabarl’s wound at having lost the battle would heal somewhat and his reputation would also recover. And above all else, if he could skilfully offer this argument against Garbera during the discussions about them, the emperor would no doubt remember him more favourably.

Such were Nabarl’s thoughts; but even after the search party had left, his impatience didn’t fade in the slightest. There was a reason for that.

The issue with the princess isn’t enough.

Simply put, he sensed that more was needed in order to cover up his own failure.

From being someone who employed mercenaries, Nabarl had achieved the amazing success of being chosen to be one of the twelve generals. But that was all simply because the emperor had willed it. In other words, he was terrified that this time, on no more than a single whim, his position would plummet lower than the ground. He felt as though he had only risen halfway to the sky and now felt a strong desire to find even one more argument to escape responsibility.

“How about the Imperial Guards?”

The one who sensed Nabarl’s worries and whispered that to him was one of his long-time retainers, named Gareth. He had been like a younger brother to Darren, the vice-captain who had died in battle in the Belgana Summits.

“What? The Imperial Guards?”

“Those former slaves that the prince specially selected. There are suspicions that they know the truth about the prince’s death and pinned the crime on General Oubary Bilan.”

For a moment, Nabarl was surprised at the vehemence of Gareth’s tone but of course, as far as Emperor Guhl was concerned, the testimony of the Imperial Guards was a hindrance to his claim that the prince had been killed by the west. Because of that, he had ordered Nabarl to restrict their freedom for the time being.

“It looks like they also had a connection to the princess. Isn’t it possible that even though they stayed in Mephius, they were feeding advance information to Taúlia?”

“That might well be right…” Nabarl nodded solemnly. In this sort of situation, so to speak, Gareth had the same role as Colyne Isphan did towards Emperor Guhl. Shrewdly reading the emotions of those above him, he drew near them and convincingly spoke out those thoughts on their behalf. “If not for that, such a complete defeat would have been impossible.”

“Indeed. And if information is still being leaked, it will start to affect morale. Some of the Guards will have to be made to tell the truth after they have been delivered to his Majesty, but he won’t care if we execute a few of them as an example.”

“Hmm,” Nabarl crossed his brawny arms. Although nights in Apta were cooler than in Solon, the middle of the day was hot. Sweat trickled from his forehead and ran down his plump cheeks.

As Gareth said, executing the former Imperial Guards as traitors would not be a bad move. Just like him, his men had taken a blow from their defeat and if they could attribute their powerlessness to someone else, they should be able to recover their damaged morale. Half of Nabarl’s unit were from other mercenary units, but half of them were companions that he had shared meals with from the same pot since the time when he himself had been a mercenary captain. Now that he had become one of the twelve generals, he felt that he wanted to let them see some luck.

That being the case, he needed to have them recover their spirits. From here on and, no matter what reinforcements came rushing from Solon, it absolutely had to be Nabarl Metti’s troops which defeated Taúlia.

That said…

The timing was a little off for an execution. It had already been seven days since their defeat. He needed some kind of an excuse. After a moment, Nabarl uncrossed his arms.

“If I remember right, there’s a woman among the Imperial Guards.”

“Huh? Ah, err… the one who’s said to be in charge of taking care of the dragons.”

“Yeah. That woman… She’s definitely from the west, huh.”

The gleam of impatience had faded somewhat from Nabarl’s eyes and in its place the light of cruelty glittered.

Approximately twenty former Imperial Guards were being confined in a large chamber beneath the barracks. Gowen and Hou Ran as well as the commander of the airship unit, Neil Thompson, Miguel Tes – who had fought against Orba during the gladiatorial tournament, and Krau – whom the prince had put in charge of steering ships were all to be seen. Pashir, who had gone into battle alongside Nabarl in the fight against Taúlia, had also been brought there.

He had never been a talkative man, but since coming back he had hardly opened his mouth. Irritated at being locked up, Miguel had wanted to hear his war stories but had received a cold shoulder and it had almost turned into a huge fight.

The one who warned them off brawling was Gowen, but as the time passed without anything happening, his eyes would occasionally meet Pashir’s. Since it seemed that those eyes were trying to catch his attention, Gowen was about to draw nearer to him when he abruptly shifted his gaze.

It was unlike that man, whose mind and body were both like steel, to wear such a hesitant expression.

He’s not thinking of escaping, is he?

But Gowen was no exception either and, in this situation in which he had no way of knowing what was going to happen next, his irritation was growing.

Since the emperor had declared that Prince Gil’s assassination had been carried out by Taúlia’s agents, he had some idea of how t were going to be dealt with. Maybe it was time to give up on Mephius and seriously work out a plan of escape.

It was then that soldiers under Nabarl’s command appeared in the chamber. Wondering if the time for their execution had arrived, he was about to take up a stance at the ready, but they called out for Hou Ran.

“What do you want with her?” Asked Gowen, Ran’s foster father.

“The dragons won’t settle down,” a soldier explained in a rude tone. “When we asked the other dragon handlers, they said that they only listen to this woman’s orders. So we’re letting you out for a bit. But only to look after the dragons, you’re not being allowed any freedom.”

Ran didn’t interrupt. She was by nature a girl who spent most of her waking hours with dragons. She wasn’t likely to object.

Ran – Gowen glanced at her significantly to send her a warning – don’t get any strange thoughts. Go with them quietly for now.

Although she was a girl whose expression didn’t change much, Gowen had learnt to understand what she was thinking. They had heard the news that Princess Vileena had gone missing after they had been imprisoned, and Ran’s attitude had shown that she was worried.

Smiling faintly, Ran patted Gowen on the shoulder as though to say I know and was led out of the chamber by the soldiers.

A few minutes later, and under the soldiers’ supervision, Ran had started tending to the dragons. These included not only the dragons from Apta but also the ones that General Saian had sent by ship from Nedain. In other words, they were her old “acquaintances.”

The soldiers couldn’t hide their surprise when she leaped unaided into the cage, touched the dragons’ scales, and guided them while straddling them directly.

But that was only at first.

“You seem to be really used to handling dragons. Do you tame men as well?”

“I hear you also took care of sword slaves.”

“Won’t you look after us too? We can be as rough as any dragon.”

They each raised their voices obscenely.

Ran however ignored them – or rather, she continued working as though their words hadn’t even reached her ears. Her expression grew lively.

Eventually the soldiers got tired of it and stopped talking, but their surveillance still continued. Their words had run out but in exchange, the light of naked lust was in their eyes as they continued staring at Hou Ran’s body.

Part 3

Solon, the imperial capital of the empire of Mephius.

After finishing up a number of scheduled matters during the morning audience, Emperor Guhl Mephius, defended by a forest of spears brandished by the red-clad Imperial Guardsmen, travelled through the streets in a magnificent carriage and arrived at the temple of the Dragon God’s faith.

In a room deep inside the elders were waiting.

It was a plain and empty room except for the long crystal table in its centre. Normally, “crystal” did not refer to the crystal found on Earth, the mother planet, but to a mineral particular to this planet which simply resembled crystal in appearance and in hardness. Whether true or not, it was said however that all of the furniture in the temple was made from actual crystal, from the original planet, which had been loaded onto the migrant spaceship.

The flames, which had been lit in every corner of the chamber, as well as the distorted faces of each of the elders, appeared reflected on the table’s surface.

There was no seat of honour. There was no such thing as differences in status between the emperor and the elders who dwelt in the temple. Thus the elders did not rise to greet the emperor when he entered the room, nor did any of them offer drawn-out salutations. And yet, Guhl Mephius’ tone was decidedly rude.

“This is the first time that your judgement has erred. Wasn’t Taúlia supposed to effortlessly fall into my hands within a few days? I hear that soldiers are now gathering there from all over the west. Forget a few days, this could take six months or even a full year; and cost many Mephian lives.”

The elders looked at each other. Although they were all older than Guhl by some ten or twenty years, no one had any words to offer as an answer. They seemed to be avoiding his eyes. Guhl smiled with a feeling of gloomy satisfaction.

“Perhaps I too was a little rash. I trusted too much that your words were infallible. We may now need to take the time to revise the plan.”

“Do wait, Your Imperial Majesty,” among the elders, there was only one who met his gaze. “Our judgement does not come from certain knowledge of the future. It is merely a matter of possibilities. The innumerable people who live and breathe in this world each have before them a thousand, ten thousand paths that they can take. Our judgement consists of narrowing them down to those that are contained within a single person’s field of vision. Just as we have said repeatedly, it is people who set chance in motion and chance which sets people in motion.”

Among the elders, he was comparatively young. His face however was all but expressionless. It was not the lack of expression found on a man of religion who had achieved a certain philosophical state of mind, but rather the empty expression of one who had left emotions behind in his mother’s womb at birth.

This time, it was the emperor who had nothing to say. After a moment –

“Religion is convenient. There is no one as good as you all to confuse and misdirect people,” he said, almost like a soliloquy.

Guhl Mephius was not originally a person who attached much importance to the country’s ancient customs. But he had transformed into a statesman who was attempting to revive the old, ancient beliefs of the Dragon God’s’ faith and who respected old-fashioned traditions.

It was about three years earlier that he had received the impetus to cultivate his relationship with the elders.

At the time, Mephius was right on the middle of the war with Garbera. Moreover, neither of the two could see a way out of it and it showed every sign of dragging on.

Two years before that, Guhl had lost Empress Lana to illness. During the long, drawn-out war, most of the officers and men who had supported him since the old days had lost their lives. Within the country, people had begun whispering that Guhl was losing heart; partly because of that, as well as to lift people’s spirits – including his own, in the mausoleum beneath the black tower that rose in the centre of Solon, Guhl had for the first time performed an “oracle.

With a sword so new it appeared to still give off sparks from the flames that it had surely only just been lifted out of, Guhl cut off the head of the most beautiful woman amongst the slaves. As blood, rather than sparks, dripped from it and trickled down onto the stone floor, he proclaimed that –

“Until the head of the Garberan king is presented before me, I will never sheathe my sword.”

The “oracle” was a spoken oath exchanged between the emperor, a descendant of the Dragon God, and the divine spirits of his ancestors.

In the same period, the emperor had strengthened the authority of the Imperial House by unilaterally seizing power from the council. From the view of the nobles, he had acted largely on advice from the many elders who had supervised during the “oracle” ceremony.

From that time forward, the relationship between Guhl and the elders grew stronger. A year ago, around the time when he had exchanged wedding vows with Melissa, the oath itself had been broken by choosing peace with Garbera; but his trust in the elders had only grown greater and eventually reached the point where he had such a large temple built in Solon.

“Emperor Guhl. You believed that our power was essential for accomplishing your long-cherished ambition,” the elder directly opposite Guhl spoke dispassionately. “Your longstanding desire is to break out of the relationship between the three countries and to claim supremacy over the centre of the continent. If that comes true, your name will go down in history as that of a strong emperor. For now, the bogged-down war with Garbera has been declared over and the situation is currently falling back into a stalemate. But as you know, each country harbours embers that smoulder strongly. With a single mistake, those embers will engulf Mephius in the raging inferno. On the other hand, by accomplishing a series of small victories one after another, Mephius will then obtain a territory befitting an empire and both your sovereignty as well as the teachings of the Dragon Gods will spread throughout the continent.”

The emperor stared fixedly at the elder from under heavy-looking eyelids. They were not the eyes of one gazing at an intimate friend or a deeply trusted vassal; nor were they the eyes of one looking at an enemy. The emperor of Mephius’ almost vacant expression clung to him like a mask.

“Be ‘strong’ Guhl Mephius,” the swarthy-skinned elder said in a voice like wind crossing a valley. “For the day of your ideal to come, you cannot forget what you feel. Once you lose sight of that, you will be nothing more than an ordinary old man. So many humans become that way that it is tedious to count them. You need to be “strong”. Certainly, this time things did not go as we had judged they would, but there is no need to become flustered and impatient. As long as we are here, the flow and trend of time will always be in your favour. Before long, you will definitely obtain the power to seize the west and to swallow up Garbera and Ende…”

After Guhl had left, among the elders sitting in the rows of crystal seats, one suddenly almost fell from his chair. It was the elder who had admonished him.

With exclamations and a speed unfitting of their age, the other elders rushed to his side displaying a confusion at odds with their usual aloof and detached behaviour. As though finding them troublesome, the elder shook off the hands stretched out towards him.

“This body is nearing its limit,” he muttered in a hoarse voice. To look at it, his body was certainly wasted away. But his eyes held a light as bright as fox fire. “It will soon be time to think of the ‘next one’. But it is as I said to Guhl. Time is precious. Barbaroi too will start moving soon. But before that, Ax Baxgan. He has become something of a nuisance.”

The elders gathered around him did not speak. Even so, perhaps there was a mutual understanding as the elder’s attitude when he rose unsteadily to his feet was unconcerned.

“Normally I would wish to avoid direct measures but there is no help for it. We can’t always keep our distance. Send word to Tahī. Tell her that even if she has to use some ether, she is to kill Ax.”

“What would you have us do about Guhl?” Asked one who appeared to be older than the elder.

The elder smiled contemptuously. “Even if we let him be, he will move as we predicted. He can’t escape anymore. He is trying to be strong-hearted and to put on a show of strength. That passion sticks to him like a mask made of flesh and controls his body,” he declared. He then immediately erased his scornful look and his expression became as empty as when he had been facing Guhl.

“Having come to this, the designs we wove for destiny risk being disturbed. I know. This is probably linked to another’s actions. For a start, Guhl approaching Ende now with the aim of breaking down the relationship between the three countries differs from the original plan. Still, the plan we wove is not so lightweight as to be thrown off course because of a single ripped seam. It’s the ‘wind’. If something goes off course, the ‘wind’ will immediately rise and automatically correct it. Such is what is called the original destiny. No one will be allowed to destroy it. Until those in Barbaroi awaken, we must do our utmost, as humans, to hold fast to this world.”

Noticing the chamberlain’s footsteps, Simon firmly shut the drawer.

The chamberlain bowed then entered the room and, as usual, piled the books that Simon had requested in one of its corners before leaving.

Simon picked up the book off the top and was flipping through it while standing, when he suddenly noticed that the room had gone dark. He went to the window and opened the curtains. Raindrops fell on the windowpane one by one. Then all at once, drops started pelting down on the window.

“A battle for revenge is it, Guhl?” Simon murmured as he faced towards the garden that was misty with rain, then looked towards the main palace that towered over the hills beyond it.

The house had received no callers since Princess Vileena had visited about half a month earlier.

However news naturally reached it. It was said that Emperor Guhl had sent soldiers to Apta and that they had traded blows once with Taúlia. He had not heard any details about the war but, as Guhl had roused the vassals’ spirits by talking about a “war to avenge the crown prince,” the results had probably been unsavoury. It seemed that the second and third set of troops to be sent to Apta were in the middle of preparing for departure.

As such, it would not be possible to avoid a large-scale war. And Simon worried about one other piece of information.

There is no news of the princess having returned to Solon.

There were no details about what had happened to her after she left for Nedain. Certainly, she had planned to stay there a week, but half a month had already passed since then. He had a bad feeling.

As things were, it felt like the emperor had delayed Princess Vileena’s return to her country because, from the start, he had in mind a war with the west. For that reason, he had deliberately failed to hold a funeral for the crown prince. In order to avoid interference from Garbera, the emperor had needed the right timing to announce that the prince had been assassinated by the west.

Are you even going to use your own son’s death?

When the council had ceased to exist in all but name, Simon had taken on the responsibility of watching over the prince. Since it was already clear that Guhl had no particular affection for Gil, his legitimate child, Simon had resolved to train him into becoming a fine successor.

But that too ended up only halfway done.

When the old friend, with whom he had faced the battlefield standing shoulder-to-shoulder and laughed with as they drank together, had changed he had not known what to do. Nor did he feel that he had much influence with that friend’s son, Gil.

It seems I am a man who cannot guide people, neither as a friend nor as an educator.

Thinking about it, Guhl Mephius was also a man who had not been blessed when it came to parental care.

His mother had died when Guhl was not yet ten years old. She was devoured by a dragon before his eyes.

It had been the season for dragon hunting at at a time when that had still been a form of entertainment throughout the country and, at the height of the hunt and at a moment when the soldiers had taken their eye off them, mother and child had gone out for a stroll.

From that, a conspiracy theory gradually emerged. It was said that a certain influential noble had had his subordinates skilfully lead the pair to the dragon in order to set up his own daughter as the emperor’s second wife.

From Simon’s point of view as he looked back on it now, the emperor at the time, in other words Guhl’s father, had been lacking in decisiveness. The conspiracy theory had never been denied but neither had that influential noble, whose name had come up, ever been accused – as a result, the country had been shaken.

Because his own life was said to be in danger, for half a year Guhl was barely able to set foot outside the imperial court. Simon, who had served by his side from those days, remembered Guhl’s words at that time.

Because my father is like that, he was not able to protect my mother. That’s right, Simon, it’s the same as if that man had killed my mother, he had muttered savagely, his eyes glowering.

While Simon watched, the raindrops had spread across the windowpane and the view outside had become blurry. He returned to the front of the desk and reopened the drawer.

A gleaming black pistol was placed inside it.