Rakuin no Monshou - Book 9: Chapter 3: The Subjugation Corps

Part 1

“First of all, we have to send a messenger to Solon.”

In their outline, Rogue and Odyne’s opinions coincided with Gil Mephius’.

Rogue insisted on carrying out the role of messenger himself, but Gil brushed the offer aside. Of course, although the veteran general did not say so, Orba understood that he had family connections there. He could obtain a personal audience with the emperor and would appeal to him directly in the spirit of a warrior. He was a military man through and through, and had no fear of death. And it was because Orba knew it well that he did not nod his consent.

Orba’s chosen messenger was the general of the Blue Zenith Division, Nabarl Metti.

“General Metti?” Odyne tilted his head dubiously when he heard the choice of person. “I cannot possibly imagine him petitioning His Majesty for friendship with the west.”

He seemed to be saying that Nabarl was more likely to be full of boastful talk and ardent complaints about how unfairly he had been treated.

Orba laughed.

“I doubt Father would be moved. In that case, the most suitable one to be the messenger would be me.”

“Y-Your Highness…”

“I know. First we’ll wait and see what the reaction from Solon is. When I go, it will be after that.”

Upon receiving the order, Nabarl immediately left for Solon with the soldiers under his command. Since he had been torn between the Emperor and the Crown Prince, this was a stroke of luck for him.

Rogue and Odyne took that opportunity to reorganise their troops. Depending on the situation, after this they might be taking on the entire country of Mephius as their opponent. Rather than gathering a large number of soldiers with low morale, it was better to have a small armed force that was united in their resolve.

The two generals allowed their men to choose their own course of action.

Odyne, who had mobilised almost all of his reserve troops, started by dissolving the mercenary unit that was attached to the Silver Axe Division. About twenty percent of the regular soldiers also left. The remaining strength of the Division stood at a mere seven hundred.

Rogue’s Dawnlight Wings Division, on the other hand, did not have any mercenaries and he had originally brought about five hundred to Apta. Perhaps because the Winged Dragon officers and airship pilots were mostly young men in their twenties, only about fifty left.

Finally, all of Orba’s Imperial Guards stayed. Although they numbered less than a hundred, they were a precious fighting force in the current circumstances.

In a room in the castle, pouring over the paper on which this battle troop line-up was recorded, Orba crossed his arms. Very understandably, it was completely impossible to attack Solon with this level of military strength. It was doubtful whether they would even be able to repulse a single troop from the attack forces that would be dispatched.

Rogue’s air force and Odyne’s riflemen and artillery force were formidable, but –

There’s no main force.

The cavalry and infantry troops were severely lacking. If they scraped together everyone possible from both divisions, would they even reach four hundred?

Orba gazed back and forth between the paper on which the battle array was written and the map of Apta’s surroundings that was spread out on the desk. After having spent nearly half a day that way, he started writing a letter. Because he was imitating Gil Mephius’ handwriting, it took a considerable amount of time.

When it was almost evening, his page Dinn brought in some tea.

“You’ve come at the right time.” When Orba looked over his shoulder with a slight smile, Dinn fleetingly wore a horrified expression, then settled into resignation.

“You are going to ask me for some troublesome favour or another, aren’t you?”

“Troublesome is going too far.”

“The prince has not changed,” the page sighed in spite of himself.

Orba ignored him. “There’s somewhere I want you to take this letter.”

He pointed to a spot on the map. Even though he was supposed to have resigned himself earlier, the blood instantly drained from Dinn’s face.

“I-Impossible,” he shrank back. “If I go, I will be killed.”

“Yeah. At the very least, you won’t be ignored.” Orba kept smiling. The page felt more terrified than ever. “Thinking about it, he’s a bold man. He won’t let a good opportunity slip by before his eyes. So, since it’s fine, hurry up and get ready.”

There was no room for agreement or dissent.

He really hasn’t changed – was written all over Dinn’s face.

“I also want to ask you to get some things ready for me. Are there any clothes fit for a prince left in Apta? If there aren’t, I’ll need you to arrange what you can for me.”

Dinn looked surprised at that order. In Apta, the Prince almost invariably wore casual clothes. He wasn’t going to turn into a dandy at this point in time, was he?

“Are you going to be going somewhere, Your Highness?” he enquired, and Orba answered casually,

“Yeah. To Taúlia.”

“T- Taúlia?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t be staying for long this time. There’s just some business I want to finish.”

Orba looked at the letter that he had just finished writing. Dinn sighed inwardly once again.

Honestly, it was nothing but surprises with this master.

Meanwhile, Vileena was going to pay a get-well visit to the injured who were being taken care of at the fortress.

According to a physician that she spoke to, for the first day or two it had been as noisy as a battlefield.

Since there had, in fact, only just been a battle along the border, there were a great many injured soldiers within the fortress. Because the medical facilities were full to the brim with them, the great hall in the barracks had been thrown open for the villagers to sleep in.

When Gil Mephius had heard that there were not enough doctors, he had said “have them brought in from the villages on horseback or by airship,” and had summoned anyone with even the slightest medical knowledge.

Fortunately, medicinal herbs with antibacterial and sterilization properties could be gathered in abundance from the forest around Apta. Gil had also sent soldiers with instructions from the physicians to gather those herbs.

Vileena stepped into the large hall.

There were faces there that she knew. Young men who had helped her carry water from the communal well. The lady from the marketplace who had asked her, who was a foreigner, “Are you the girl from Rone’s place?” and sold her vegetables for cheap. There were boys from those who had crowded around the house to take a peek at her.

In the village, everyone had called out to her with a smile when they caught sight of her. Here, they all averted their gazes. They knew now that she was a princess.

Even so, unable to simply ignore them, she came to visit. But, thinking about how the villagers’ feelings had changed, she never stayed for too long.

It gave her some sense of relief that many of their lives had been saved.

As she was about to leave the hall, a voice called out from behind her –

“Princess.”

Turning around, it was Layla. She ran up to Vileena and curtsied.

The timing and speed were almost those of a surprise attack, even so Vileena opened her mouth to speak out of reflex but did not know what to say.

“Thankfully, my father has regained consciousness. It was only a little, but yesterday he was able to eat… According to the doctor, he should be able to move in a month’s time.”

“Thank goodness.” Even though she had mixed feelings about Layla calling her “Princess”, Vileena spontaneously broke into a smile upon hearing that Rone was doing well.

“It’s all thanks to you, Princess, and the good people of the fortress. Even we, who once gave up on Mephius, were so well received and…”

Overcome by emotion as she was speaking, the end of Layla’s sentence became indistinct and, one after another, tears spilled and fell from her eyes. After which, she fell to one knee as though having completely broken down in tears.

“Layla,” Vileena instinctively leaned forward and was about to hold out her hand, but –

“Princess, please forgive my rudeness up until now. Moreover, I have no words to express my gratitude for the help we have received from you. Those such as the likes of us, in our position, we have no way to ever return your favour.”

“What are you saying?” driven by an ardent impulse, Vileena crouched down herself without thinking and took Layla’s limp hand. “I was the one to receive help. Instead of repaying that favour, I brought calamity to your village. I deserve to be hated and blamed rather than having you lower your head like this, Layla.”

Holding hands, the two young women warmly gazed at one another. A while passed.

“Princess… In truth, although it is shameless of me, I called out to you because I have request to make.”

“What is it?”

“As I said before, I have nothing. With my father in that state, it will take a long time before he can work again. Therefore, could you please let me work at the fortress? Of course, I do not mind what kind of work it is.” She spoke with her forehead pressed against the floor.

The back of Vileena’s eyelids grew hot. This was a girl who had once called her ‘Luna’ and cared for her like a little sister. While promising to do everything to grant her desperate request, Vileena left the hall, hiding her tears behind her hand.

The next day, Layla received a visit of a messenger from the princess.

It was while she was paying a sickbed call to her father, Rone. The hall had been divided with white cloth and Lennus was in the next bed. The boy who had lived next-door to them and had his right arm cut off during the disturbance. His face had grown gaunt from pain and fever but the medicine had now taken effect and they were abating.

The messenger informed Layla that she would be working as Vileena’s lady’s maid starting the next day. Layla bowed repeatedly to the messenger, as though they had been the princess herself.

Once they had left, Layla looked down at her father’s sleeping form. The doctors had removed everything that the injured had worn and these were all placed at the patients’ feet. Among them, there was a dagger in a scarlet sheath. It was part of the equipment which had been given to her father when he had been selected to be part of the Emperor’s Imperial Guards.

Layla stealthily picked it up.

She drew it about halfway out.

Even though her father was supposed to have thrown away the past, it was obvious that he maintained it regularly.

Her lips were reflected in the blade as a name fell from them.

Gil Mephius.

Part 2

Fedom Aulin disembarked in the port of Birac for the first time in several months.

He was the lord of this Mephian trade town but, since the marriage between Crown Prince Gil and the Garberan princess had been decided, he had constantly been away from Birac. First he had often been in Solon, the imperial capital, then, more recently, he helped with the governing of Kilro, which had only just had a change of lord, and finally, he returned after that to Solon to pay a courtesy call on the Emperor.

An incessant drizzle fell on the harbour.

A great many of the moored ships always bore the emblem of the Haman firm, but today they were particularly conspicuous. These were ships which should have been going to trade in the west but because relations with Mephius were once more strained, and although their cargo was loaded, they could not fly off.

Fedom returned to his residence. His mind was fully preoccupied even as he received the greetings from his wife and children.

Needless to say, what he continued to think about was always the same as ever: his too-grand ambition to depose Emperor Guhl Mephius and shoulder the responsibility of steering Mephius himself.

The war with the west was a omen that the country would fall into ruin and, for Fedom, it represented an unparalleled opportunity. He could sense that day by day, dissatisfaction with Guhl was gowing stronger at the court. Thus, he had originally wanted to remain in Solon and increase the number of his collaborators even if only by a single one.

However, he had no choice but to return to Birac when the Emperor directly ordered him to do so.

The first offence corps, led by Nabarl Metti, having been miserably defeated, Guhl had immediately hastened the formation of the second corps.

“In order to make absolutely sure, make preparations for those forces to be stationed in Birac.” It had been that kind of thing.

In addition, Fedom had received a large quantity of war funds. These were for equipment such as swords, guns and armour, as well as for arming the ships.

He had not, however, been granted much time. So he questioned how much he would be able to get done.

The Emperor is impatient. Having returned to his room, Fedom paced around inside it like a beast on the prowl. The best chance to approach Solon would probably be when the large army was dispatched to the west.

The only collaborator he could be sure of at the moment was Indolph, the lord of Kilro. Even if there were a great many people who would take action together if an opportunity arose, what they were currently lacking was a really good opportunity. Nabarl Metti, who had been directly involved in fighting with the west, was in a position to provide such an opportunity and had originally been part of the anti-Emperor faction but, in order to wipe out this disgrace, he was more likely to work for the Emperor than for the Council.

It’s a shame I wasn’t able to bring Simon to our side while I was in Solon.

Simon Rodloom was the former president of the Council and was a powerful unifying force at court. He was currently under house arrest. All the elements were there to heighten distrust against the Emperor. However becoming more intimate, not with Simon but with the nobles that he was close to, was not easy. If Fedom could take the time to win some of them over, he would be able to deceive them by issuing an order to save Simon in a time of crisis.

This is an important crossroads – thought Fedom. At the same time, if he made a mistake at this point, there would be no second chance and all that awaited him was ruin.

When he went up to the window, the strength of the rain had increased.

“Eei,” Fedom cursed as though propelled by that strength. He was tired of always having to tread carefully. Thinking about it, Fedom Aulin was not a man blessed with luck. No matter how many times he became enthusiastic about his schemes finally, finally coming to fruition, the situation would change and he would inevitably have to redo all his plans.

On the other side of the window, a single air carrier sailed across the darkened sky. This was not an unusual sight in Birac. Yet it caught Fedom’s attention and he stared intently towards the sky.

The towering mountain range could just be made out to the north. By reckoning the direction from the position of those mountains, that ship was coming from the west. It gradually got closer. On its flank, he could see the symbol indicating that it belonged to the Haman firm.

Is it a ship returning from Taúlia?

It would be natural to think so but it would be strange for Taúlia, which had just crossed swords in a battle with Mephius, to deliberately return a ship, even if it was privately-owned.

Fedom was going to send a messenger hurrying off to the port. However, doing that would have resulted in their crossing each other without meeting since, as soon as they alighted, all of those on board barged uninvited into his hall.

From what they said, because of the recent battle near the border, they had for a while been forced to stay in Taúlia but, just the other day – which was not five days after Nabarl had gone scurrying back to Apta – they had received permission to return to their own country.

Among them there was one person with small build. At first Fedom thought it must be a woman but, when that person stepped forward, the expression on the lord of Birac’s face changed completely.

While Fedom Aulin was still on the road heading back to Birac, Emperor Guhl Mephius chose the three generals for the second offence against Taúlia.

The commander of the Black Steel Sword Division, Folker Baran.

The commander of the Bow of Gathering Clouds Division, Yuriah Mattah.

The commander of the Spear of Flames Division, Zaas Sidious.

First, Folker Baran of the Black Steel Sword Division. Among Mephius’ twelve generals, he was comparatively well-known even outside of the country.

During the war against Garbera, he had not suffered a single crushing defeat. He was an extremely tenacious man, unusual among the Mephian generals, even when the signs indicated that they were sure to lose. He was forty-five years old. With his tall stature and handsome features, he looked good in armour, but in actual fact, Folker was not personally proficient in the martial arts. He himself was well aware of this and so always commanded from the rear. In these times however, if a general did not sally out to the front and join swords with the enemy, it was difficult for them to earn trust and respect. Perhaps because of that, and even though Folker was recognised for his wisdom, he was very often tasked with cleaning up after a defeat and was, so to speak, a general of misfortune.

Next was Yuriah Mattah.

His Bow of Gathering Clouds Division mainly made use of air carriers. Yuriah himself was, of course, a Winged Dragon officer and had graduated at the top of the Officer Training Academy. At thirty years old, he was the second youngest among the twelve generals. He could well be called baby-faced. Let alone in his twenties, he looked like he was in the latter half of his teens. He himself was bothered by this and had several times grown a beard but, as it really did not suit him in the slightest, he had shaved it off every time.

Finally, leading the Spear of Flames Division, was Zaas Sidious.

At twenty-four years old, he was even younger than Yuriah so, in other words, he was the youngest of the twelve generals. However, he boasted an imposing dignity in both build and expression so that – in a completely different sense from Yuriah – he too was someone whose age you would not believe upon first meeting him.

He had directly inherited the Spear of Flames Division from his father, who had been killed in action during the war against Garbera. His father, Mirandola Sidious, had been a harsh commander, feared by friend and foe alike as ‘battle mad’ and when Zaas had taken part in his first campaign, not even three years earlier, he too already displayed the same tendency. With that said, from the platoon leaders to the battalion commanders, every officer among his troops had been in the same position since his father’s time. Although they looked favourably upon him and worked hard for the division, they were a bit too much for the young Zaas to handle.

Thus, the composition of the second Taúlia capture force gathered together the veteran Folker along with the youth, talent, and strength of the other two generals.

That day, shortly before they were to depart for the frontlines, the three of them were summoned to the grand hall of the imperial palace.

“As I have said before, this is a war of retribution for Crown Prince Gil Mephius.” Holding a staff adorned with crystal at the tip, Guhl Mephius gazed down at the three generals. “The enemy excels in cunning. Be thoroughly prepared so that you do not follow in Nabarl’s footsteps and underestimate your opponent.”

A small dinner celebration, serving as the commencement ceremony for the military campaign, was held in the great hall.

Empress Melissa and her daughters Ineli and Flora were also present, which was rare for this kind of occasion. Naturally, the Crown Prince’s seat was empty. It seemed that until this war, which was being positioned as a battle of revenge for Gil Mephius, was over, Guhl intended to make a point of displaying this ownerless chair.

Crowds of people hailed the generals, as much was expected of them in the war. Folker was popular with the men while Yuriah was surrounded by the women. Perhaps because he was young, after a period of peace, energy was surging from Zaas’ entire body and he had a presence which did not readily encourage other people to approach.

Yet of the people who kept smiling, how many truly wanted this war?

If they were to seriously get involved with the west now, there was no telling to what extent that would affect the national interests. And also –

Hopefully it won’t turn out like the time with Garbera.

Folker Baran did not fail to see that unease was plastered on the faces of those in positions of authority. That war had continued in part because the Emperor had grown stubborn, and it had slowly dragged on, causing many needless sacrifices within the country.

Garbera, huh?

Folker suddenly remembered the girl that he had seen several times at court. Fourteen years old, exactly the same age as his daughter. There were rumours within the court that Princess Vileena had supported Taúlia and that her whereabouts had since been unknown. The Emperor had made a statement acknowledging that fact. Ever since however, the topic of the princess had absolutely not been broached.

At this rate, we might be at war with Garbera again before long.

Folker worriedly tilted his wine cup. For some time now, the alcohol had not tasted of wine. It was like cooled molten steel.

“General Baran.”

Zaas came up to him. As he drew closer, you could almost smell the fervour rising from his skin. Although he was clad in formal dress fit for being in the presence of the Emperor, it was so tight that it seemed as though at any moment, the cloth would burst open from within and expose his honed body. It was not only a problem of size, he looked like a man who would be more at ease clad in a breastplate and chainmail, prowling like a beast in a bloodstained wasteland strewn with severed heads, rather than behaving like a civilized person who lived surrounded by four stone walls.

“This will be the first time I cross swords with an enemy other than Garbera. General Baran, you’ve attacked Taúlia before, haven’t you?”

“That was more than ten years ago. Crossing the border was easy and we even seized Taúlia at one point, only to immediately be besieged by western troops. If we intend to fight Taúlia, we need to be prepared for it to turn into a war with the west itself.”

Folker spoke lightly, every bit the military man. Zaas’ breathing on the other hand was rough and excited.

“That’s what I’m hoping for. I’ve been suffering anguish from not being able to dip my sword in blood recently. With the west as the opponent, I should be submerged up to my ankles in a sea of gore.”

“You are very like your father, Zaas.”

Folker did not smile and his tone held neither praise nor condemnation. “Dipping your sword in blood is a warrior’s desire” was a favourite phrase of Zaas’ father, ‘Battle Mad’ Mirandola. Incidentally, Mirandola had not taken part in the attack on Taúlia ten years ago. This was because he had been assigned to defending the borders in the east; but his son, Zaas, seemed to think that not participating in that important war was a stain on the family’s honour, and he appeared eager to restore their reputation.

So I’m going to have those two youngsters for company on the march, huh? Thought Folker as he watched Yuriah perform impromptu dances in the distance with the ladies. Well at any rate, they’re skilled. But just skill doesn’t mean either brains or experience. In which case, their use will certainly be invaluable.

Folker was not entirely enthusiastic about war with the west but, as so far he had almost only ever cleaned up for someone else’s lost battle, this was a chance to show off his own ability to his heart’s content. As neither Yuriah nor Zaas suffered from an abundance of wit, they would meekly follow Folker’s directions.

He was normally known as man of iron nerves but, just this time, ardour was simmering within Folker’s breast.

When the small party was nearing its end, a man came rushing from one end of the hall, his back bent forward. It was one of the Emperor’s chamberlains. When he reached Guhl’s side, he whispered something in his ear.

Oh? Guhl’s expression changed. His face seemed to indicate that, while he had been getting tired of the banquet, something of interest was suddenly about to start.

Guhl abruptly clapped his hands loudly.

“Everyone, our amiable General Nabarl has returned from the land of Apta.”

Heh? The banquet was filled with a different kind of commotion from the one so far.

Naturally everyone there had heard the report of how General Nabarl had lost the first battle against Taúlia. But after that, he had remained in Apta and should have had a duty to protect the border along with Rogue Saian and Odyne Lorgo until the arrival of the second offence force – the troops under Folker and the others – that the Emperor was to send.

“Naturally, I did not order his return to the capital. According to the messenger, he seems to have something to tell me privately.” Guhl let out a chuckle, as though he had just heard a joke from a close friend. “But what kind of secret that no one else can hear could this man possibly have at this point? I’m thinking of summoning the man immediately and in front of everyone here. Folker, Zaas, Yuriah.”

“Aye”

“Listen well. Perhaps General Nabarl will tell us about Taúlia’s secret weapon. Otherwise he surely wouldn’t be scurrying back after an ignominious defeat, and without even permission to do so.”

“Aye, aye!”

While it was an unexpected development, if ordered by the Emperor himself, even Folker could only stand at attention.

Soon after, Nabarl Metti entered the hall. Pierced by a multitude of gazes, he walked a little unsteadily towards the Emperor and fell to one knee before him.

His Majesty has a terrible personality. As he watched expressionlessly, Folker inwardly pitied the man who had only just risen to the position of general.

Even though Nabarl was being summoned in front of a crowd, he had not warned the feudal lords beforehand of his return. Of course, when coming back to the imperial capital, Nabarl should have stopped at the major cities on the way so that preliminary announcements would reach the Emperor.

At the centre of the collective attention, Nabarl spoke while down on one knee. “H-Having a matter to report to Your Majesty, I have endured the shame of returning in this way to Solon.”

“You have something to report.”

“A-Aye!”

“How very interesting,” the Emperor opened his eyes affectedly wide. “Myself of course included, everyone here is extraordinarily interested in hearing about what you saw in Taúlia and about what you have conveyed to Solon. Do tell.”

With his head bowed so low that it could not have gone lower, Nabarl first explained that the defeat against Taúlia’s army was due to the betrayal of Garbera’s Princess Vileena.

As mentioned previously however, the Emperor currently had no liking for this topic.

As Guhl displayed a complete lack of surprise, the retainers exchanged whispered comments.

Dear me…

What does he think he’s saying with that air of importance?

People simply thought that Nabarl was trying to gloss over his own failure by presenting out-dated information as something extremely shocking.

“I’ve already heard this,” with a few choice words, the Emperor interrupted Nabarl’s excuses when it looked like he was going to continue with them. “I do not remember giving you the order to return to Solon. State your reason for kneeling before me in this way instead of remaining in Apta and awaiting the arrival of the second wave of troops.”

“T-That is…” Nabarl Metti’s forehead was covered in sweat. With his back still curbed, he lifted his head a fraction and ran his eyes repeatedly over his surroundings. The audience’s snickering grew louder at his manner that seemed to silently be asking for help.

“Y-Your Majesty, perhaps clearing out the people here…” he said, but the Emperor stubbornly refused to nod.

“I ordered you to speak now.”

“Yes.”

Nabarl looked down once more. He loudly cleared his large throat a few times.

Oh? The audience once again spoke among themselves with relish.

Everyone, it looks like there’s still something to come.

What kind of hidden card will he pull out? This time, will it be a survivor of the Ryuujin tribe who helped Taúlia?

“A-A certain distinguished person…”

For those who were openly jeering as they watched, the words that were stuck in Nabarl’s throat were certainly completely beyond the range of their expectations.

“A certain distinguished person unexpectedly came to Apta and gave me the role of messenger. He wishes to suggest to His Majesty the Emperor that any further attacks on Taúlia be abandoned… That is why I gave up on getting revenge on Taúlia and returned thus to Solon.”

“A certain person?” Guhl’s brows were drawn together in a deep crease. Recognising a sign of anger, the retainers held their breath. “At this point, what are you still hiding? And in the first place, do you serve any lord other than I, Guhl Mephius? Do you have a lord who is higher than the Emperor of Mephius and whose orders you will comply with at all cost?”

“P-Please do not be absurd! I, Nabarl Metti, have pledged my life and loyalty to none but the imperial family of Mephius.”

“And yet you have shamelessly returned. How do you explain this?”

“I-I will do so,” Nabarl’s forehead was already pressed against the floor. He cried out in a trembling voice, “it was His Imperial Highness Gil. The one who gave me the order was none other than a member of the imperial family of Mephius, Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius!”

Part 3

When he spoke, the people in the hall fell into a state of almost utter confusion, unable to comprehend Nabarl’s words.

His Highness Gil. Did that fool Nabarl say that?

Yeah, that’s what I heard too.

Preposterous. Was the cretin so terrified of His Majesty’s wrath that he lost his mind?

For all that the imperial family of Mephius was said to be descended from a Dragon God, once humans were dead they could not resurrect from beyond the grave. When they heard that Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius, who had fallen to the bullets of assassins in Apta, had once more appeared there for the purpose of advising the Emperor to halt the attack on Taúlia, it was impossible for most of the people there not to doubt Nabarl’s sanity.

This is…

Folker listened to Nabarl’s voice in understandably blank amazement, then looked to the Emperor to see his reaction. The expression of interest that Gil’s father, Guhl Mephius, wore when he had first summoned Nabarl had disappeared, and instead he now rested his chin on his hand with an air of boredom.

Nabarl finished speaking and waited for the Emperor’s response. His rotund body looked small.

Before a heavy silence could descend, Folker opened his mouth to speak.

“Sir Nabarl. Did you see this for yourself? Did you make certain that it was Crown Prince Gil with your own eyes?”

“I saw. Clearly, with my own eyes.” Nabarl glanced towards Folker and his own eyes were as dark as those of ghost. “Not only myself but also my men, the people of Apta, and both Generals Saian and Lorgo. Without a doubt, that was Crown Prince Gil himself.”

Impossible.

The commotion swelled. There were some who opened their eyes wide, those who exchanged whispers again, those who were forcing themselves to laugh – and, among the various responses, there were those who speculated that – this might be some sort of entertainment that His Majesty arranged for the pre-battle ceremony.

Only Nabarl’s face was pale. “After His Highness, the Garberan princess, Lady Vileena, whose whereabouts had been unknown, also returned to Apta. As she said that her life had been saved in the west, it became impossible for me to interfere any further there… And thus, I have come to entreat Your Majesty for your august judgement.”

“Nonsense”

The air in the hall grew tense. The hundreds of whispered words suddenly stopped and everyone’s gaze converged on Guhl Mephius.

With his cheek still resting on his fist, Guhl continued, “A trick which could not be more foolish and which could not make more of a mockery of Mephius.”

“A trick,” Nabarl half shrieked. “A trick, you say?”

“What else could it be? Gil Mephius is dead. I cannot say that I have not felt like clinging to even the smallest sliver of hope. But how much time has already passed since the report of Gil’s death? I have already lost all hope. I cannot cling to empty wishes forever. Nabarl, you appear to be a person who loves the imperial family but those feelings have been used by the west. They must have sent an impostor Crown Prince Gil with the intention of spreading mayhem within our Mephius.”

“B-But, but, Your Majesty. An impostor, that distin… No, that person who claims to be the Crown Prince, he looks just like Lord Gil. Neither General Saian nor General Lorgo held the slightest doubt, and both of them seemed to accept him as the Crown Prince.”

“In the west, there is a legend of an abhorrent sorcerer,” said Guhl, with no indication that his mind had altered in the slightest. “The Bazgan House, which betrayed Mephius, borrowed that sorcerer’s power to found Zer Tauran. There is nothing mysterious in assuming that this loathsome sorcery has been passed down to this day. That being so, Nabarl, you should have dragged this insolent villain, who calls himself the Crown Prince, to Solon by brute force if necessary. With these eyes, I would certainly have been able to clearly distinguish the true from the false.”

“A-Aye.” Faced with unfaltering criticism, Nabarl could only prostrate himself.

Because the people there had not actually seen this “Crown Prince Gil”, they were readily able to agree with the Emperor’s words. The surprise at Prince Gil still being alive had already faded, and in its place was a sense that Nabarl truly was a unrivalled fool. Among those present, the proportion of those who were sniggering increased.

“I will send a messenger,” Guhl fired off his words as he was rising from his chair. He brandished the crystal-tipped sceptre. “Tell Rogue and Odyne to seize this scoundrel and bring him to Solon. I’ll cut his head off myself and perform a new oracle.”

Oh – a different kind of commotion now filled the room.

Three or four years earlier, the Emperor had held an ‘oracle’ during the war against Garbera. It was something like a promise that the imperial family, who were his descendants, exchanged orally with the Dragon God. However, the previous oracle could not be honoured due to peace with Garbera, so there was a strong probability that it would be forgotten by history.

Will this oracle be left in the annals of history? Folker thought to himself while the ripples of this new commotion spread throughout the hall.

Be that as it may, His Majesty has a heart of iron. People say my nerves are strong, but when he learned that there was a chance, however slight, that his son might still be alive, he threw it away right from the start. That must be what they call royalty, a ruler. It might indeed be proper in a statesman, but…

At that moment, Folker chanced to catch a glimpse of Mephius’ Imperial Princess Ineli. As was to be expected from a young girl, unlike the Emperor, she had not been completely without reaction. The blood had drained from her face and, just like Nabarl, she was frighteningly pale. But, as Folker was wondering if, among the race known as royalty there might not be one part which did after all resemble him, that fleeting prospect was ruthlessly betrayed by the smile that curved along her lips.

Ineli took her leave from the hall at about the same time as the ceremony for the departure for war ended. This was unusual for her as, normally at a party, she would stay behind even after the host had left their seat; she would sit surrounded by her close friends and by young noblemen with promising futures or those from the military.

Perhaps she was in a bad state for, as she headed towards the Inner Palace, her feet stumbled repeatedly and her hands kept hitting the walls.

“Older Sister.”

Even when her younger sister Flora, who was walking behind her, called out to her, or when her ladies’ maids held out their hands to her, she did not appear to notice them in the slightest and simply continued to stagger onwards. Then, the hem of her dress got caught by her high heel. She almost tripped over and Flora, in a fluster, made to catch hold of her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!”

When her sister turned around with vehement speed, Flora almost stopped breathing for a second. Her pale face and flaring eyes were like those of a completely different person and was more like those of a witch appearing in a nightmare. Then –

“Oh, Flora,” recognizing her sister, Ineli’s expression changed. Her face relaxed and her eyes became gentle. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah, umm, Older Sister, you…”

“My, were you worried about me? Such a sweet little sister.” Ineli stroked the dark, reddish-brown hair that Flora had inherited from their father. “But I’m fine. It’s alright. More importantly, how are you? We talked about it last time, didn’t we? Are you reading diligently and studying?”

“Y-Yes, Older Sister,” Flora bobbed her head back and forth. “I have a music teacher and a history teacher since last month.”

“We~elll, that’s good.” Ineli nodded exaggeratedly as she smiled.

Her smile and the swift gesture with which she brushed away her golden hair as it rhythmically beat against her shoulder both belonged to the older sister that Flora adored, yet for some reason, Flora’s eyes became even more frightened than earlier.

“Study seriously and become the princess that His Majesty hopes for. You might also one day be sent in marriage to another country. When that happens, you must not be embarrassed as a princess of Mephius.”

“Y-Yes.”

“And also,” Ineli pointed a slender finger at her little sister’s forehead, “it seems that recently, you’ve been inviting a girl from the people to come and play. Please stop that now. It’s not an issue that concerns you alone. If you are looked down on because of it, it is Mephius’ imperial family which will lose face.”

Ineli seemed to be in a good mood as she spoke then, accompanied by her ladies’ maids, she continued forward. Her gait had regained its usual self-confidence.

Flora did not follow behind that retreating figure.

“Princess?”

Even when the ladies’ maids attached to the second Imperial Princess called out to her, she only shook her head. Her thin legs had been trembling since a while earlier.

She resembles her – she whispered in such a tiny voice that it would never reach other people. Mother. Yes, right now, Older Sister is just like Mother was back then.

Anxiety and dread were forming within Flora’s small chest like dark clouds gathering.

Ineli and Flora’s mother, that was to say, the current empress, Melissa, had lost her first husband, who had been the girls’ father. He had not held any private territory within the country, but he came from a family boasting one of the most venerable lineages in Mephius.

But Melissa had clearly not been content with that. Again and again she had talked about wanting her husband to be more proactive about associating with the key figures at Court.

In her childish mind, Flora had thought that – Mother wants Father to be even greater.

However, her father was by nature an easy-going person and, rather than spending his days on Court intrigues, on manoeuvring to outwit others even if only by small margin, and on becoming embroiled in secret feuds, he seemed far better suited to playing with his two daughters at their mansion.

Eventually, her mother, by who knew what thought process, had suddenly decided to join the Dragon Gods’ faith. Her father had objected but her mother had refused to listen.

“When have you ever listened to me?”

When he was asked that, her father had nothing to reply.

And then it started.

Flora remembered, even if only partially.

After her mother had joined the Dragon Gods faith, her father’s physical condition changed. He, who had always been the picture of health, abruptly started to frequently fall ill. Usually he would recover his vigour after staying in bed for a day or two, but each time his round cheeks turned increasingly hollow; the flesh fell from his legs and arms, which had once not moved an inch even if both his daughters swung from them, and in no time at all, his entire body grew gaunt.

In the end, Melissa’s untiring nursing and his two young daughters’ prayers were in vain, and he became unable to take a single step out of bed. Doctors responding to her mother’s appeals had visited the mansion again and again, but her father’s health had never recovered.

“I’m sorry,” that morning, when Flora had brought him breakfast, her father had softly stroked her head. His smile had been almost frighteningly serene. “Next month is the Founding Festival. Flora, you hate the gladiatorial games, don’t you? Well then, while your big sister and your mother go to the tournament, how about you come shopping with Father at the festival?”

Her father had remembered how, at the previous year’s festival, his daughter had gazed in fascination at the brilliant sights while tirelessly peaking outside of the window of their carriage. Flora had wanted to leave the carriage but her mother had chided her, saying that it was improper to mix with the townspeople to go shopping.

So Flora had been delighted at her father’s promise. Because of the shopping, of course, but also because her father never lie; so she believed that if he had said that, it meant that by next month he would be completely better and they would be able to go outside together.

Her father passed away that night.

The day after the first time he had lied to her.

Dressed in the grey clothes of a widow, Melissa had stroked the heads of the sobbing Ineli and Flora and had said –

“There is nothing for you to worry about. This isn’t the end of everything. Rather, something might just have begun.”

Flora remembered the smile that Melissa had shown to none but her daughters at that time. It had felt as though her entire body had been paralysed.

There was a close resemblance between her mother’s smile back then, her mother’s gaze back then, and Ineli just now.

Meanwhile, having arrived at her own room, Ineli sent her ladies’ maids away. They received strict orders not to let anyone approach her room until she herself had given them permission to do so.

It’s the same as when His Highness Gil died.

Does she intend to seclude herself again?

Even though they did not speak, their feelings were clear to see. Ineli ignored them and closed the door to her room, then she threw herself onto the bed without changing her clothes.

After rolling about from left to right, she lay face-downwards. Her slender shoulders and wavy golden hair slowly began to shake.

Nabarl Metti was a man whose name she barely knew, but those words he had spoken during the audience in the great hall…

They were still reverberating in her ears.

“It was His Imperial Highness Gil. The one who gave me the order was a member of none other than the imperial family of Mephius, Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius!”

Nabarl’s voice had been shaking.

In the instant she had heard that, Ineli had felt like she had been struck by a thunderbolt and had almost fainted. She had even forgotten to breathe for a while.

She tossed about on the bed again.

Although her now upwards-facing body still trembled, a smile was unmistakably etched across the face which was framed on either side by voluminous hair.

I knew it.

Ineli muttered in her heart.

I knew it, he’s alive.

I knew it, that man is alive.

Unlike Ineli who had been in a state of shock, her step-father, Guhl Mephius, had decisively declared it to be an impostor. As Ineli turned that scene over in her mind, her smile broadened.

Indeed, Father. That is an impostor. But only I need to know that. Because the one holding the Crown Prince’s secret and the one who will expose it is none other than I, Ineli Mephius.

Soon, unable to contain herself any longer, Ineli sprang up from the bed. She summoned the ladies’ maids that she sent away earlier and told them –

“From now on, any and all information related to the Crown Prince is to be brought to me.” Faced with the bewildered ladies’ maids, she continued, “the vile west, in its hostility towards Mephius, is starting a war of information. In order not to be misled by wild rumours flying around, it is necessary to tighten things in the Inner Palace.”

From there on, Ineli launched herself into activity. Seizing any pretext, she held balls and tea parties to which great crowds of people were invited, making it hard to believe that the Inner Palace had been closed to the outside since the news of Gil’s death.

Among the ladies’ maids at Court, there were those with acquaintances among the children of the nobility and the army officers. Leveraging these connections, she invited to her parties people with whom she had barely exchanged pleasantries up until then. With her natural sociability, Ineli could quickly become friendly with anybody.

She intended to build herself an intelligence network.

Hers was by no means a patient personality. Rather, since she was more the type to blow up quickly and cool down immediately if she did not immediately receive the information that she wanted, she was apt to easily give up. Yet now she displayed patience, which was unusual for her.

And then, less than half a month after Nabarl had returned, a certain interesting rumour reached her ears.

It was said that a suspicious-looking man had shown up in front of the palace gates. He claimed to be a subordinate of General Oubary Bilan and requested a meeting with the general. However, as the general’s health had been destroyed from being incarcerated for so long, he was currently undergoing medical treatment; and besides, since the man’s appearance was extremely dubious, he had promptly been driven away.

The man was yelling as he was being pushed by the soldiers who were forcing him to leave, and this was overheard by the soldiers of a separate unit that happened to be passing by at the time.

“I know. I know the truth about the resurrected Crown Prince!”

Ineli’s eyes started glittering sharply. The one telling her this was a company commander whom she had only just become acquainted with, who was part of Solon’s garrison, and who was in charge of an area mainly inhabited by the populace.

“Find that man at all cost,” she ordered the company commander, “and bring him to me without attracting anyone’s notice.”

Meanwhile, at almost the exact same moment that Ineli was issuing that order, the former Council President, Simon Rodloom, was still at his mansion under house arrest.

Nowadays, Emperor Guhl Mephius did not bring up Simon’s name even in idle gossip. Was it because of lingering fury against the faithful subject who had remonstrated with him, or was it because, what with the west or the impostor prince, he had so many things that he needed to sort out that he had completely forgotten about him?

Recently, Simon had been absorbed in reading books. Every day, he would instruct a page to bring him books and the next day, as proof that he had read them, the piles of books stacked in a corner of his room would grow taller.

Being as he was, he gave the impression of an ascetic hermit who had cast aside all connection to this mortal world, leaving behind everything concerning the Emperor and Mephius.

Yet even Simon showed an interest when he heard about the affair with the Crown prince, rumours of which had spread not only within the Imperial Court but also throughout Solon.

“His Highness, Gil Mephius?”

For a moment, he lifted his head from his book.

“Even if,” he whispered to himself. “Even if Rogue and Odyne have been ensnared by the west’s black magic, they won’t have awakened to the kind of lust for power that can change a person.”

After which, he did not say another word. Although actually, he did speak, but not in a voice that could reach his page.

It will soon be time to decide once and for all. His Majesty, those in authority who did nothing for fear of change and, of course, I myself.

Simon’s eyes turned back to the book in which he had written down what was already ancient history.