Rakuin no Monshou
Volume 7, 5: Blown About in the Wind

Volume 7, Chapter 5: Blown About in the Wind

Part 1

Vileena was on the highest floor of Apta Fortress.

Repairs were progressing steadily on the fortress that Prince Gil had once bombed. She had previously also looked over the town from a high position, but that had been the roof of the barracks. Shoulder to shoulder with Prince Gil, they had gazed out at the evening sky and at the town below.

It was still very early in the morning, but smoke was starting to rise from where breakfasts were being prepared. Low in the sky, a pale pink belt wreathed the nearby mountains and birds were fluttering about as though to follow that belt.

After hearing from Rogue about the contents of his conversation with Nabarl, Vileena had not been able to get a wink of sleep. That was how devastated she felt.

After several months in confinement, Oubary Bilan had been released. He was no longer a criminal, which meant that he had been cleared of the charge of assassinating Prince Gil.

Emperor Guhl Mephius’ declaration before the imperial court had shocked a great many people, just as much as it had Vileena.

“Prince Gil’s assassin was one of Taúlia’s lackeys.”

It was said that the information came from Oubary himself and from a spy that the Emperor had sent to the west. There were people in Taúlia who did not accept the alliance with Mephius and it was they who had hatched the plot. Evidently, it was much the same as when Ryucown had risen to action in the princess’ country, Garbera.

Maintaining “utmost goodwill”, Emperor Guhl had sent a letter to Ax Bazgan. Hand over the criminals. If they did so, he would recognise that Taúlia had not been involved – was what the letter had said. “But that Bazgan cur flung my goodwill back in my face.”

Shockingly, he had sent back the messenger’s head.

In all likelihood, when Ax Bazgan had chosen reconciliation with Mephius, he had come under harsh attack from his retainers. Unable to curb their rash actions, and probably regretting his choice, Ax was absolutely unable to comply with Mephius’ request for fear of even more criticism. If he showed any further weakness, his retainers might use it against him again. So, although this was not his actual wish, he had then no choice but to vent his anger on the messenger, declaring the request “completely groundless!”

The Emperor had decided to punish Taúlia. He had selected Nabarl, who had always advocated the conquest of Taúlia, to be the commander-in-chief of the subjugation army. And had also elevated him to the ranks of the twelve generals.

This had been a startling development even for the retainers closest to the Emperor. This revelation was the first anyone had heard of this exchange with Taúlia, and because it was so sudden, most people assumed that it was almost certainly untrue. Yet nobody objected.

Simon Rodloom’s absence was huge. Moreover, even though Fedom’s anti-Emperor faction had hurriedly come rushing to Solon, they had been so terrified of Guhl learning of their plans through Nabarl, that they had taken the initiative of actively voicing their support for the Emperor.

The matter was urgent, and the actions taken were correspondingly prompt. Perhaps because of concern that the townspeople would get wind of it, the force which had left Solon was only composed of seven hundred from Nabarl’s newly-established Blue Zenith Division. The ones who were to assist them were Rogue and Odyne, precisely the two who were being kept away from Solon. Orders were sent for Rogue to prepare one battleship and two cruisers, for Odyne to mobilise a reserve force of one thousand, and for both to lead them to Apta.

It can’t be.

The reason for Nabarl having detained the Prince’s Imperial Guards was because the inconvenient ‘testimony’ that they had given was far too removed from the ‘truth’ that the Emperor was bent on pushing through.

It can’t be – This is absurd.

While gazing down at Apta at daybreak, Vileena shook her head agitatedly. Naturally, she also felt misgivings towards the Emperor’s unexpected actions. Or rather than misgivings, it was closer to fury. It was perfectly obvious that the Emperor was taking advantage of the deadlock in relations between the three countries at the centre of the continent to distort the truth and seize the west.

Forgetting her position as princess, Vileena felt like slamming her fist against the parapet. After only a very short time in Mephius, she had learned to feel anxiety and distaste for a system in which so few people would offer council to the Emperor. And now again, it was like dark ripples spreading through her chest.

I...

It was certainly not to watch the army march on Taulia that she had come to Apta. She had come to search for a hint, no matter how slender, that the Prince might still be alive. Now however, in this situation of imminent war, that truly seemed like a little girl’s childish sentimentality. War was something that swallowed and engulfed sentimentality as it spread wider.

Odyne Lorgo entered Apta the next day.

It had taken him some time because he had to mobilise his entire force, including his reserve troops. Unlike Rogue, since he had passed through villages and towns on his march, he had already heard that Nabarl was in Apta and that he had been made one of the twelve generals. That had, of course, given rise to various guesses and speculations; by the time he met Rogue in Apta, he had more or less prepared himself.

“I have of course given some thought to why His Majesty chose us.”

Odyne Lorgo was still only thirty-seven years old, but his expression was calm. Apart from the fact that he was a little straight-laced, Rogue had a good opinion of him as a military man.

“His Majesty must be aware that no matter what pretext he makes up, this war has no just cause. And that’s why he designated those who have already opposed him once.”

“...”

“We can no longer afford to disobey an imperial command, no matter what the order may be.” After saying that, Odyne swallowed.

Rogue had invited him to “have a drink together” and had wine brought to his chambers, but neither of them tried any of it yet.

Even though the town of Apta had just been filled to the brim with soldiers, it was strangely silent.

Both Rogue and Odyne had left their families in Solon. It was one of the commands they had received when they had been ordered to leave the capital. Both of them of course understood what that meant. So there was no need to say it.

Because of that, and out of mutual consideration, there were not that many topics that they could discuss directly. As they spoke together in subdued tones, it was hard to believe that the two of them were used to striding boldly through battlefields.

Rogue talked about how he had always thought that if he ever had a chance to go to Apta, he would like to go fishing in the River Yunos, while Odyne spoke about going to have a look at the forest where the Garberan army was said to have lain in ambush when they captured the fortress.

“Oh, you’re quite studious.”

“There’s that too, but...” Odyne’s lips curved so slightly it could not even be called a smile, “I like seeing places that have legends or historic events attached to them. I walk around them picturing various scenes. Tauran also has a lot of ancient ruins, so originally, I would have wanted to visit it for a different reason.”

“Well that’s a surprising side to you. Er— that might have been rude of me.”

“It’s fine. Apparently, even my family sometimes sees me as an unfeeling block of wood.”

And finally,

“His Highness the Crown Prince,” as Odyne spoke, he put his hand to his neck as though it were a sword, “said something while pointing his sword at me: Are you somebody’s slave? Is it really that comfortable living without thinking of anything, only doing as you’re told?”

Rogue had no words to give in response. However, he did not pretend not to hear it. As proof of that, he poured some wine into the glasses that had remained empty the whole time and handed one to Odyne.

“To His Highness,” he said, raising his glass.

Odyne did the same.

“To His Highness.”

On the evening of the next day.

“Despicable,” Rogue Saian practically growled.

They were in Apta Fortress’ council room. The three generals Nabarl, Rogue, and Odyne were gathered in front of a table on which a map was spread out. Nabarl had just finished explaining his strategy and Rogue was unable to conceal his feelings.

Ordinarily, Nabarl did not have a particularly assertive personality. When Rogue, the oldest of the twelve generals, made that kind of judgement, he would have normally pulled backed.

“You may say as you will,” he said with a changed attitude, “This is the detailed strategy that His Majesty and I perfected together. Preparations for the vanguard unit of five hundred have already been made. For the rest, I am simply waiting for the official notice.”

“A detailed strategy? It’s a strategy now to march on Taúlia without even declaring war?”

“I would ask you to watch your words.”

Nabarl seemed like a completely changed person. With the huge backing he had received, it was doubtful he would fear the gods themselves. He rotated his large neck and stared repeatedly from Rogue to Odyne.

“Taúlia has unquestionably attacked Apta without prior notice before. This will also serve as retribution. The country of Mephius will not be branded a coward.”

“What retribution? We’ve agreed to peace with them.”

“That peace was something that the Crown Prince arbitrarily decided. Taúlia’s Ax Bazgan is a cunning man. No doubt he glibly deceived the Prince, who was still young, and induced him to bind himself into a five-minute alliance. If we don’t discard it, Mephius’ diplomatic skill will be a laughing stock among foreign countries.”

“Bastard, this is an insult to His Highness’ last wishes and...”

“Sir Nabarl,” Odyne spoke as though to block Rogue, who was red in the face and shouting. He was about three years younger than Nabarl. The latter answered arrogantly, as though to say that his position too was now superior.

“What is it?”

“Even in the case of a surprise attack, the speed of Taúlia’s surrender is crucial.”

Odyne brought up Mephius’ invasion of Taúlia, over ten years ago, as an example. The people of Tauran were descended from nomadic tribes that worshipped the Dragon Gods and it was characteristic of them that, even though they competed amongst themselves, they would cooperate and fight together to an extraordinary degree when facing an outside enemy. Actually, back then, Mephius had gotten as far as occupying Taúlia for a while; however on the behest of Ax Bazgan, who had managed to escape with the support of his relatives, and of the strategist Ravan Dol, the various powers of Tauran had joined in an alliance and had attacked the Mephian army from three sides.

Because of their unexpected speed, Mephius had not had time to lay out a defensive line or put up a resistance; in the end, they abandoned Taúlia and fled home.

“Thus we need sufficient resources to ensure that Taúlia falls quickly. Adopting an aggressive stance is fine, but wouldn’t you say that having our cooperation is vital?”

Coming from Odyne, this was a kind of threat. Having received the Emperor’s command, both Odyne and Rogue’s families would be in danger if they refused to participate in the war. The commander-in-chief however was Nabarl. If he was unable to integrate Rogue or Odyne and if the invasion of Taúlia ended in failure, Nabarl would naturally be the one to bear the responsibility.

“If neither of you are interested, that is also fine.”

“What?”

Nabarl’s face was as cool as ever as he turned his scornful gaze towards each of the two generals in turn.

“By all means, relax and sip tea here in Apta. I will manage the whole thing myself and invite you to see the results in the end. Ah, but of course, that is also what I will report to His Majesty.”

For a second, both Rogue and Odyne were left speechless.

Mounting an attack without a declaration of war was proof that he was not making light of Taúlia’s military strength. Yet even so, he was saying that he would capture it with his own troop of only seven hundred?

This fellow — Rogue stared intently at Nabarl — did he catch hold of some kind of information about the West? No, he’s been advocating attacking Taúlia for years. If someone had caught hold of it, that...

Could it be His Majesty?

For some reason, he felt unfamiliar chills crawl up his body. Without confiding in any of his retainers, the Emperor had probably had his sights set on the west since long ago. While gathering minute information, he had patiently awaited his chance. And for Guhl Mephius, the Crown Prince’s death had represented an unparalleled opportunity. Essentially, Taúlia was vulnerable to an air force, so Rogue Saian’s airships should have been indispensable for a swift victory. Nabarl, however, seemed extremely confident in his plan. Rather than going through the trouble of dealing with allies who were not keen on his strategy, he had determined that it would be more advantageous to act alone. In a way, it was a decisiveness worthy of a warrior. “Well then, we will watch,” said Odyne. “Please leave the rearguard to us.”

“As you wish,” to the end, Nabarl maintained his cocksure attitude.

Upon leaving the council room, Nabarl headed straight for a large room beneath the barracks. About twenty of the former Imperial Guards were being held there. He called for one of them.

He had, of course, been disarmed and was almost naked, but from the pressure he gave off, it seemed like at any moment, he might tear through Nabarl’s windpipe with his teeth.

The runner-up in that year’s gladiatorial tournament, the swordsman who had taken the position of the hero Felipe for his own – Pashir.

Nabarl spoke dismissively, “You... it seems you fought splendidly on the battlefield alongside the Prince.”

“...”

“I’ll have the equipment of the Blue Zenith Division prepared for you at once. I am giving you a chance to shine again. If you do, maybe your friends’ treatment will change a bit.”

Pashir had no say in the matter. He was immediately led away by one of the officers and fitted out with weapons and armour. A weapon that he was not specialised in, a bow, was slung over his shoulder. The armour was also somewhat overdone, clearly more for ceremonial use than for actual combat.

It was a whim of Nabarl’s.

The newly-established Blue Zenith Division consisted not only of the mercenaries, now elevated to regular soldiers, who had been working for him, but also many sent from the mercenary units of other divisions. Having the Felipe from the gladiatorial tournament at his beck and call was a way of showing those newcomers his status. Additionally, he calculated that even those who had been under his command for a long time would be far more enthusiastic than usual at being able to lord it over this man, who had jumped up from being a gladiator.

Pashir would eventually be executed as a criminal who had concealed the cause of the Crown Prince’s death. To Nabarl’s way of thinking, he should make use of him while he could.

Part 2

Rumour had it that he had been in a cheerful mood of late.

He was a man who was usually strict as an ogre with his men and would rarely crack jokes or laugh; but recently, he called out to the people when he was out on patrol in the town and thanked the soldiers for their efforts during their training.

But then, it was only natural. The war with Garda’s army, which had run rampant for so long in the west, had finally drawn to a close; and Princess Esmena, who had disappeared during Raswan Bazgan’s uprising, had returned safely by air carrier just the other day.

He must be feeling like the dark clouds that had been hanging over Taúlia had completely cleared away.

Yet Bouwen Tedos’ thoughts were not as uncomplicated as other people believed. Or better said, his feelings were very much mixed.

Having been wounded at the battle of the Coldrin Hills, he had not been able to take part in the punitive force against Garda’s aforementioned army; and to make matters worse, a sorcerer had crept into the castle and kidnapped Esmena. Far from having anything to be proud of, as a warrior, he carried shame and endless regrets.

However, the one who should be in charge of Taúlia’s defence, Toún Bazgan – Ax Bazgan’s younger brother and Raswan’s father – had, in response to his son’s rebellion, voluntarily placed himself under house arrest– “until my brother returns and hands down an official sentence”

The one in charge could not appear before the soldiers and populace with a gloomy face, so Bouwen was acting as though he was in a good mood.

As was now normal, he was patrolling the neighbouring villages.

Everyone had radiant expressions. The working men had been taken for soldiers and their food reserves had been commandeered for army provisions, so their living conditions were far from easy, yet the eyes that looked up towards Bouwen on his horse, were shining as they unanimously congratulated him on victory.

Among them, there were even those who held up tiny amounts of alcohol and meat from animals they had caught in the mountains, saying it was “for the soldiers.”

Bouwen smiled from the bottom of his heart.

I’m just not used to being a hero. What am I going to do if I get worried about every little thing? The people indomitably face every day. It’s our job to protect their way of life.

Realising that anew, he passed through Taúlia’s gate when dusk was already near, and noticed that the town seemed a little changed. A soldier came rushing up and informed him of the reason. Oh!

The Fifth Army Corps that Bouwen led had practically been annihilated, but the only troop within it that was currently still combat-worthy had apparently just returned from Eimen. In other words, the mercenary platoon led by Orba, the one who had killed Garda.

I see, it’s the hero’s return.

The atmosphere in the town and castle was euphoric.

When Bouwen entered the castle, another person came rushing up to him. Since this person’s presence was both utterly unexpected and yet, in a sense predictable, Bouwen once more felt mixed feelings.

The one bowing in greeting was Esmena’s head lady’s maid.

Orba, who had gone back from bandages to a mask just before returning to Taúlia, received a warmer welcome than ever before in its streets. The story of the swordsman who had defeated the sorcerer seemed to have reached even here, in a town far-distant from Eimen.

Overflowing crowds of people lined both sides of the street, reminding Orba of how he had once ridden along this road next to Ax as Prince Gil. It had been the day after Taúlia and Mephius had agreed to peace. That time too, the people had greeted them warmly.

Near Orba, who was in the lead, were the mercenaries from Taúlia, followed by those who were from other parts of Tauran. Shique, Gilliam and the other foreign mercenaries were at the back of the line. The reason for that went without saying. On Shique’s advice, Orba had also tied a banner with the crest of Taúlia to his horse.

The shouts of joy showed no sign of ending. Several children who looked like they had received instructions from the adults ran over to Orba. When he bent down while on horseback, a girl stood on tiptoes to pass a garland of flowers around his neck, while a boy held up a wineskin filled with alcohol.

Orba raised it to the sky.

“To Lord Ax!” He cried, then tossed back his head and gulped down the wine.

The cheers and applause became thunderous. The masked swordsman was, without any possible doubt, a hero to the west.

Yet – when that hero entered the castle, he kept the soldiers and leaders of Taúlia, who were eager to hear his war stories, at arm’s length, saying:

“Let me rest for a bit.”

In his place, Gilliam, Shique and the other mercenaries were in great demand throughout the town. Although, in a certain sense, those who were from Taúlia were even greater heroes than Orba. When they went back to their families, they found themselves being welcomed by all their relatives and crowds of their neighbours.

Meanwhile, Orba secluded himself in his room and was finally alone for the first time in a long while. He took off his mask and glanced through the window. Outside, the evening shadows were growing longer. There were many round towers in Taúlia, and their towering black shapes rose throughout the townscape.

Well...

Perhaps because they were not so far apart, it overlapped in his mind with the evening sky he had once gazed at in Apta.

Orba took the sword that he had just removed from his belt and drew it out of its sheath, so that the light from the window fell on it. It was the short sword he always carried at his waist. The glowing red light set ablaze the name carved into the blade.

Orba.

The name of a boy born in a Mephian village that was itself nameless.

The name of a gladiator who had also been called by the nickname “Iron Tiger” in the amphitheatre.

The name of a man who, in the past year, had become known for his services as an Imperial Guard to Mephius’ Crown Prince, Gil Mephius.

And here in the west, the name of the hero whose fame had spread explosively after he had, under Ax Bazgan’s command, splendidly struck down the sorcerer Garda.

But...

Orba slowly re-sheathed the sword. The light that had been reflecting into his eyes vanished, and as though to replace it, a breeze from the window caressed the bare skin of his face.

If he felt like it, he could choose a different name. All he had to do was to not wear the mask when in public and introduce himself by this new name; he would then replace himself in a completely different position than the one he stood in now.

It would mean throwing away many things. Along with that, he would also be burdening himself with many things. And above all else, he would be exposing himself to an untold number of dangers.

It would virtually be choosing the path of ruin after working so hard to receive the honours of a hero.

But –

That’s the only way to get what I want – he felt intensely. And it was equally certain that, even if it seemed insignificant next to the personal danger and countless responsibilities, it was still the only thing that Orba currently wanted.

“Sir Orba.”

Just then, a messenger from Bouwen arrived. It was time to put on the mask again.

Bouwen had invited Orba to the rooms reserved for the general, in the topmost part of the now largely deserted Fifth Army Corps barracks.

“Although it’s not much in the way of hospitality for a hero...”

Bouwen said with a smile. Indeed, there were only a few simple dishes of chicken and vegetables lined up next to a single bottle of wine.

Bouwen first praised his achievement of having killed Garda, then thanked him for the great help he had given Govenor-General Ax.

To which Orba answered, “I was blessed with the fortunes of war.”

After which, Bouwen said, "Speaking of the fortunes of war, you saved me at the Coldrin Hills too. At the time, I was more than half resigned that my luck had run out.”

“It was Captain Duncan’s order. Also, as our commanding officer, he showed us what it means to be dignified to the end,” Orba answered.

Neither of them were talkative men, nor had the habit of drinking large amounts, so there were many long periods of silence. It was not an uncomfortable silence however, Bouwen would occasionally ask about the war and Orba would answer noncommittally. At the story of the magic trap that Garda had laid in Kadyne, Bouwen was unable to hide his surprise.

"It's said that there're many sorcerers in Ende and Allion. If they can effectively use that kind of magic, their battlefields must be very different from the ones I know."

"I don't know much about it, but apparently the Dragon Gods temples in the cities that Garda's army occupied were altered in some way. Using large-scale sorcery probably requires equally large-scale preparations. Just like how you need a lot of ether to fly a lot of airships."

"I see. So it's not like the almighty power of legends," Bouwen nodded deeply.

The sun slowly set and the lamps were lit inside the room. A long time passed, and just as the wine bottle was finally about to be emptied, Bouwen once more began to talk.

"The truth is, there's someone who very much wants to see you."

It looked like Bouwen was intending to go about things in a roundabout way, but Orba could guess who that person was from the respectful tone Bouwen used to talk about them.

"Princess Esmena... Is that who you mean?"

"You catch on fast. Exactly right. She says that she doesn't want to force you but, she would sincerely like you to go and see her, even if only once."

Bouwen tried to look expressionlessness. Although, since he was at heart honest, even an outsider could have seen through it. Orba, however, had no attention to spare and failed to notice the other's complicated feelings. He could imagine why Esmena might want to see him in person.

Normally, he would be thinking – How do I get out of this? However, for some reason, the only thought he now had at a time like this was – So it's come.

Orba sighed behind his mask.

"Understood. I will meet with her," he said.

Part 3

“Will someone tell me what on earth has gotten into all of you?”

Within her chambers, Esmena Bazgan stared in bemusement at her ladies’ maids, who had been kicking up a fuss for some time now. Some of them were rushing about in groups while others were brandishing their brooms like weapons. It was enough to make her wonder if there had been a repeat of that nightmarish uprising that had happened only a few days ago.

“Princess, is it not you who should tell us what has happened?”

The ladies’ maids snorted angrily.

“Why would you even think of inviting that insolent wretch again?”

They meant Orba. That afternoon, he was supposed to come to this room within the inner quarters.

He had previously been invited here before the battle in Helio; at that time he had spoken sneeringly of Gil, whom Esmena still yearned for. Wild with fury, something which was extremely rare for her, Esmena had driven him out then wept loudly.

“Stop this commotion, its unbecoming of you all. The Princess has her position to consider,” the head lady’s maid chided the younger ones. She was the same one who had informed Bouwen that Esmena wished to meet with Orba. “Sir Orba is now a hero whose name is known throughout the west. He is also the one who was responsible for rescuing the Princess.”

“But that...”

The ladies’ maids pulled unhappy faces. They knew nothing of war, and it was impossible for them to suddenly believe that the insolent and eerie young man who hid his own face was the hero who had defeated Garda. The head lady’s maid continued solemnly –

“The Princess has no choice but to invite him before her and say a few words of gratitude. No matter how wicked and arrogant his true personality might be... Even though he might be crafty and deceitful... No matter how distressing or terrifying it is for the Princess... Even though doing so makes her blood boil, her position carries responsibilities which...”

“Really, you’re all exaggerating,” Esmena found it impossible not to laugh.

The one who actually felt like it made her blood boil was the head lady’s maid.

After all that, Esmena once again gathered her maids together and said –

“I have something to ask of you all.”

“What can we do for you?”

“Please be at ease. We will not leave your side.”

“I may not look like it, but my father drilled me in martial arts. At the first hint of insolence, I will smash that mask from behind and...”

Facing the ladies’ maids who were working themselves up into a frenzy, Esmena smiled.

“No. I would like you to leave me alone with him.”

Orba arrived at her chambers exactly on time. He walked in feeling that the ladies’ maids, who came out to greet him, had looked at him with terrible expressions.

Esmena Bazgan, the beautiful princess of Taúlia, was sitting at a table in the centre of the room on which snacks had been laid.

“Princess. I hope you have been doing well.”

Orba started off inoffensively. Esmena had been carried away to Eimen and been subjected to Garda’s loathsome sorcery. From what Orba had seen at the time, it looked as though her heart was being controlled.

“I have. I can think with my own mind and move my own body as I please. But because everyone here wants to treat me like an invalid, I’ve gone along with it a bit.”

Esmena, who was speaking laughingly, certainly looked well. Compared to how haggard she had been the last time he was invited to this room, or while she was kidnapped by the sorcerer, she seemed much healthier.

“How about you? You were not wounded during the fighting?”

“I’m as you see.”

“Hmm, but since you wear a mask, ‘as I see’ does not tell me much.”

“R-right.”

Orba was still standing at attention in front of the giggling Esmena.

Weird – he was puzzled by the atmosphere surrounding her.

At her invitation, he sat down opposite her. Here in the west, no matter how hospitable they might be towards guests, it was rare to replace oneself seated at the same level as a country’s princess. He was even more surprised when, after they had finished laying out the alcohol and tea, the ladies’ maids bowed and left the room.

As soon as they had left –

“There is no one else in this room,” Esmena said. “There is also no one hiding to listen in. If you doubt me, please feel free to search this entire room.”

“What is it you want to say?”

A different atmosphere than earlier now surrounded Esmena as she sat directly opposite him, and for some reason, Orba felt self-conscious. It was not hostility. But it was not a friendly atmosphere either. It could perhaps be described as a certain kind of eagerness.

“Sir Orba.”

“Yes.”

“Won’t you show me your face?”

A swaying motion.

Orba saw something move in the corner of his eye. A curtain rustling in a gentle breeze.

“My face,” Orba repeated once the curtain had stopped moving.

“Yes,” Esmena nodded.

Her unwavering eagerness surged along with the wind, but her limpid eyes remained gentle. Orba did not say anything more.

To say that confusion raged like a storm through his breast – would be a lie. Orba’s mind was curiously calm.

Some time passed.

Esmena rose from her seat. Orba’s eyes followed her movements. She approached him.

And passed by his side. Beyond his field of vision, he could feel Esmena’s presence behind him. Slender brown fingers took hold of his mask.

As though taking part in a solemn ceremony, with movements that were perfectly calm and natural, Orba’s hand quietly stopped those fingers.

Esmena went rigid, as though she had received an electric shock. Orba stood up too.

Including the time to turn around, it could not have been more than a few seconds, but each had experienced several dozen sensations in that time.

Orba took the mask in his own fingers.

Several more seconds passed.

The curtain swayed and wind once more caressed his bare skin.

Orba’s hand had only slightly shifted the mask, but Esmena’s gaze was riveted to him almost frantically until suddenly, quickly, she averted her eyes.

“It’s... It’s enough,” she said sharply.

The Princess limply fell back down. Her shoulders shook. For a short while, Orba focused his gaze on the governor-general of Taúlia’s daughter, but before long, he fixed his mask back in place.

The desolate wind sang of bone-chilling coldness and cruelty to the young pair.

And with it, it seemed to carry a burning heartache.

After a while...

“I will not ask you about your circumstances,” said Esmena, with an expression like one who was holding back their anger. Her eyes were still turned away from Orba. Just as with her shoulders were, her lips quivered as words spilled from them. “Even if I were to ask you, I’m sure someone like me would not possibly be able to understand. You lived and came rushing to Taúlia when it was in danger. That is what I believe. Even if you were now to set Taúlia alight with your own hands, I could not resent you.”

“...”

“I will tell no one, of course. I swear to you, on my name of Esmena Bazgan. So please... p-please, trust me. I, Esmena, am small and cowardly, but this I will protect even with my own life.” Her long eyelashes trembled incessantly. Orba did not say anything in response. From the window behind her, he could see the same cluster of towers that he had gazed at the previous evening, but from a different angle. From here, they looked like five fingers reaching out to grasp the heavens.

Esmena stood up again.

“Mercenary Captain Orba,” she called him by that name.

“Aye,” Orba once again stood to attention.

“You greatly helped my father and splendidly slayed the sorcerer Garda. For steadfastly protecting the west, as the princess of Taúlia, and as a woman of this land, I both praise you for your achievements, and thank you.”

Her eyes shining, Esmena smiled. Orba simply bowed his head.

As the Princess’ eyelashes trembled once more, a single teardrop trickled from beneath them...

It was more than an hour after Orba had left that the ladies’ maids were allowed to return to the room. Even with so much time, Esmena’s eyes were still red and swollen.

“Oh gracious!”

The ladies’ maids once more raised an uproar.

“What did that scoundrel say to you?”

“Now that he’s a hero, he must be even more insolent than before.”

“If I see him again, I won’t let him off this time.”

“Princess, what is making you smile? Princess...”

That evening.

A little after Orba’s unit, fifty soldiers led by Natokk – commander of the Sixth Army Corps – returned to Taúlia. He first greeted Bouwen and Nidhal, the commander of the Third Army Corps who had arrived back earlier. Then he went to replace the strategist, Ravan Dol, who was currently undergoing medical treatment, carrying with him a verbal message from Ax.

Orba of course knew nothing of that errand.

He was doing his best to play the part of the merry-making ‘hero’ before Gilliam and the others brought it up. Once, with Shique playing the part of his opponent, he had re-enacted the scene of Garda being slain for the young soldiers.

With plenty of added flourishes, naturally.

“No... to think that the West could band together as one so quickly! Damn you, Ax Bazgan, I underestimated you!” Garda said, coughing up blood, then collapsed.

Although Orba thought that it was complete nonsense, he was also deeply aware that this kind of thing was necessary.

Following Ax’s instructions, Nidhal had already held two days of celebration in Taúlia, and with the food and drink left over from that time, he treated Orba’s unit and the soldiers they had invited to a feast.

Additionally, that day, Esmena Bazgan had also attended the banquet. Because ordinarily the princess did not readily go to places where only men gathered, the festivities grew livelier than ever.

When the graceful beauty walked by, a faint scent of flowers seemed to drift in the air. Even though the atmosphere surrounding her was the same as ever, the men talked together excitedly.

Doesn’t she seem to have changed somehow?

Yeah. It’s like she’s grown up all at once.

The Princess is already nineteen.

Right, when I got married, my wife was also nineteen. So she’s already at that age, huh...

Some of them grew solemn and for some reason, their shoulders started to droop.

Perhaps because Governor-General Ax had raised her overprotectively, Esmena had always seemed young for her age; but now when she appeared in public, although her manners were modest, there was no doubt that the woman of the Bazgan House sitting in the seat of honour was an adult. In their clumsy hearts, the men were glad of that, but felt a little bereft at the same time.

The leading role at the feast was of course reserved for the new hero, Orba. Esmena had personally expressed her gratitude towards him, whereupon several Taúlian warriors turned green with envy, thinking – “if it was going to come to this, even if it cost a life or two, I should have been in Eimen to defeat Garda myself” – even as they smiled towards him.

Afterwards, while the light from the bonfire in the garden illuminated his iron mask, Orba respectfully presented the longsword which had killed Garda to the Princess.

“Still, Mephian gladiators are pretty capable.”

The Taúlian soldiers muttered, deeply impressed.

“Since we’re at peace with Mephius now, we might soon have gladiator shows put on here in the west too.”

“If that happens, locals will be invited to take part too, no?”

“How about trying it out? You’re pretty confident about your sword skills, right? Maybe you’ll get to catch up to the hero.”

“D-Don’t be stupid. I’m not afraid of dying on the battlefield but to kill or be killed for entertainment... no thanks.”

Sitting in at a corner of the banquet, Bouwen listened to his men talking with a wry smile.

They had fought for a long time with Mephius, with which they shared a border. Moreover, the Bazgan House was originally from Mephius and they had once outmanoeuvred its emperor by founding the nation of Zer Tauran, from which the current Taúlia had emerged after the country had split apart. With those origins, even if they were now at peace, it would not be easy to sever their fated enmity with Mephius.

But –

Taken the other way, it was a fact that Mephian blood flowed through the veins of the Bazgan family. That much could not be denied. By using that fact to skilfully guide people’s sympathies, even the deep ditch that lay between them and Mephius might eventually be bridged.

And so, what’re we going to do with that hard-to-handle man?

Feeling the urge to give another bitter smile, Bouwen looked at Orba from a distance. The problem he posed was a delicate one. If used well, there would be no better way to build a bridge with Mephius; but, if they handled him the wrong way, far from being a hero, he might suddenly become a target of hatred for the people of Tauran.

Since, after all, the risk of war was subsiding in the west, and heroes are not needed in times of peace.

While Bouwen was worrying his head with those complicated thoughts, a soldier rushed up to him just as the banquet was starting to wind down.

“What?”

As soon as the soldier whispered in his ear, Bouwen completely forgot the concerns that had been going through his mind. He immediately took his leave of Esmena and hurried away.

His expression as he left the banquet was tense.

An event entirely beyond his expectations had occurred.