Rakuin no Monshou
Volume 11, 1: Rumblings

Volume 11, Chapter 1: Rumblings

Part 1

The city of Dairan, at the northernmost tip of Ende, was defended by high ramparts that protected it from invasion by the nomadic northern tribes. These nomadic tribes were divided into numerous clans and usually lived as they pleased. However, they would occasionally commit piracy along their southern coast, and occasionally attempt to trample into Ende’s territory. The trend to their movements was utterly unfathomable: sometimes they would go a year or two without taking any action, while at other times, there would be two attacks within a month.

Eric Le Doria, who was to be the next Grand Duke of Ende, had often fought them beyond Dairan’s protective ramparts. From a very young age, he had been entrusted to the care of the Plutos family – who had governed Dairan for generation after generation – and in that wild and rough land, he had fought to his utmost with sword and gun, and had learned of that joy that was second to none; of gathering with his comrades around the campfire after battle, still covered in the blood of his foes, to boast together of their feats.

Given this particularity, Dairan was clearly at odds with the “aristocratic” traits that were prized by other Endeans – traits such as dressing splendidly or never ostensibly injuring another person, but instead preferring to exchange verbal quips laced with lethal doses of poison.

To take other examples, Safia, the capital of the Grand Duchy, was known throughout the world as the “Water Capital” and was recognised as a city of great artistic value. The high walls that surrounded Dairan, however, were rough-hewn and inelegant, and the people who came and went from the city wore simple clothes. In Safia, men and women alike weaved their long hair into whatever complicated style they preferred, but here, that was rare.

In plain words, it was the sticks, and among the nobles that filled Safia, many mocked Dairan as a “remote frontier” and a “land of savages”.

Walking through Dairan, everywhere you went, you would hear the yells of men training in the military arts, and under the eaves of the houses, you would frequently see women doing laundry or peeling vegetables.

Just then, the men, dripping with sweat, suddenly halted their arms that were swinging spears. The women, who had been trampling the spread-out laundry, also stopped the movement of their white legs, and the young girls hurriedly corrected their seating posture.

“Lord Eric,” voices called out all along the street, and Eric answered them with a smile.

The Second Prince always openly asserted that Dairan was his home. His personality was much closer to that of a warrior of the Plutos House than to one of Ende’s leading aristocrat; and on top of that, he had only recently exterminated the wild dragons that that had attacked Dairan. And so, the people there adored him.

When they heard that he had been chosen as the next Grand Duke, this rustic town, with its simple and unaffected creeds and its lingering scent of earth, was engulfed in three days and three nights of revelry, its people delirious with joy.

It did not even last ten days.

The people had particularly rejoiced at the fact that the future Grand Duke would be visiting Dairan. Eric, however, did not come to his “home” dressed in fine clothes for a triumphal return. Because they were well-aware of this, Dairan’s populace did not create more of a fanfare than necessary.

War is coming.

Moreover, it was not because of an attack by the nomadic tribes. The great eastern country of Allion had dispatched its troops; and far from there being any reason to celebrate, Dairan, or better said, Ende itself, was facing an unprecedented crisis.

Allion’s air carriers were already moored to the north of Ende, in the port city of Zonga. These were probably no more than an advance supply unit, but a force of two thousand led by Kaseria Jamil was said to currently be at sea.

Right now, all of Ende was focused on getting ready for the impending war. Eric had come to Dairan to prepare for when Allion’s troops would depart from northern Zonga, but he could not remain there indefinitely.

In the old days, all he needed to focus on when war was about to break out was the war itself. Back when he had fought the nomadic tribes or planned the invasion of Garbera, he would only worry about organising the troops, ensuring provisions, or various concerns related to weapons inspection or maintaining his comrades’ morale.

Now however, Eric was the future Grand Duke. Other than the preparations directly involving battle, there was a pile of things he needed to attend to. Beyond the battlefield, he needed to extend his gaze to all of Ende and keep a close eye on the surrounding countries.

On top of that, although he had been nominated as the next Grand Duke upon the death of his father, it could not be said that he was standing on firm footing. Having spent more time in Dairan than in Safia, Eric felt considerably estranged from the leading figures who supported the country.

Naturally, he had no choice but to travel back and forth to the capital. He had arrived in Dairan just the day before yesterday, but would soon be returning to Safia.

Kaseria. Just how serious are you about taking Ende, you bastard? His enemy’s true feelings and intentions were as yet impossible to know.

He had already obtained information that, while his older brother, Jeremie, had implored its help by claiming that “the descendants of the Magic Dynasty should be brought together,” not all of Allion welcomed this situation which had given them a good pretext for invading Ende. Or rather, it seemed that only Allion’s First Prince, Kaseria Jamil, was enthusiastic about this war.

Are they simply intending to demonstrate Allion’s influence at the centre of the continent through one battle, or is Kaseria the vanguard, with Allion’s entire army set to move after all?

At no point, while out in public, did Eric wipe off his forthright smile, but in the depths of night, alone in his bed, there was a distinct crease between his brows.

One of the reasons for that was that their last ray of hope – the response from the northern coastal countries – was slow to arrive. It had been almost ten days since they had sent a request for help by fast air carrier, but they had still received no answer.

Has Allion already gotten to them or are they like me, they don’t know what Allion’s real intention is?

It was the same for Garbera and Mephius as well. From intelligence sent by spies, he understood that problems had arisen in both of those countries. Forget about sending aid to Ende, it would not be strange if fighting were to break out between the two of them.

In the worst possible situation, Ende would have to confront Kaseria’s troops alone and under the sole command of Eric, who had not yet even become ruler.

The enemy has two thousand at sea. There doesn’t seem to have been any further activity in Allion’s ports, and reinforcements probably wouldn’t come by the overland route.

The country of Ryalide stretched out between Ende and Allion. Although militarily, it was only a small country, he did not believe that Allion would want to increase the number of its enemies on its way to Ende.

“In that case...”

They just needed to be prepared.

Eric dragged his sword near his pillow and fell asleep hugging its sheath. It was a habit he had developed over the last ten days.

Early the next morning, Eric awoke with his eyes wide open and headed out of the Plutos mansion. He was going to a well near the stable to wash his face. The elderly soldier guarding the stable looked sleepy, but he seemed surprised and stood at attention when he saw Eric. He was a long-time acquaintance from his childhood, and Eric grinned at him and stopped to exchange some idle chit-chat.

“Lord Eric,” a voice called out then. It was not that of a soldier. Turning around, he saw two young sisters.

“Thil, Reen,” Eric smiled as he said their names.

The two of them gave him deep bows. Bowing deeply to nobles was the custom in Ende, but as neither of them was ten years old yet, their movements were an exaggerated imitation of what adults did. The younger sister bent so far forward that her back was almost parallel to the ground.

They were the daughters of Darowkin Plutos, the eldest son of Kayness Plutos, the current head of the family. For Eric, who had spent so long in Dairan, Kayness was like a second father to him, and so, he thought of the two little girls practically as his own nieces.

“You have risen very early, Prince,” Thil, the older sister, spoke with punctilious courtesy.

“You can’t call him ‘Prince’ anymore. Because he’s already become the Grand Duke,” Reen, the younger sister, pointed out.

Of the two sisters, the older often acted like a grown-up. And when Reen always took her up on any mistakes, Thil would then protest with faint tears in her eyes. Such was the relationship between them. Eric smiled involuntarily.

“Neither is wrong. I’m still a prince, but I also bear the duties of the next Grand Duke.”

“Right, you see, Reen. I wasn’t wrong after all.”

“That’s because adults always take Thil’s side.”

“I don’t want to fight in front of the prince. Go play over there. I’ll even lend you my doll.”

“Those are two different things!”

Reen galloped off, laughing. Even if she pretended to be an adult, she was still only seven years old. Her steps were always light, and she was always cheerful.

Left behind, her older sister, Thil, once again bowed towards Eric.

“Prince, will Dairan become a battlefield again?” She asked with a serious expression.

For all that she was young, she was a daughter of the Plutos House. There was no doubt that she had been quick to sense that a war was approaching, and that it would be harsher and more violent than usual. Eric’s expression also changed. He was a man who could not deceive anyone, not even children.

“I don’t plan to let that happen. But a good warrior prepares for every situation. All the men in Dairan are like that. If it does happen though, you have to protect your little sister Reen.”

“Yes,” Thil meekly nodded her head.

The same day, at dusk, they received new information from a reconnaissance party that had been sent to Zonga.

“The troops led by Prince Kaseria will apparently arrive at the port of Zonga the day after tomorrow.”

Is this it? Eric braced himself as all of Dairan came under grew tense. Will they start by sending a messenger to keep the appearance of a just cause? Or is Kaseria so desperate for blood that he’ll advance regardless?

Simply waiting did not suit his personality and his impatience was getting worse. He felt the impulse to sally forth and attack right now, however –

“The first thing you need to do is set your priorities, Lord Eric.” Kayness Plutos, the current lord of Dairan, spoke calmly. “Determine what is important and laugh off what is trivial. The ruler of a country and the commander of an army are two different things. It would be best to display composure and return to Safia for a while.”

“But, Sir Kayness...”

“Otherwise, the grandees in Safia will forget your face, Lord Eric,” Kaynes gave a soft chuckle. “First, there are things that need getting used to. Such as the mutual relationship between lord and retainer.”

Certainly, being away from the capital for too long also left Eric feeling anxious. Among the retainers who had remained at the palace, not a few of them had previously supported his brother, Jeremie. In order not to create an unfavourable atmosphere, and also for the sake of once more gathering information about the two countries of Mephius and Garbera, he conceded that he needed to return to Safia for a while.

Entrusting the command of the defence force to Kayness, Eric boarded an air carrier. Immediately upon arriving at Safia, he found another piece of information awaiting him.

“Allion’s second wave of troops?” Eric unconsciously repeated the contents out loud.

A second unit was crossing from the east by the overland route. The country of Ryalide should have been an obstacle to any military expedition, but it had apparently thrown open all the barriers along its highways and was allowing a troop of three thousand of Allion’s soldiers to pass through.

“Did they yield under pressure?”

If they did not comply, those troops could be used to set a small country like Ryalide ablaze – had that kind of threat been applied?

Eric, however, had genuinely believed that Allion would not push forward with that kind of violent diplomatic pressure. No matter how powerful a country was, displaying such a high-handed attitude was dangerous. One step wrong and they would induce a sense of impending crisis, which might lead their surroundings to spread an encircling net around Allion, which in turn would hinder them not only militarily, but would also disrupt their trade.

Which means...

Kaseria Jamil was serious?

Eric was aware of cold sweat trickling beneath his undershirt.

There might be more to follow. For now however, there were five thousand in all. If they focused on defence, that was by no means a difficult number to drive back.

Eric was still young. Whatever Allion’s true intentions were, the cause of all this was his older brother, Jeremie. When their father, the Grand Duke, passed away, and the position of successor to the throne was snatched away by his younger brother, Jeremie had stolen and made off with the flag of the Magic Dynasty, then begged a powerful country, with which they had ancient ties, to send troops.

Therefore, looking at things from a different angle, this was basically a problem internal to Ende. And so, Eric also felt like having Ende sweep away that number of enemies all by itself, and showing Garbera, Mephius, as well as those coastal countries that were deliberately staying quiet, that ‘there is a new Ende now’.

No, even more than to a group of foreigners, the ones that Eric felt the most strongly that way about was towards those retainers who still doubted his ability.

At that same time, west of Ende’s borders, there was a young man who was facing the same kind of trouble as Eric was.

He was equally in a position where he was poised to shoulder the responsibility of an entire country, he could not fathom his opponent’s real intentions, and he too was hesitant about what attitude to take.

The young man’s name was Gil Mephius.

The reminder is not needed, but his real identity was that of Orba, a former gladiator.

He had only just taken the city of Nedain when an envoy from the emperor had come to see him in person. The message he carried was that: “Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius is invited to come to Solon.”

Part 2

Just before seeing the imperial envoy, Orba had met with a different visitor. An unexpected guest, at that.

Late the previous night, a group had turned up in Nedain. All of them were young men. They were dressed in rags, but all were muscular and their speech was rough. The guards at the gate assumed that they were some of the bandits who normally caused chaos along the surrounding highways but who, hearing about the crown prince’s victory, had decided to change jobs and had come to hire themselves out as mercenaries. However –

“Let me see the Imperial Crown Prince at once,” the youth who seemed to be the leader airily said something inconceivable. “I’m an acquaintance of His Highness’,” he insisted, his face dusty and slightly dirt-stained.

“How could a guy like you be acquainted with His Highness? If your mercenary applicants, go straight down this street, then at the end...”

“You’re kind of dim, huh? I told you I want to see him right now. His Highness will rake you over the coals later, you know.”

The gatekeepers were perplexed, but, just as when the former Imperial Guard Alnakk had visited the port city of Birac, Orba had given strict orders to be passed on to every single soldier – “It doesn’t matter how trivial it is. If something catches your attention, report it to your superior.” That posture had already been explained here in Nedain.

Even so, it had not been long since Gil Mephius had arrived in that town. In the end, the report did not reach him until the next day.

It was just after Orba had finished breakfast. When he heard the name by which the young men’s leader had introduced himself, he suddenly seemed lost in thought.

“It appears that this morning as well, they barged their way to the front of the mansion,” said the commander of the guards. “Should we send them away?”

“No, it seems interesting. I’ll see him,” Orba gave his permission.

On top of that, he announced that he would see him, just the two of them. People were surprised, but seeing Gil’s impish smile, they concluded that it must be some kind of whim. There was no longer anyone who called Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius a “fool” – at least not here in Nedain – but there was never any lack of people who judged him to be “eccentric.”

The only one who objected was Pashir, who was currently ensuring Gil’s personal safety virtually single-handedly, but when Orba whispered something in his ear, he immediately withdrew his comment.

A few minutes later, the young man was allowed into the room which had been ordered clear of people.

“Heya, things got really heavy back there,” was the first thing that the very rough-and-tumble youth said upon entering. “That’s a real load of hassle, even just to see an old friend. Oh well, can’t be helped. You’re the crown prince of Mephius now.”

Sharp eyes and a characteristic aquiline nose. He was certainly an “old friend” – of Orba’s, the boy from an arid valley.

Orba himself did not say a word, but the young man sat himself down on a sofa in the room without asking and continued talking excitedly.

“Sorry for being so late. Obviously, I’ve known about the rumours for a while now. That the crown prince of Mephius has risen in revolt against Emperor Guhl. And, also obviously, I’d figured that you were that Crown Prince. Same thing when I first heard about your death: I realised from the start that you’d definitely gone into hiding.”

“...”

“But yeah, that’s Orba for you: not satisfied with being a body-double, you started moving to take over the whole country. That really got my blood pumping. So I wanted to gather some people and rush over at once, but some of the soldiers at Birac’s garrison might know my face. We kind of kicked up a lot of dust around there, you know? Just while I was wondering what to do, suddenly, Nedain had fallen. That was a chance not to be missed, so I just gathered a hundred and we came flying from the village.”

The young man’s name was Doug.

He was a year older than Orba, and in their childhood, they had spent their entire time quarrelling with each other. They shared the same past of having had the Mephian general Oubary Bilan attack their birthplace. Separated for six years, the two of them had met once more in that same native area.

One as the body-double to the crown prince of Mephius.

The other as the leader of bandits who had sworn revenge on Mephius.

The interests and goals of the two of them were aligned, so they lured Oubary Bilan and his troops to the village, killed the soldiers who had fallen into their trap, and captured Oubary himself.

How much time had passed again since then?

Doug looked at Orba with a cheerful expression. At which point, Orba opened his mouth for the first time.

“Why are you here?”

“Why?” For a moment, Doug’s eyes opened round, then immediately afterwards, he laughed, showing his teeth. “Because isn’t it interesting, Orba? I thought that killing those nobles and generals still wouldn’t have been enough to bring satisfaction, but now every single one of them will become your retainers. They’ll obey your orders and offer their lives for you. The quarrelsome brat from that arid valley will become the great emperor of Mephius. What could be more interesting than that? Let me take part in it. An ally knowing your real identity could be useful in an emergency. Officially, of course, I’ll serve as your loyal subordinate. Heh, Orba, I’ll have to call you Crown Prince and even Emperor. Still...”

“Who are you?” Orba asked once more. He stared expressionlessly at Doug, who this time was at a loss for words. “Who are you, and who is this Orba whose name you keep using? Who have you been talking about since earlier?”

“I-I get it. I get it. I won’t call you Orba in public. Like I’ve been saying, officially...”

“Ah, I remember,” Orba said unsmilingly. “Aren’t you that bandit from back then? And? It’s true that I borrowed your help to defeat Oubary so have you come to extort a reward? What is it you want: money or women? Just say what you’d like.”

“Wh-What did you say?” Suddenly bursting with anger, Doug got up from the sofa and drew up towards Orba. “Come to extort you? Bullshit. Oi, don’t push it, Orba.”

“I told you that I don’t know that name.” Orba spoke with complete calm, the exact opposite of Doug, whose entire body seemed to be burning like a ball of fire. He took the sword that was at his waist. “Leave at once and never appear before me again. If you defy me, Peasant, know that I’ll throw not just you but also your family and everyone close to you to the fire. Do you understand?”

More than the threats, more than the gleam of the sword taken from its sheath, what caused Doug’s body to freeze instantly was because from up close, there was no trace of warmth in his gaze. Those eyes truly seemed to be looking at a complete stranger, and moreover, they were looking down in utter contempt at the young man whose position was so clearly different from his own.

Orba clapped his hands and summoned Pashir, the only guard he had allowed to remain outside the door.

“Take him away,” he ordered. “Afterwards, have the guards memorise his face. If he shows up again around here, then too bad, he’s to be cut down without mercy.”

“Aye,” answered Pashir, and, seizing Doug by the arm, he forced him to leave.

Although having said that, Doug showed no signs of resisting. He looked towards Orba one last time, but Orba’s attention had already moved on to the documents on the desk.

The door closed.

Left alone, Orba stayed a while without stirring. Inwardly, however, he murmured, Doug? Maybe he had been dreaming.

Not Doug, for aiming to go up in life – Orba himself.

Now, just before the point when he was about to step on a tightrope from which he could no longer look back, a nostalgic and familiar face had appeared before him, bringing with it the warmth of his home village.

After that, he could have treated him to a drink, and they could have laughed together, reminiscing about old times.

Or else, he could have clapped him on the shoulder, saying, “it’s a real help that you came,” then, with that shoulder to rely on, they could have crossed the tightrope together.

Orba however did neither of those things. Doug was one of those who knew his real identity. You could even call him a person who could affect his fate. The thought even flitted across his mind that as a last resort he could secretly kill him.

But –

I don’t know anyone called Doug.

Orba had played dumb.

Since he did not know him, he had sent him away out of hand; since he did not know him, he would not pay any attention to his existence.

That was just a dream.

Picking up the sword that he had, for a moment, placed on the desk, Orba gave a small, an ever so small, sigh.

Orba had posted soldiers throughout Nedain and had also personally gone to its outskirts and had them take up defensive positions. This was because they were in a situation in which they did not know when the emperor might dispatch a subjugation force. The circumstances, however, were different than what they had been in Apta or in Birac. In both of those towns, the people’s faces had been tinged with the worry that they might get swallowed up in a large-scale conflict. In Nedain’s case, on the other hand, having just been released from the oppression of the Abigoal family, both the people and the soldiers were full of fighting spirit and were ready to drive away any enemy that might come.

It was at such a time that the emperor’s envoy arrived.

Moreover, he brought not an order demanding that the impostor claiming to be the crown prince deliver up his own head, but an invitation for the “Gil Mephius” who was currently in Nedain to enter Solon, on the grounds that his identity had been thoroughly recognised.

Their side was in turmoil.

If the emperor had sent a host of ten thousand against them, the crown prince’s soldiers gathered in Nedain, as well as its people would, as stated earlier, probably have united as one. But the emperor had clearly ‘backed down’. Perhaps he had realised that the momentum from the crown prince’s side could no longer be stemmed and had grown timid; but, even more than the conviction that they could win, what this had brought was the hope that they would be able to avoid any more useless fighting.

They no longer needed to fight and spill the blood of fellow Mephians. Once that thought emerged, even ever so fleetingly, the wish for peace would easily erode the will to fight, and people’s opinions would come to be divided.

And naturally, among those opinions –

“It’s a trap.”

There was also the one that Rogue Saian had just expressed.

In Nedain Castle, the main officers from the crown prince’s side were gathered in the rectangular room that had once served as Jairus Abigoal’s office.

“I cannot believe that His Majesty would change his mind so suddenly. There is no doubt that this is a trap designed to cause unrest in our camp.”

“Definitely,” Odyne Lorgo agreed. “And in fact, having heard about it, the emotions of the soldiers and the people are swaying. While there are those who are saying that His Majesty is planning to have His Highness assassinated, just as back then in Birac, there are others who claim that to avoid civil war, the crown prince should allow himself to be persuaded to go to Solon.”

“And as soon as the invitation is accepted, His Highness will be captured and executed, without being given a chance to explain or vindicate himself. While we, of course, will be denounced as traitors who supported an impostor.”

“As His Majesty is now, he might just do that.”

“Having said that,” Folker Baran interrupted in a soft tone that yet managed to cut through everyone else, “if he refuses His Majesty’s invitation without a good reason, His Highness will lose the moral high ground.”

Rogue maintained a sullen silence. What had just been pointed out was not something that he had not thought of before. And naturally, Orba shared Folker’s concerns.

Up until now, the emperor had decisively dispatched soldiers against the impostor. Gil Mephius’ cause had become attacking Guhl, presented as “a statesman who does not listen to others”. However, now that he had recognised the prince and had officially summoned him, just as Folker had said, if he refused without a reason that the whole could accept as legitimate, Gil would turn into a traitor bent on devastating the land. And again, naturally, this was no doubt one of the aims on Guhl’s side.

It was for the same reason that he had once left Salamand Fogel to do as he pleased.

Both Rogue and Odyne understood it. Or better said, the “trap” spoken of earlier included that meaning.

“In any case, attending an audience in Solon is too dangerous. We cannot let Your Highness go through with it.”

“Should we send an envoy too?”

“We could suggest a conference somewhere at equal distance between Solon and Nedain.”

“No, that wouldn’t be practical.”

The discussion showed no sign of ending.

Orba had the meeting adjourned for the time being. In the end, he had barely expressed any opinion of his own. However, those who, starting with Rogue, had decided to serve the crown prince were getting used to the personality of their new lord. When he did not say anything, it was because Gil Mephius was deep in thought. At the same time, and while looking entirely expressionless and uninterested, he would carefully listen to his subordinates’ opinions.

And so, everyone stood to attention to see Gil out without a trace of grumbling or discontent. They could not, however, completely conceal their anxiety and concern about the future.

Orba left the building.

Pashir followed so close behind him that they were almost stuck together. He had also been at the meeting but, like Orba, he had not expressed an opinion. His purpose was purely to be Gil’s guard.

Normally, Orba would irritably shake him off, but now, there had been the incident in Birac. If Pashir had not been there to pay attention to the surroundings, Orba would have died under an assassin’s blade. Although he seemed gloomy about it, Orba could not therefore outright order Pashir to go away.

Pashir suddenly pushed Orba aside and stepped out to stand in front of him.

“What is it?” He barked as three soldiers rushed forward towards them.

They were all different ages, but from their equipment, they seemed to be soldiers serving at Nedain Castle. They all knelt together.

“Please forgive our rudeness, Your Imperial Highness,” the grey-haired soldier breathlessly spoke first. “Everyone is talking about it. That for the sake of we soldiers and of the people, and to avoid war, you intend to go to Solon.”

“I-If you go, His Majesty the emperor will have you killed,” the young and pale-faced soldier said, following which, the soldier in the prime of life cried with a desperately resolute expression – “Please, if you would, stay here and govern Nedain. All of us are ready to offer our lives to defend you as Your Highness’ spears and shields.”

Pashir quite literally kicked aside their hands, which seemed about to reach out towards Orba’s boots any moment now.

“Get back, you insolent curs. The likes of you lowly soldiers dare to interfere?”

“Wait, Pashir.” Orba quietly caught his massive shoulder. He then bestowed a smile upon the soldiers. “This is proof that everyone is thinking about the future of this country. I am different from my father. I wish to create a country in which everyone can express their opinions without reserve.”

“Aye,” Pashir drew back.

Orba turned to the soldiers next and spoke directly to them. “I don’t plan on giving up my life without resistance. Don’t worry.”

The soldiers lowered their heads as far as they could go. You could sense resolve from each of them, and the older soldier had been moved to tears.

Afterwards, Orba and Pashir climbed up to the top of the ramparts that surrounded Nedain. Sentries were placed on duty here and there, but they were some distance from them.

While enjoying the gentle wind beneath the pale sky, Orba sent Pashir a sidelong glare.

“Don’t force yourself into an act you can’t pull off.”

“You’re the one who got me mixed up in it. It felt like my face was going red.”

“Everyone’s uneasy. If the prince’s attitude isn’t seen to be indomitable, it could create enemies from within.”

Pashir had deliberately taken the role of a savage warrior who could not understand the feelings of the common people.

“It doesn’t suit you,” Orba shook his head. “If it comes to it, I’ll look for a better role for you. You’re a gladiator who climbed up to being an Imperial Guard. It’d be a problem rather if you didn’t have the support of the people and soldiers.”

“Hmm,” Pashir gave a vague nod then. “Was it that bad?” He asked with a serious expression.

Orba turned his head towards the back to stop himself from laughing. A man who was a skilful fighter and an able commander in a battle, but who was not deft by nature; hence why he felt that it didn’t suit. As to who that was referring to, it went without saying.

They climbed down from the ramparts and inspected various points around Nedain. Just before the afternoon, messengers arrived from different quarters, carrying the regular reports from Apta, Birac and Solon. There was no noteworthy new information. According to what he heard from Solon, however, there was a rumour that Kaseria Jamil’s forces would soon arrive at the port of Zonga, north of Ende.

Ende had recently lost its Grand Duke and it was the second prince, Eric, who was to become the successor. When he had first heard that information, not even Orba had been able to conceal his surprise.

That guy?

He had fought him in Garbera’s territory. And afterwards, they had met along with the Garberan prince, Zenon.

He’s young – he thought, without actually taking his own age into account. Still, in these turbulent times, there was nothing strange about a young warrior in his twenties becoming a reigning lord from one day to the next.

If it’s him, will he be able to lead Ende’s army against Allion?

There was a sequel to the information from Solon: it seemed that Prince Eric of Ende had sent messengers begging Mephius and Garbera for reinforcements. So far, Emperor Guhl had given no sign of replying. Which could be said to be completely natural, given that Mephius was in the middle of a civil war that had split the country in half. They did not have the leeway to help other countries.

There was still more information related to Allion.

Apparently, Allion was approaching Dairan not only by sea, but also overland. Just as Eric had when he had received the news, Orba could not hide his astonishment and groaned inwardly.

When he closed his eyes, it felt as though he could hear the tramping of army boots coming from the east. This was not going to be a transient event.

There’ll be a large-scale war – he felt.

If even just a part of Ende were to be seized, Allion would then have foothold from which to launch an all-out advance on the centre of the continent. The surrounding countries could not indefinitely continue labelling this as someone else’s problem.

With that being said, Mephius and Garbera had yet to recover from the wounds of a decade of war. Would they be able to withstand a war between countries?

No matter what, Eric has to win this first battle against Allion – thought Orba, while he mentally sorted out the information from all the various quarters. If it was for that, he would even consider lending his help by riding to Ende to offer assistance himself.

But – first, there was Mephius.

They could not afford a long face-off, like they had after taking Birac. Prolonging the civil war would cause ruin for the people. And if the country was weakened, it would not be able to oppose the increasingly large and carnivorous beast that was Allion. The end result would be that they would be swallowed up, and even the titles of emperor and crown prince, held by the two currently competing, would lose all meaning.

While Orba silently continued to mull over his thoughts, the messenger from Birac held out a letter, saying, “Sir Gowen entrusted me with this.”

The elderly soldier had remained in Birac, where he was organising troops consisting mainly of the new recruits.

His acquaintance with Gowen went back a long way, but this was the first time he had received a letter from him. To be frank, he did not even know if Gowen could read and write. When he unsealed the letter, he saw handwriting about as bad as his own. A wry smile involuntarily crossed his face, but as he read the contents, his expression quickly reverted back to being serious.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Pashir, who was, as usual, sticking close by. “Has there been some kind of movement in Birac?”

“No... It’s about Layla.”

The name was not without relevance to Pashir. He nodded with deliberation.

She who was supposed to be a lady’s maid to Princess Vileena of Garbera had, one evening, lured Crown Prince Gil to an isolated tower and had attempted to kill him with a poisoned dagger. In the process, she had also ushered in quite a few of her comrades. As mentioned previously, if Pashir had not been keeping a close eye on the prince and on Layla, Orba would currently be laid out as a cold corpse.

And yet, at the very last minute, that same Layla had thrown herself in front of him to protect from the assassins’ blades.

Layla.

It was a name that Orba had heard even before then. On the very day of her wedding, the crown prince before Orba – in other words, the real Gil Mephius – had claimed the right to the first night from her. He had certainly never expected to meet her like that.

To be more precise, they had met for the first time in a western village. What had a Mephian like her been doing there and how had she come to work as a lady’s maid for the princess?

There were too many puzzling points about it.

More importantly, Orba instinctively sensed that any information she had about the crown prince might prove fatal to him.

Out of necessity, Orba had decided to keep Layla confined in a room in the tower. There had been the option of executing her as the instigator of the assassination attempt, but she was also someone who had once been a lady’s maid to the Garberan princess. He wanted to try and get a detailed explanation from her.

It seemed, however, that Gowen shared his opinion about the threat posed by whatever information Layla might have.

“Given the circumstances, we’ve kept the number of guards at the minimum, but I believe that we can’t continue that way,” said the letter. It then went on to suggest that she be executed.

For a moment, Orba was left speechless by the appealing contents of the note. He felt as though he was seeing a different side to his long-time acquaintance. It was probably not Gowen’s real wish though. In a way, it was similar to the resolve that Orba himself carried.

You’ll have to bear the burden of an entire country while deceiving everyone around you – That also meant being prepared to use any means necessary to protect his secret.

Orba conjured up a mental image of the elderly warrior who had always seemed to, more or less, look out for him ever since back when he had been an overseer of slaves. After adopting Hou Ran, he had been giving off a somewhat “fatherly” atmosphere, which had given Orba and Shique a good laugh.

And he was suggesting that it might be necessary to kill a girl who was around the same age as his “daughter” in order to seal her mouth. This too was a distortion caused by Orba – by the likes of a slave of unknown origin – pretending to be the crown prince.

Orba tore up the letter and went back to the ramparts once again. Pashir silently followed along.

Part 3

The sun was setting.

Fields spread out both within and beyond the ramparts. The soil around Nedain was not particularly fertile, but through effort and ingenuity, the people of the fief had continuously improved it; and so, for example, the grapes from this area were contenders for producing the first or second best wine within Mephius.

Lines of soldiers armed with spears and swords could be seen patrolling around the fields. Airships were dotted around here and there, ready to swiftly carry information. Carriers were also stationed at all four corners of the ramparts.

Orba’s gaze suddenly turned towards the east. For a while, he looked hard beyond the pale pink sky.

“How long has it been?”

At those words, which had unintentionally burst from his mouth, Orba felt as though he was seeing clear to his own mind for the first time. Before Pashir could enquire what he meant, he continued, “Right, it’s not like it’s got nothing to do with you. Ever since Zaat Quark’s rebellion. When I prevented it and left for Apta with you.”

“Are you talking about Solon?” Pashir asked. “You can’t possibly be thinking of responding to the emperor’s invitation?”

“You were also listening at the council of war, weren’t you? If I stay like this without making a move, I’ll damage my cause and be letting Allion do whatever they please. Apta, Birac, and Nedain would eventually turn against me. The result would just be me bringing about my own ruin. And besides...”

“Besides?”

“Allion is obviously a threat to Mephius but... this could also be taken as a once in a lifetime ‘opportunity’.”

Orba was saying that being pressed by Allion meant being helplessly cornered into destroying a favourable situation. And yet, he declared that it was also an “opportunity”. Pashir could not understand his thoughts.

He did not understand, but –

“You’re not saying that you’re planning on just handing over your life, right?” There was one thing that he single-mindedly could not let go of.

“I’m not planning on going there to let myself be killed.”

“Same thing. Have you forgotten the assassination attempt in Birac? It’s obvious the emperor had a hand in it.”

“Now that he’s openly summoned me, he won’t be thinking of using assassination.”

“Don’t be stupid,” yet a smile flitted across Pashir’s slightly bruised and battered face. “Hasn’t the emperor of Mephius lost touch with common sense? That’s why people like General Rogue or General Folker are willing to follow you.”

“Yeah. But somehow, I feel like I understand.”

“You understand?”

“What Guhl was thinking when he summoned me.”

At this point, the emperor was probably feeling that they had reached a stalemate. Mephius’ centre of trade had been stolen from him and, following closely on the heels of that defeat, his loyal subject, Simon, had died, which in turn had started to sow dissent among his retainers. The emperor had then been unable to dispatch the reinforcements he had planned to send to Nedain, as a result of which, even that town had fallen to the crown prince’s side. Assassination – his last resort – had also failed, and he could no longer use the same method for fear of rumours spreading to Solon.

In terms of the military potential that each held, the emperor still had the advantage. However, a ‘wind’ which was not so easy to overturn was blowing throughout all of Mephius. It had been raised by Orba himself who had successively taken Apta, Birac, and Nedain; it had been supported by Rogue, Odyne and Folker, who had aided his advance; and finally, it had been protected by Princess Vileena, who had turned back Salamand, an invader into Mephian territory.

In a way, from when he had decided to rise up as the crown prince in Apta, what Orba had set his sights on was – how can I stir up more ‘wind’ and ‘waves’? For now, it could be said that he had accomplished that goal.

And the emperor desired a meeting with Gil simply because he could no longer afford to ignore that influence. Since things have turned out this way, I should meet him in person and show the retainers our difference in might – was probably what he was thinking.

In a sense, it would be a duel.

“You say you understand?” Pashir spoke half in exasperation. “What do you understand? You weren’t born to royalty and Guhl’s not your real father. In the first place, you’re not even that well-acquainted with Guhl.”

Orba deliberately did not answer. Just as Pashir had pointed out, the environment in which Orba and Guhl had been born and raised were as different as heaven and earth. It was a fact that they were fighting like this simply because their thoughts and their vision of the future were at odds.

Yet even so, Orba felt that – I would think the same thing if I was in Guhl’s situation.

Neither moving troops nor killing in secret. In a situation where the wind was blowing in the enemy’s favour daily, and Allion, a powerful outside foe, was approaching, he too would want a direct confrontation. He also would, after baiting the newcomer jeopardising his position?, use the authority of his own accumulated achievements and experience, in front of the assembled retainers, to verbally corner his opponent.

The final gamble – he too shared that thought.

For all that he said that it was great opportunity, he privately thought that his own strength might not be enough. Beyond that, he could only leave things to the ‘wave’ that he had himself raised. The messenger that Guhl had sent proved that he had successfully managed to move ‘time’. It was time to see the conclusion through with his own eyes.

“Don’t be stupid,” repeated Pashir. “You think the retainers, who’ve shut their eyes to Guhl’s tyranny this long, are suddenly going to awaken to a sense of honour? That the nobles that you used to hate enough to kill are now going to protect you from the emperor? That soft way of thinking isn’t like you.”

“Guess not,” Orba answered shortly, then laughed unintentionally. He thought it had been a long time since his gladiator self had been in contact with Pashir. “But you know, Pashir... The ones who carry a country are its people. Is it really so foolish to entrust your life and future to those people’s feelings?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I won’t go unprepared. Even if something happens to me, I’ll get ready what’s needed to prevent a war between Mephius and the west, and to drive the emperor further into a corner.”

Orba’s expression looked strangely refreshed. With the fervour for fighting gone from it, his appearance truly matched his age and he looked like a boy who had thought up a way of pulling a silly prank. It seemed to just fan the flames of Pashir’s anger though.

“If something happens,” the long-serving swordsman’s voice grew harsh. “When anything happens to you, it’ll mean ruin for all the rest of us. For the generals and soldiers who joined you because they believe in you, obviously, but also for their families who’ll be put in danger again.”

“I know. And it’s a gamble. But no matter what, we can’t stay in a stand-off with the capital like this. I’ve already said it, but if we draw things out now, we’ll lose the moral high ground and allow Allion to do whatever it likes. I chose to go to war with the emperor so as to protect Taúlia. This time, I’ve got to go to Solon to protect Mephius. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing. There’s got to be another way.”

“Pashir, this isn’t a fight which will be over once the emperor has been brought down. Looking at what happens after that, then no matter what...”

“It’s too dangerous. For everyone. So I can’t let you carry on like that. ‘No matter what’.”

His expression still harsh, Pashir started to draw the sword at his waist. His intention was clear. Orba however made no move in response. He gave a half-smile.

“And, what are you going to do? Kill me? You’re the one who said that everyone will be annihilated if I die, right?”

“Yeah, I won’t kill you. But I can cut off your arms and legs so that you can’t just do as you please,” said Pashir. “And after that, I’ll pull your tongue out. So that you won’t be able to say too much afterwards.”

“...”

Hearing the stern verdict, Orba wiped the amused expression from his face. Pashir was saying that he only needed to be alive. He was saying that the crown prince’s figure and life alone were enough to be a flag for those who followed him.

Pashir continued his now half-unsheathed sword. “What is it. Not saying anything? Don’t you have enough resolve to step over my corpse?”

“Pashir.”

Orba softly called out. He quietly stretched out his hand and touched Pashir’s sinewy, log-like arm. He had once been known as “Strong-armed”, an undefeated gladiator.

“I’m going,” Orba was almost whispering. “If you have things you want to protect enough to step over my corpse to do so, then you can just slash me in the back. I won’t resist.”

After he had finished speaking, he turned his back towards Pashir.

He walked one step, then two.

Behind him, he could feel Pashir’s presence like a scorching wind. Any moment now, it might transform into steel and rain down on Orba from above.

Right, this is the final gamble – thought Orba, as he continued to walk further and further away.

In the distance, he could hear what seemed to be the voices of young men and women singing a popular song.

If I can’t move ‘time’ from here on out, nothing will change.

He and Mephius would perish together... In choosing to see things that way, Orba was urging on his own resolve and actions.

His feet arrived at the staircase. The presence was still there, ferocity rolling like flames from it, but, in the end, Pashir had not moved from where he was.

Just before the sun had finished fully setting, Orba, having left Pashir, went to see Fedom, who had arrived in Nedain just the other day. Nedain was geographically closer to the capital and the lord of Birac was desperate to gather information there.

“A letter came from Indolph.” Fedom’s tone made clear his pride in this achievement. “It looks like that man will soon have resolved himself to finally take action. It’ll be exactly as I said. When Indolph’s forces also make their move, and threaten the capital from the rear, the other lords will have no choice but to clarify their standpoint.”

Fedom Aulin’s eyes were gleaming. The long-cherished desire that he had concealed in his breast was now right before his eyes; and in his current frame of mind, he felt as though he was conscious when sleeping, and dreaming when awake.

Actually, it was clear from his appearance that he was hardly sleeping at all. And because he was in that state, when he first heard Orba say “even so, I’m thinking of leaving here tomorrow and going to the capital,” after first gaping at him, Fedom then burst out laughing as though he had just heard a good joke.

But when it gradually dawned on him that Orba was serious, his face flushed bright red with rage. His ferocity was every bit as intense as Pashir’s, who had drawn a steel sword to stop Orba, and it seemed as though, at any moment, he might reach out his thick arms to seize him by the neck and strangle him to death.

“T-This is the limit,” Fedom screamed, wheezing and gasping for breath. “I’m not letting you do whatever you like, you bastard. What do you think you’re saying at this point? You can’t just do whatever you like right before my greatest ambition comes true! Bah, I won’t listen to anything more you say. You’re not going even if I have to tie you down!”

“Now, now, calm down.”

You’re the one trying to do whatever you like – thought Orba, although he did not actually say it out loud.

“I don’t think it would bad for you, though.”

“W-What?”

“Your worry is that after I nonchalantly stroll into the capital, my real identity will be exposed and I’ll be killed, right?”

“Of course it is. If your past as a gladiator became known at this point in time, not only would you lose your life, but all the resolve and expectations gathered around you would all come to nothing!”

“I wonder...” Orba brushed his hair back. “Saying that everything would be spoiled seems like such an exaggeration.”

“Bastard, what are you saying, even now you’re not taking your position into...”

“Even if I died, you’re in the crown prince’s camp, aren’t you? You, Fedom Aulin.”

“W-What?”

Orba faced the lord of Birac, who was blinking in confusion.

“Apta, Birac, Nedain. Even if I die, their strength won’t just abruptly fall to the emperor’s side. On the contrary, if you raise the cry for a war of revenge for the crown prince, even more soldiers than now will gather, and it might even give rise to conspirators within Solon itself. Right – after the crown prince’s death, all the soldiers assembled in the three cities would become yours.”

“...”

“And the hero who would take command of that entire army to take Solon and at long last liberate Mephius from the unjust emperor would be none other than you, Fedom Aulin. That could be what happens.”

Fedom gulped. Having swallowed too much of his own saliva, he was seized by a brief but violent coughing fit.

“R-Ridiculous,” his eyes were still teary. “If your real identity is revealed in the capital, that’ll be the end of it. Who would rally to a war of revenge for the likes of a slave?”

“There are as many possible explanations as you like. For example: ‘to show his contempt for the crown prince who had become a threat to him, the emperor deliberately had him murdered then branded his back so as to lie about his real identity.’ After that, well, Fedom, you’re a guy who’s usually proud of your own abilities. Wouldn’t you be able to convince everyone to follow you through your words and attitude? The emperor’s cruel and inhuman behaviour would be highlighted even further than before my death, and would actually make it easier to take action. You of all people aren’t going to tell me that’s impossible, right?”

Fedom was still breathing raggedly, but the reason for that seemed to be somewhat different from earlier. He peered closely into Orba’s face.

“You said ‘even further than before my death’...? You’re talking exactly as though you didn’t care in the slightest about your own life.”

“Wasn’t I originally picked up by you? If you hadn’t appeared at Tarkas’ Gladiator Group back then, riding a Tengo in such a great hurry – back when it wouldn’t have occurred to me for even a second that you had the outrageous plan of using a slave to replace the crown prince – I would still be wielding a sword every day as a gladiator, drenched in sweat and fighting desperate, bloody battles. Or no, after close to two years of that, maybe my devil’s luck would already have run out and the sand of the coliseum would be absorbing my blood around about now.”

“...”

“Say, this is getting tedious: forget my enemies, I’m even being doubted by my allies. More importantly, it would be best for you to take action. Isn’t that right? Lord Fedom?”

Orba gazed almost affectionately at the man in front of him. Right, as a matter of fact, he did feel affection for this man, Fedom Aulin.

Just as he himself had said, if this man had not existed, he himself would not be where he was now.

If this man was smarter than he actually is, or even just a little bit less prudent... Then that overly-ambitious plan would have collapsed in no time, and Orba and Fedom’s severed heads would have been lining the road to Solon by now, each adorning the tip of a spear.

Although, of course, there would be no end to it if one were to discuss that sort of thing. If, at that time, his prediction had been off even by a little; if, at that time, he had not met that person; if, at that time, the sword had slipped in his sweaty hands...

Out of the tens of thousands of possible paths, the he who was here now had picked only one to follow to the end.

Orba engraved that awareness into his mind.

That evening, Orba summoned Rogue, Odyne, and Folker to Nedain Castle.

It took him about twice as long to explain the same thing that he had told Pashir. General Rogue of the Dawnlight Wings Division opposed it with the vehemence of a raging fire. General Odyne of the Silver Axe Division revealed a distressed and conflicted expression, while General Folker of the Black Steel Sword Division remained silent from beginning to end.

“Y-Your Highness, that is the one thing... the one thing you must not do,” Rogue Saian repeated it time and time again.

In that, it was similar to the times with Pashir and Fedom. Naturally, Orba had not been expecting them to just silently see him off. He listened to the veteran general’s spirited persuasion for a while, then –

“Rogue,” he addressed him softly. “What do you think is the one thing that we cannot lose sight of in this fight of ours?”

“That...” Rogue Saian’s voice choked up, “the banner that we raised.”

“Right. And that is not me myself,” asserted Orba. “It isn’t me but the cause that impels me to take action. If the hearts of the people doubt our cause, then we are already as good as defeated. We will be letting Guhl Mephius ridicule us without even putting up a fight, and we will bear the disgrace of being remembered in history, I as the Impostor Crown Prince, and you as rebels.”

The generals had not, of course, imagined that the crown prince would choose of his own free will to travel to the imperial capital.

At the same time, however, the three of them were not as inflexible in their opposition to his going to Solon as Pashir and Fedom had been. After all, none of Mephius’ stalwart generals knew the real name of the man before them. They believed that he was the legitimate inheritor of the imperial family’s bloodline, Gil Mephius. And so, at no point had they experienced the fear that Pashir and Fedom held about his real identity being exposed.

“This is no longer the time to raise our swords against our fellow countrymen. It’s been a harsh road up until now because of that. From now on, what we need to do is to demonstrate our resolve. Rogue, don’t take me for a plague-ridden coward. Don’t take me for a mere fool who continues to make a show of savage courage without knowing how to read the signs of the times. Don’t take me for a criminal who continues to spill the blood of his countrymen. Well, there’s no helping whatever future historians might say, but now, here and now, here and now, we cannot lose the hearts and trust of the people.”

Rogue’s eyes were glistening with tears. He was, of course, well able to read the signs of the times. Up until now, he had been desperately racking his brains to try and come up with a way to improve the situation other than by having the crown prince personally go to Solon. However, no matter what new plan or strategy he came up with, he could not replace in it that which Gil Mephius himself had just spoken of: the very “cause” that Rogue also adhered to.

In the end, he had no choice but to despairingly nod in consent.

Gazing at his despondently drooping head of white hair, Orba remained deliberately expressionless, then rose from his seat.

“Rogue, Odyne, Folker – you will stay here in Nedain and ensure its defence along with Raymond Peacelow. Yuriah’s fleet, bolstered by Walt’s ground forces, will regroup in Birac.”

The generals stood up and clicked their heels before the “Crown Prince”.