Rakuin no Monshou

Volume 10, Chapter 4: Intervention

Part 1

It had been about ten days since the thousand or so soldiers from the crown prince’s army and the more than one thousand five hundred from the Mephian army had started their stand-off around Nedain.

Orba, who still remained in Birac, had received a succession of messages.

The first was about the fire that had occurred in Solon. In other words, it was about Simon Rodloom’s death.

When they received the news, Rogue and Odyne wept in secret. Although the truth about Simon’s death had, of course, been concealed, they understood what lay behind it after hearing that, on the grounds that the funeral took precedence, their families’ executions had been temporarily put on hold.

“I believed that Lord Simon would surely become a strong ally for us.”

When Odyne said that, Rogue shook his head, his eyes closed.

“No. He’d known His Majesty longer than anyone. And his principles were stronger than anyone’s. Having stood by the emperor’s side, his heart would not have allowed such a betrayal.”

That person... Orba too was momentarily stunned.

They had not had any deep relationship. But because Simon had been something like the ‘previous’ Gil Mephius’ guardian, they had had several opportunities to meet face-to-face and talk.

He had been a man with a gentle manner. He did not have the kind of charisma that strongly attracted people or an explosive ability to take action. Even so, although Orba had met a great many nobles and royals in less than a year, Simon was not a man who had been buried under those other memories.

From what he had heard, whenever any kind of problem arose in Mephius, he was the first person consulted; and whenever trouble sprang up between nobles or military commanders, Simon was the first to be called upon to mediate.

Orba had felt like he could understand why that was.

And it was just such a man who had died.

Of course, Orba also realised that it had been to save Rogue and Odyne’s families. Perhaps he had also hoped that the emperor would have a change of heart because of it.

Orba realised that this man’s death had given him an unexpectedly strong shock.

It was not sentimentality.

It was undoubtedly Orba himself who had created the situation that caused Simon to incur the emperor’s displeasure. Because he had stood up for the prince when the latter had disobeyed the emperor and rushed off to Garbera with reinforcements, Simon had been punished with house arrest. It was also because of Orba’s actions, while wearing the "mask" of Gil, that Rogue and Odyne had directly opposed the emperor; and since Simon had chosen suicide as a way of saving them, Orba was also the cause of his death.

However, Orba no longer intended to go around thinking – this is my fault.

Just as with the general of the Dawnlight Wings Division, Rogue, and the general of the Silver Axe Division, Odyne, Simon had held his own beliefs and principles, which he himself had acted on.

That was all.

Nevertheless, through their actions of offering up their own lives, Orba felt as though he caught a glimpse of the many heroes that he had met in the west, including a proud queen from those lands.

In the past, the Mephian soldiers and nobles had been no more than targets of hatred to him. He had wanted to burn the whole lot of them in a sea of fire. But now that his field of vision was wider, he could see that here too there were many heroes.

And when he had learned that one of them had chosen to die for Mephius’ sake, the shock had left him speechless.

Naturally, it was not only Orba or the generals, Rogue and Odyne, who felt that way; the people and the dignitaries of Mephius felt the same. It was clear to all that Simon had been one of the pillars supporting the country. Now that they had lost him, the retainers and the populace were even more anxious about the future.

At times like these, they needed something new to guide them. New blood. A new hero.

And in that sense, Simon’s death turned into a wind at Orba’s back that pushed him forward.

As proof of that, even in Solon –

“That man who claims to be His Imperial Highness...”

“Since he was able to take Birac, he’s definitely not an ordinary person.”

“They say that he didn’t take the heads of those who stood against him, Folker included. Does that really sound like just any old swindler?”

– Rumours were finally turning in his favour. And also –

“His Majesty intends to subjugate through military force, but wouldn’t it be better to send a messenger and invite him to an audience?”

“Oh, that’s right. If we could see him in person, we’d be able to tell whether he was real or an impostor. Then no one would have to fight this useless war.”

– Voices expressing that kind of sentiment started to filter through from all over.

As mentioned before, the wind was starting to blow in favour of the new hero, Gil Mephius. But all of a sudden, that wind was disturbed.

“Garbera’s troops fought against each other at Zaim?”

In his office, Orba drew his brows together. The next piece of news to reach Orba after Simon’s death was just as unexpected.

Zaim Fortress was a place that he had a deep connection. The impregnable fortress at Garbera’s northernmost border. It was the land in which Gil had led his first campaign and killed Ryucown, and also the place that he hurried to with reinforcements all the way from Apta when Garbera and Ende had clashed at the fortress.

Prince Zenon and Garbera’s troops had exchanged blows with those of a man called Salamand Fogel at Zaim. After which, Salamand had managed to break across the border and enter Mephian territory.

And his purpose – the great cause for which he was even prepared to violate the border – was to rescue the Garberan princess.

“Mephius is looking down on our country’s exalted lineage,” Salamand clamoured vociferously. “After her fiancé, Prince Gil, died, they came up with one reason after another to keep her inside the country. Because the emperor of Mephius had designs on the west, he held the princess hostage as a way of preventing my country from taking action. And to make matters worse, after having kept the princess confined, they’re now accusing her of being a traitor!”

The Mephian side was at a disadvantage there, since the Garberan princess had gone missing for a while. Rumours had spread because of the princess’ involvement in the war with the west but, once she reappeared alongside a crown prince who appeared to be linked to said west, things got complicated.

“Mephius never intended to conclude peace with us from the start. That marriage was nothing more than a temporary cover for them because it looked as though they were about to lose the war. I demand that they return the princess to us at once. After which, we can fight and settle things once and for all.”

Salamand sent an envoy to Solon carrying that message. Naturally, that envoy’s head had already been cut off at the emperor’s hands.

However, he had probably been expecting that and Salamand was now boldly occupying a village in the Vlad Plateau. He was waiting for the Mephian side to make a move while he lodged his soldiers there.

And of course, there was no way that Mephius could just ignore the situation. Having said that, it was equally obvious that Garbera would launch itself at the first hint of Salamand’s death. However, since the princess was at the crown prince’s side, it was also impossible to return her.

Curse Garbera, seeing through our situation.

Isn’t it them rather, talking about peace and a wedding, using the princess and waiting until we’ve been weakened.

Just as in Garbera, there had been many in Mephius who had been unhappy about how the ten-year war had ended. Since it had been Emperor Guhl’s decision and he was strongly inclined towards despotism, there had been few people who openly stated their opposition; however there were a great many people who would potentially be in favour of resuming war with Garbera.

In other words, both in Mephius and in Garbera, popular sentiment was being ignited because of Salamand. And that was dispelling the wind which had been favourable to Crown Prince Gil. His existence was instead becoming a hindrance.

There were no rumours about how Emperor Guhl was reacting. It was said though that he had sent a letter to the king of Garbera and that soldiers had been detached from those gathered to defend Solon in order to put Salamand down.

At any rate –

If this carries on for long, it’ll be a problem.

In front of his subordinates, Orba kept his expression neutral, but inwardly, he was grinding his teeth.

For Guhl, this was in a sense providential. If the crown prince and the Garberan Princess lost their unifying force, he would, for the time being, be able to bring the country together. After that, he would still need to deal with the neighbouring countries, but most statesmen would consider external threats preferable to internal ones. Since the emperor had been exploring ways to forge a connection to Ende, despite being in an alliance with Garbera, it was quite possible that now that there was a conflict between them, he could now conclude a military alliance with Ende.

“This Salamand, he could very well be acting at His Majesty’s instigation,” said Rogue. Because his expression was serious, it was hard to tell whether he was joking or not.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case,” answered Orba, also remaining deliberately grave. “Still, with this, we’ll probably have to spend even more time waiting to see what happens.”

During this time, Gilliam had returned to Birac to bring the regularly-scheduled report from the front lines. Hearing that they would be continuing to face off and wait, he looked thoroughly fed up.

“How boring.” He really was very easy to read. “That Raymond guy can’t help getting impatient. Besides, there’s his little sister and the people of Nedain... heh, if his self-control snaps, he might just march in there alone.”

“Then when that happens, put that bulky body of yours to use and stop him.”

“It’s for that reason that I’ve received such a ridiculously large body from my parents – right?”

For some reason, the two of them laughed soundlessly.

After which, Gilliam suddenly brought his face in close. “That Salamand guy’s troops are about six hundred at best. Prince, if it comes down to it, lend me two hundred men. I’m good at stirring things up with just a few people,” he laughed fearlessly.

Orba answered that he would think about it.

In fact though, whether it was the crown prince’s side or the emperor’s which defeated Salamand it would not make much difference to Garbera’s internal situation.

Orba wanted to avoid wars with any neighbouring countries for now. All the more so since he was the one who had created this political instability.

Shit!

After taking Birac and failing to capture Nedain, he had been forced into a ‘waiting’ attitude. But now that the situation had changed, was maintaining that attitude the best thing to do? If he made an impatient move, all the time spent up until now would most certainly be wasted; but allowing a foreign enemy to invade would only result in needless devastation to the country.

In this situation, he could neither move his soldiers, nor sit waiting.

Now that things were like this, Simon’s death was an even harder blow.

In a way, that man had undoubtedly been even more of a unifying force than the emperor. One of the plans Orba had been toying with was, if necessary, getting in touch either with Simon himself or with those who wished for his return to the centre stage of politics, and induce them to make a move from inside Solon.

But that option had now collapsed.

He did not have many hands left to play or plans that he could come up with.

A different sort of threat than that of a direct attempt on his life seemed to forming spears and swords that were now crowding around Orba’s neck.

Meanwhile –

“Salamand. I’ve never heard that name.”

The one who muttered that was Vileena Owell as she stood before an open window. Her hands on her waist and her eyes narrowed as far as they would go, she sighed, her posture every bit that of a warrior.

“Princess, please close the window.”

Which did not, however, prevent her from being scolded by Theresia from behind.

“You are already in poor shape and the night wind is terrible for the health.”

“What poor shape? In the first place, a person who damages their own health when facing an urgent situation cannot be considered a warrior. That would be something only a fool would... Atchoo!”

Vileena’s utterly earnest expression twisted suddenly as she gave a ferocious sneeze. Theresia looked thoroughly exasperated.

“Princesses are not warriors, nor should they be fools. Now then, I’ve brewed some hot tea so hurry on over here.”

Vileena had been suffering from a slight cold since the previous day. She was in a land that she was not used to, which made Theresia all the more worried. Vileena meekly shut the window and took her seat at the table.

“Theresia, had you ever heard the name ‘Salamand’?”

“Well now. I don’t have anything to do with the military.”

“A man I’ve never met is using my name and hindering Mephius while preaching his own selfish version of chivalry. Actually no, it’s not only Mephius but also Garbera. I can’t stand it.”

“When you say that you cannot stand it, it sounds as though you are about to set off and kill that man Salamand.”

“Hmm. That’s a good idea,” responded Vileena, a teacup in hand.

Although outwardly she could still afford to joke about it, just like Orba’s, her inner feelings were a bit more complicated.

Theresia changed the subject.

“Speaking of which, it seems that Lord Rodloom has passed away.”

“Yes.”

While she sipped her tea, Vileena’s expression turned markedly quiet. Other than exchanging greetings, the only time she had ever really spoken with Simon Rodloom was when she went to visit him at his mansion just before she left Solon. Despite that, the news of his death had caused her heart quite a lot of pain.

He had been a gentle person, but one who went to the core of one’s body and soul. That comfortable conversation had, in a way, reminded Vileena of the time she used to spend with her grandfather.

“I’ve heard that he was something like a guardian to His Highness. I’m sure His Highness must be grieving over his death.”

“I’ve happened to catch sight several times of the people of Birac offering up prayers for Lord Rodloom. He must have been a truly splendid gentleman.”

“Ah. He maintained the dignity of the chosen right to the very end. That is true chivalry. I would like to thrust it in front of that Salamand fellow.” It looked as though the princess could not break free from that topic.

Theresia shrugged. She knew that once her mistress became emotionally wound up, she would not settle back down for a long time.

“After you have finished drinking your tea, please go and have a rest. If you damage your health, Princess, His Highness Gil will worry.”

“I get it.”

She was a princess who hated being a burden. Even if she were running a fever so high it gave her nightmares, even if her limbs ached so much it felt as though they were about to fall off, she would grit her teeth and endure it alone so that no one would realise. Theresia knew that, so she did not relentlessly pester the princess to rest.

Layla, who had been watching the exchange between the two, went shopping at Birac’s market the next day.

“Just about five days ago, a medicine seller with a really good reputation started coming to the morning market,” the woman in charge of the fish market, whom she knew by sight, had told her.

Even though it was called a common cold, every land had its own characteristics and, likewise, every land had its own characteristic cures. So Layla had asked about them.

When she went where she had been told, sure enough, there was a street stall. An elderly man had set up dried roots and jars filled with powders by the side of the road.

It was obvious at a glance that he was Zerdian. Although Layla had lived in the west, the clothes he was wearing were unfamiliar to her. Rather than Zerdian native dress, they looked like garments deliberately imitating the distorted image of what Mephians believed westerners looked like.

Maybe because that generated a feeling of goodwill, or maybe because people in Birac were used to trading with foreigners, the old, western-looking man and his stall seemed to be doing a flourishing business.

Layla headed towards it.

The man in front of her was poking around at various things while chatting with the old man as he did so. The man was apparently a soldier employed at Birac castle, and when she heard that Layla’s steps faltered for a moment. No matter how close he might be to Fedom Aulin, the man could not possibly know her face; but it was no wonder that she was overly-cautious since, if ever Fedom learned of her existence, there was no saying what he might do to her and her father.

“Oh, you’re from the castle? Then have you met the famous Crown Prince everyone is talking about?” The stall owner asked with interest.

“Well, I know what he looks like.”

“Then please be sure to introduce me to him. My skill at mixing medicine is renowned throughout the west... no, throughout the continent...”

“That’s nice and all, but His Highness is very busy. I don’t think he’d come and spend time with a show-off, you know?”

“Who’s a show-off? Right, I bet continuously waging war means His Highness has all sorts of ails and ills. You could ask about it discreetly, no? Stomach-aches, headaches, lumbago; my medicine can cure anything. When he sees how well they work, His Highness is sure to want to meet me too.”

“You sure are persistent, Gramps.”

The man enjoyed his chat with the elderly stall-owner for a while longer, then, in the end, left without buying anything.

Once he was out of sight, Layla bought some medicinal tea from the old man. Just as she was about to leave, she caught sight of a written word from the corner of her eye.

Poison – proclaimed a signboard.

“You deal in poison?”

“If handled correctly, poison can be used as medicine. We do say that poison counters poison. Was there something you wanted?”

Layla hesitated. There was certainly a craving in her heart, but she was afraid that if she admitted it to herself, she would start down a road that there would be no turning back from.

The old man smiled. “How about just taking a look? I keep various things stored in that unused house over there. Even if all you take out of it is knowledge, it might always come in useful later.”

Layla was not able to go against the old man’s pushiness. She entered the house, which was a little apart from the street.

“There are stairs this way. Please be careful,” the old man said lightly as he walked on ahead. Layla took his hand without really thinking about it.

In that instant, her consciousness was cut off.

“Hmm.”

By the time she heard the old man’s low voice murmuring close to her ear, how long had it already been since she had entered the house?

“Something nice has leapt into the net.”

The cheerful appearance that he had displayed at the stall had vanished without a trace. From the piercing look in his eyes and the way he threw out his broad chest, there was a dignity about him that made it hard to believe that he was a mere merchant.

This was Zafar, the old man who had served ‘Garda’ when he had waged war on the west.

Part 2

Malchio Le Doria had passed away.

Ende bordered both Mephius and Garbera, and was a country with a long history. He had been its Grand Duke.

Malchio had been an extremely commonplace ruler with no outstanding achievements to his name, although, taken otherwise, that also meant that he had committed no spectacular mistakes. When the war between Mephius and Garbera stretched on for ten years, he said nothing and did nothing. There were rumours that the nomadic tribes that periodically threatened the northern border area, Dairan, were receiving support from Zonga, which was even further to the north, so the relationship with Zonga had deteriorated somewhat; but even then, Malchio had simply gently chided his retainers and the matter had been settled peacefully after he had dispatched an envoy to them.

And thus, while there were voices that praised him as – a benevolent ruler who has brought peace to the country, there were others that said – his principle of avoiding trouble at all cost is really irritating.

Ende had inherited a flourishing culture from the Magic Dynasty. In painting and poetry, literature and architecture, it would allow itself to be second to no other country. The people however were not wealthy. Because of that, when the war had been going on for ten years, there had been those who were of the opinion that Ende should align itself with either Mephius or Garbera, and enjoy the bounty of being one of the victorious countries.

In fact, Grand Duke Malchio, who was known for his moderation, had once, and only once, taken a decisive stand. When there had been an offer to have Garbera’s Princess Vileena marry his second son, Eric Amon Doria.

Essentially, Ende did not like to accept foreign blood. It boasted that it was directly descended from the Ancient Magic Dynasty which had once nearly ruled over the entire world.

Malchio, however, knew that he did not have much longer to live. At the time, his condition had been such that for every three days of work, he would spend one day bedridden. And so, he had thought –

I’ll take a gamble on this.

Preparations for the wedding were pushed forward in secret. Even the army had been reorganised in anticipation of Mephius marching on them at some point in the future. And then, the proposal had been withdrawn by Garbera itself. His two sons – Jeremie, the eldest, and Eric, the one who was supposed to marry the princess – had openly voiced their fury at having Ende’s pride and history being dragged in the mud. Malchio himself however had not been particularly bothered by it.

Ah well, that just means that I’ve lost the gamble.

When, as a way of apologising, Garbera had sent the second prince, Zenon, as an envoy to Ende, Malchio had given him a warm reception and had exchanged vows of everlasting friendship with him.

But neither of his two sons had been satisfied.

When General Ryucown rose in rebellion in Garbera, Malchio’s eldest son, Jeremie Amon Doria, had secretly offered him assistance. Then later the younger brother, Eric, as a way of “punishing” Garbera for its lack of courtesy, had taken his troops and clashed with a combined Mephian-Garberan force in the vicinity of Zaim Fortress. For a while, he had been one step away from cornering the Garberan troops led by Prince Zenon.

The Grand Duke had already been bedridden at the time and was unable to control his sons’ actions. It was rare for him to even summon them to his bedside. Rumour had it that he was not even conscious most of the time.

Ende’s courtiers worried over whether to support the older or the younger of the brothers, endlessly wavering and hesitating over their decision. Of the two, the one who was more deeply familiar with the culture and customs of Ende was the prudent Jeremie. On the other hand, the somewhat quick-tempered Eric had proven his dynamism and military leadership during the long years he had spent in Dairan, fighting the northern nomadic tribes, but he was unfamiliar with the customs of the Court.

A shadowy and swordless feud spread throughout the country. Everyone hoped to be among those who would lead Ende during its next era; and in order to remove any obstacles to their ambitions, some used brute force to get rid of opponents, while others used their riches or words to gather allies.

The brothers harshly criticised each other and each continued to proclaim their right to be the next Grand Duke.

Their father’s voice, which should have been remonstrating with them, was nowhere to be heard.

Everyone foresaw that the time was near. And because they foresaw it, they were frantically running around, gathering like-minded allies and desperately trying to gain the trust of the prince that they had decided to support.

And when the time finally came, it did so very quietly.

Since the morning, the populace had anxiously been glancing up at the sky. In the distance, they could see Safia’s palace. Separated from the capital by a vast lake and set atop a hill, the palace usually seemed to glitter with an almost divine radiance; but that day, it stood there looking lonely and somewhat sad.

The flag of the Magic Dynasty fluttered near the highest point of the palace. It denoted the legitimacy of the grand ducal family and seemed to be flapping particularly violently. Just before noon, a bell tolled, indicating that the ruler had passed away.

The people let out wails of lamentation. All recited the names of the spirits as they prayed that the Grand Duke would sleep peacefully, and that Ende too would continue to be at peace.

The next morning, the Grand Duke’s closest aides summoned the chief retainers to the Swan Shrine – also known as the Water Shrine – which was frequently used in ceremonies.

A great crowd of the nobles gathered in Safia were present. Naturally, the two princes, Jeremie and Eric, were also standing aligned on the crystal-covered floor.

Once he judged that the time was right, one of the aides started to read the will left by the Grand Duke.

While the river could be seen flowing below through the transparent crystal, the thread of tension was stretched taut above. Some of the people there were so pale that it looked as though they might collapse at any moment. While Jeremie played with his braided hair, Eric had his arms crossed, and both were waiting impatiently for this moment.

“The name of the next Grand Duke of the Grand Duchy of Ende will be...”

What the aged attendant said next seemed to reverberate through every nook and cranny of the palace...

“Eric Le Doria.”

Instantly, the shrine was in an uproar.

The two princes stood as stiff and still as though a spell had been cast upon them, so that looking at them, it was impossible to tell who had won and who had lost. At the aide’s prompting, Eric hesitantly took a step forward. The elderly aide, who stood before him, bowed his head.

“From today onwards, you will throw away the name ‘Amon’ and call yourself by this new name. From today onwards, you will not be a private person: your figure, your voice, your thoughts, in all of these, you will be Ende. Your age and the years you have lived no longer mean anything. You shall shoulder the burden of the Magic Dynasty’s history, of its past and origins, and, under the protection of the Spirits, you...”

“Preposterous!” Prince Jeremie cried out. His somewhat flat face, which he usually improved with the use of cosmetics, now held unconcealed fury as he pointed a thin finger at his younger brother. “This miscreant is suspected of having forged Father’s words when he rode his warhorses towards Garbera. Who can say that is not what happened this time too!”

There might have been some who agreed with him, but Jeremie’s voice simply echoed unanswered within the Water Shrine. He was a man who could read a situation. In fact, he could do so far better than his younger brother. Grinding his teeth so hard he looked like a different person, he whirled around with the force of a gust of wind and left the shrine. His loyal followers hurried after him. There were less than ten of them.

Of course, many of the others there had also been Jeremie’s followers. Those of them who remained behind looked pale for a moment, but Ende had a long history and its aristocrats were proportionally cunning. Even as Jeremie was still leaving, their raised voices mingled with the cries of joy from Eric’s supporters and they looked, for all the world, as though they had long been dreaming of the day when he would become Grand Duke, raising their hands and their voices to offer him their congratulations.

That evening, in order to prepare for the ceremony in which he would be enthroned as the next Grand Duke, Eric was once again inside the same Water Shrine where the official proclamation had been made. Without eating or sleeping, he was to kneel on the wide crystal floor and pray ceaselessly.

It was a ceremony in which he was supposed to listen intently to the silent speeches from the Spirits who protected Ende, and watch their congratulatory dances from behind his closed eyelids, then emerge reborn in body and mind as the Grand Duke.

Time dragged slowly by and Eric felt as though he were melting into the darkness.

The Grand Duke.

I... am going to be the Grand Duke?

Although he had fought for it body and soul, the thought that, as of tomorrow, he would be shouldering the responsibility for the entire country simply did not seem real. His heart even felt somewhat chilled.

Am I really worthy?

Eric’s body had been forged in battle, yet the doubts that welled up within him made him tremble. He had never felt that way when he had been competing with Jeremie.

Ende has a long history. A man like my brother might be a better suited to stand at the top of it after all. Wouldn’t it fit me better to assist him by staying in Dairan and continuing to ride alongside my friends there?

It was so quiet that his own heartbeat was making his ears pound. The ceiling was studded with jewels that shone dimly under the effect of ether, filling the room with a faint phosphorescence. Their glow was reflected in the water that flowed below, throwing Eric’s agonised expression into vivid relief.

What’s with me being this weak?

The faces of the two men he had met in Garbera suddenly flashed through his mind: Garbera’s second prince, Zenon, and Mephius’ crown prince, Gil.

Both of them were young. Gil Mephius so much so that he could still be called a boy. Yet in spite of that, and without a single trace of fear, he had confidently negotiated with both Zenon and Eric.

When he heard that Gil had died, he had not been able to believe it.

But at the same time, he had thought – that kind of man probably makes enemies easily among those who are on the same side as him.

But then, sometime later, that self-same Gil had resurrected and split Mephius clean apart. Reports of that had, of course, also reached Eric. He did not know whether it was an impostor or the real one. When he had first heard the rumour, he had figured that it was almost certainly the former, but now, he thought –

It’d be interesting if it was the real one.

The boy who opposed the current regime, and who was so dangerous to it that even a retainer had aimed for his life, was now marching on the capital while gathering more and more allies to him.

He was ill-bred and uncouth, and yet... Eric felt that there was a strange similarity between that figure and he himself, who was now standing at the top of Ende, a country which clung to systems so archaic that mould was growing on them.

It’s my duty to get rid of that mould.

Eric straightened his posture and took a deep breath, alone and defiant in the darkness.

When it was obvious that I would become a political opponent, my brother was willing to unleash dragons on Dairan simply to push me aside. That’s the kind of man he is. If I’d been one step late, who knows how many innocent people would’ve been torn apart by their fangs. There’s no way I’m leaving the country to a man like that.

His emotions settled down.

However, early the next day.

Eric went out to face the morning of his coronation with unclouded feelings, but at around the same time that he had been finishing the preliminary ceremony, a huge uproar broke out within the capital, Safia.

“What!”

When he received the initial report from soldiers who practically tumbled at his feet, Eric’s expression went rigid. Jeremie Amon Doria had done the worst thing that Eric could possibly have imagined. Just before dawn, he had taken action with just a small handful of troops. And had used force.

If Jeremie had attacked the Water Shrine, where Eric had gone into seclusion, he would probably have been able to accept it and would have thought – Brother, if this is the way to prevent a lingering grudge, come at me to your heart’s content.

Instead though, Jeremie had seized the opportunity afforded by Eric being secluded in the Water Shrine and had penetrated to the highest area of the main palace, where the flag bearing the emblem of the magic Dynasty was kept. And he had stolen the flag which should have been proudly hoisted into the morning wind to preside over the coronation ceremony.

The dozen or so soldiers who guarded the flag were the first victims. Puzzled and suspicious, they had approached Jeremie to question him but, right at that moment, the First Prince had taken out some powder from at his breast and scattered it in the air. Inhaling it, the soldiers starting coughing and choking violently, causing their steps to become unsteady. Which was when soldiers under Jeremie’s command had cut them down.

Flying the flag, splattered with the blood of his victims, Jeremie had fled Safia and was attempting to cross the border.

This was as much as Eric knew but, at almost the same time that the palace was being thrown into a complete upheaval, a similar disturbance was occurring in the Bureau of Sorcery, which normally remained detached from worldly concerns.

The doors of the underground storehouse, which the Bureau had jurisdiction over, had been thrown open and a number of ‘vessels of sorcery’ taken. These had been excavated from ancient ruins and had been handed down since the Magic Dynasty; and there were some among them that not even a prince could take out without the grand duke’s express permission.

And with them, Hezel, a sorcerer affiliated to the Bureau, was equally nowhere to be found. The director of the Bureau of Sorcery, Wodan, flew into a towering rage.

Naturally, Eric ordered that the borders be blockaded, but Jeremie seemed to have gotten help from a sorcerer and had been swift to cross the border by airship. He was headed northwest to Zonga, a country with many ports...

With no time to hold the coronation – and anyway, without the Magic Dynasty’s emblematic flag, the ceremony would have no legitimacy – Eric organised a pursuit unit. Given his personality, Eric would have liked to personally lead the chase, but since there was a chance that some of his brother’s men might still be in Safia, as the next grand duke, he had no choice but to remain in the capital.

He immediately sent a letter to Zonga but, as it was a country which had once been a large commercial power thanks to its flourishing trade with the northern coastal countries, it still retained the haughty personality of those bygone days. It feigned indifference towards the petty squabbles in the central part of the continent.

Damn you Jeremie, you’re really good at being prepared.

He must have even planned what to do in case he was not chosen as the next grand duke. His determination was impressive, but it was also for that reason that Eric believed that his brother was better suited to being an aide than the grand duke himself.

“If you prepare a way out beforehand, then you don’t have the capacity to be a ruler,” he said, putting his thoughts into words. Still, that also meant that now that they were openly enemies, Jeremie was not an opponent that he could afford to underestimate.

The silent power struggle that had long been unfolding in Ende was finally at an end. But what had replaced it was a conflict that would ring with the clash of weapons and the roar of gunfire. Which meant that there would be blood and victims.

“He can’t possibly be intending to ally himself with Zonga and invade us, can he?”

What worried Eric more than Zonga, however, was where the flag of the Magic Dynasty was. In a way, that was sure to have a far greater effect on Ende’s future than Jeremie’s existence would.

Speaking of Jeremie, the former First Prince who had fled his country, he felt just as strongly as Eric did – or perhaps he felt it even more intensely – that his stealing the flag was the worst possible outcome.

By way of Zonga’s ports, he got into touch with the powerful eastern country, Allion.

“Eric is not worthy of carrying on the lineage of the Magic Dynasty. I have the flag of the Dynasty with me. Let us now unite our purposes under this banner,” he wrote in his letter.

Jeremie remained in Zonga and, two weeks later, a reply from Allion reached him there.

In this letter, and in the name of safeguarding the history and authority of the Magic Dynasty, the First Prince of Allion, Kaseria Jamil, promised to send him troops.

Specifically, troops from the division under Kaseria’s direct command, which was famed for mercilessly slaughtering its opponents. He would bring a fleet with two thousand of them to Zonga.

Holding the letter, Jeremie’s slender body began to tremble.

His heart was seized with a feeling of remorse so strong that anyone suddenly drawing close to him would have seen it flickering in his eyes.

Inviting in Allion’s king meant a future in which Ende would either be trampled underfoot or annexed. Allion needed a foothold in the centre of the continent. Ende’s current internal dispute was certainly something that they viewed as advantageous.

But the response had been too fast.

Jeremie’s hands fell to his side as he suddenly realised something – It can’t be that Hezel had already laid out the groundwork?

The sorcerer was a long-time acquaintance of his and, when the First Prince had decided on his drastic course of action, it had also been on his advice.

Could it be that the man had connections to Allion from the start? By nature, he was someone whose passion for the study of sorcery was like his life’s blood. It was to the point that when he had heard that a sorcerer claiming to be Garda had appeared in the west, he had headed off there alone to gather information, without bothering to get permission from either the Bureau of Sorcery or from Jeremie himself.

With that in mind, he might be hoping to create a situation in which the two countries which had split away from the Magic Dynasty would be united as one, allowing him to study the history books and grimoires from both.

Nevertheless –

At this rate, I will forever be known as a failure. Even if it’s only for a fleeting moment, I must become Grand Duke and leave my name behind in the records of Ende’s rulers.

Such was Jeremie’s decision.

What had already happened could no longer be changed.

Not even the greatest of sorcerers could do so.

Part 3

The situation had changed completely.

News of Ende’s internal strife and of the imminent arrival of a fleet from Allion flew around the centre of the continent almost in an instant. And the fastest to respond to that news was Salamand Fogel’s unit, which was still waiting within Mephian territory.

They left some money by way of compensation for the village where they had been staying and set off immediately. They travelled west of the River Wendt, heading north to Idoro, which was the fortress that defended the easternmost tip of Mephius.

The lord of the domain, Julius, hurriedly sent a cable message to the capital. Julius, however, was in a weakened position since he, having wanted to make sure of which way the wind was blowing, he had come up with one reason or another to delay responding to the emperor’s call for a dispatch of troops.

Should we go out and face them with just our own troops? It was not that Julius had never considered that possibility, but it was still unclear how this Salamand’s own country intended to deal with his force.

West of Salamand’s unit, as it headed north, was Kilro.

Its lord was Indolph York – an ally that Fedom, of Birac, had won over to his anti-Emperor faction. He, in turn, had been planning to rise to action in concert with Fedom and the crown prince, which left him uncertain as to how to deal with the sudden incursion by an enemy force. And as a result, he simply watched from behind as Salamand disappeared over the horizon.

“Isn’t it funny?” Salamand laughed fearlessly as he rode, his entire body shaking with mirth. “It’s as if everything is coming together to push me forward.”

Salamand Fogel only remained in Mephius in search of a place to die. At first, it had not mattered where that was, so he had intended to just clash with Mephius’ military and perish. However, now, if he used the fact that Kilro, Idoro and the capital had lost their ability to cooperate, he realised that – I can bring down a far bigger prey than I’d thought.

Shaken by civil war, Mephius was like a giant whose mind and limbs no longer operated together. The very fact that Salamand’s unit had been able to remain within its territory for so long indicated how bizarre the entire situation was.

“Everyone, this is proof that General Ryucown is watching over us from the sky.”

Salamand raised his fist to the heavens as he yelled. His soldiers all did the same. They were all devotees of Ryucown. There were even some among them whose bearded faces were wet with tears.

“Remember this place well. One day, guided by true chivalry, what we see will become part of our beloved Garbera.”

And then, there was Ende.

Prince Eric – who could not yet claim the title of “Grand Duke” since the coronation ceremony could not be carried out – had summoned the chief courtiers and commanders to the main palace. Among them there were also Ende’s warrior priests, whose role was to call on the guardian spirits from all the various shrines in the land.

Allion’s fleet was, even now, crossing the sea. Which implied that they were saving their reserves of ether for their air carriers and airships, and that they would soon come to anchor in Zonga’s ports. Although, if Zonga were asked about it directly, they would probably deny it point blank.

That’s the only thing in our favour – thought Eric.

It meant that they could not afford to transport soldiers by way of air. For all of its might, the Kingdom of Allion had only just come out of a large-scale war. And, with Allion being Allion, he had also heard rumors of trifling internal disturbances.

Even First Prince Kaseria’s troops were at less than their full contingent.

It was said that the king of Allion had not seemed particularly interested in Jeremie’s appeal, but had dispatched troops under Kaseria’s command at the prince’s fervent request.

A beast thirsting for blood.

So said the rumours. Kaseria Jamil enjoyed poetry and music as much as he loved women, and killed as naturally as he breathed. Rumour even claimed that he had withdrawal symptoms if he was not destroying something or slaughtering someone.

“The enemy is at about two thousand. Even if they increase their numbers, they will not go beyond double that.”

The generals were letting their ideas do the fighting across the table during the council of war.

“We’ll gather the entire army in Dairan and intercept them.”

“The entire army will be impossible. Mephius and Garbera are currently politically unstable. At a time like this, if we don’t reinforce our defences in all four directions, who knows what kind of miscreant might cross our borders.”

“Moreover,” an old admiral dressed in long-hemmed clothes blinked almost incessantly, “even if we manage to repel them, what will follow after will be tens of thousands of Allion’s troops. Is going to war really for the best?”

“The root of all this is Prince Jeremie – ah, no, sorry, he’s been stripped of his title – Jeremie. If we capture him and have him officially receive judgement, he will be recognised as a traitor against his own country. And Allion will lose just cause for intervention.”

“Just cause?” A general with a tangled mat of hair spluttered as though in amazement. “If Allion were a country that respected justice or causes, neither Holy Dytiann nor the “Silent Ruler,” Shazarn, would not have been brought to ruin. Those bastards are masters at brandishing whatever “just cause” is most convenient for them. No matter what we do, war is unavoidable!”

“The coastal countries might offer reinforcements. They’re trade nations: many of their kings will be worried about Allion gaining power in the area.”

“You want us to ally ourselves with those heathens who worship pot-bellied gods with twisted limbs? Every last one of Ende’s guardian Spirits would abandon us!”

“What are you on about at a time like this! The fate of our country is at stake!”

“It is exactly because we are in peril that we need to demonstrate our pride and dignity as a country and...”

Ende’s long history and traditions sometimes turned its people’s thought-processes a little rusty.

Prince Eric had come to understand something in this short amount of time. Up until then, the councils of war he had known had been held in tents set up on the grass-covered plains of Dairan and had merely involved discussions of how best to slaughter the enemy, how to minimise their own losses, and where to hold the victory celebration afterwards. In other words, Eric had only ever experienced councils which were extremely simple and extremely efficient; and now, as he watched while words were tossed around before him, he could not help but find a certain humour in the contrast between how light the existence of these words was, and how heavy their impact on history would be.

Right, no matter how appalling this is, there’s still something humorous about it.

“All of you,” Eric stretched out a hand and broke up the courtiers’ dispute which had looked like it was going to continue on endlessly.

Startled, everyone looked up towards the future grand duke, innumerable expectations and calculations flitting through them as they did so. There were people there who hoped to maintain their positions by finding favour with the next grand duke; people who wanted to see how this very young and very rustic man, who had no experience on the field except in Dairan, was going to cope with this unprecedented crisis; and people who were simply waiting impatiently, eager to go to war.

“Asking for reinforcements from the coastal countries is an excellent idea. Our ties with them go back a long way. To claim that borrowing the strength of such old friends is shameful is the same as denying our history. Is it not?”

“Aye,” the retainers nodded.

Even those who had earlier dismissed them because of their “gods and whatnot” were aware that this was the only way to avert the crisis. The words of rejection they had spoken were, perhaps also because of the weight of history, something which had to be done as a matter of form.

For the time being – they had no other choice if they were to hold Allion in check. The atmosphere in the room seemed to become firmer.

“And then there’s Mephius and Garbera,” the young man who would be the next grand duke spoke words that left everyone astounded. “We will request reinforcements from them too.” “What!”

“Mephius is being shaken by civil war. There are also signs of that in Garbera. And besides...” One of the generals abruptly stopped talking.

Troops from Garbera and Ende had clashed just a very short while ago. And it was Eric himself who had led the forces from Ende. They had valiantly set off but, in the end, Mephius had also entered the fray, leaving them no choice but to turn back. Immediately after that, wild dragons had attacked Dairan and Eric had earned renown by slaying them; but if had not been for that fact, if he had merely scurried home, he would simply have been a defeated commander and would probably have lost his candidacy for the position of grand duke.

Eric bestowed a smile upon the general.

“It’s perfectly obvious that Allion is not aiming for our country alone. Mephius and Garbera surely know that just as well as the countries by the sea do. I’m aware that they currently have their own troubles to deal with, and that we don’t know how much strength they can muster. But right now, what is important is to issue an appeal making it clear that we should share the same purpose. It will help with what’s to come.”

Once he had spoken, Eric stood up. Just as everyone else was doing the same, he continued:

“Warriors, collect swords, spears and guns. Take anything that looks usable and don’t neglect preparations when it comes to soldiers either. The civil officials will write. Naturally, you will make sure that the letters for each of the coastal countries as well as for Mephius and Garbera are individualised, and that each one is written in such a way as to strike a chord with the people of each different country. This is war. A war in which you will put your life on the line to defend your country.”

Eric was, by nature, a poor orator so the words he had just spoken had been prepared beforehand. He had not been able to completely banish his nervousness, but the speech was still effective. His gaze swept over the retainers, who all had their heads bowed before him.

“May every one of the Spirits protect us.”

“May the Spirits protect us,” everyone echoed the same words.

While Ende was still set in its ancient ways, in the Mephian territory of Birac, new blood was in the process of ushering in change.

Orba belatedly caught wind of the events surrounding Ende’s struggle for succession and of Allion’s movements. The news was already widely circulated in Solon and, since it was transmitted from there to Birac, he was also able to find out how the capital was reacting to it.

This is bad.

Orba paced around the room in Fedom’s mansion which had been allocated to him.

He had been waiting and waiting in Birac and, just as he thought that the wind was finally blowing his way, the situation with Salamand and then Ende had cropped up in quick succession. Voices had only just started to rise in support of the crown prince, but he was afraid that Gil Mephius would be seen as no more than a troublemaker seeding discord in a time when difficulties were piling up and the country needed to stand united.

And Gil’s situation would only get worse if Salamand were to attack one of the cities or if Allion’s troops arrive in the center of the continent in response to Jeremie’s appeal.

His plans were being upset from a direction he had never even dreamed of.

The general's words might not have been that much of a joke – he thought, remembering how Rogue had previously suggested that Salamand might be acting “at His Majesty’s instigation”.

Of course, that was not the same as saying that Guhl had ushured Salamand in. But it was possible that Guhl Mephius was currently deliberately allowing Salamand to remain. The imperial family’s reputation and prestige might take a blow because of it, but he might well feel that it was more important, at least for now, to foster the country's perception that Gil Mephius was a hindrance.

According to one of the rumours in Solon, Salamand was working in collusion with the Impostor Crown Prince. The fake Gil was working with the west and with Garbera to make Mephius fall into chaos. The origin of the rumour was unknown but it would not be surprising if the emperor were pulling the strings.

A troop of a thousand soldiers was right before him in Nedain. Orba could not move forward without first dealing with this. But if he took action now, he would be branded a traitor who took advantage of the country’s difficulties to satisfy his own greedy ambitions.

“It’s a plausible story,” nodded Rogue when Orba consulted with him about it. He had, for the time being, left his vice-commander in charge of the air fleet in Nedain, and was paying his respects to Gil.

“Once you are no longer a unifying force, Your Highness, His Majesty probably intends to send out an elite force to crush Salamand. The people will then be left with the impression that the one defending the country is, after all, definitely the emperor. Even if it later leads to war with Garbera, that will only be a secondary consideration compared to civil war. And because the people are aware of Garbera’s provocative actions, in all likelihood, it will be a war which they will fully support.”

“There’s also the situation with Ende and Allion. Which means that Garbera won’t be able to start trouble easily either. If it actually comes to that.”

Garbera might prepare its weapons and turn its attention entirely to defending its own country. Which would mean that Guhl Mephius would again be seen as the one who had protected this country.

Orba had been waiting for ‘time’ to start moving, but he had never expected it to do so in such a hectic manner.

How serious is Allion about this? Will Garbera really just ignore Salamand? And what will Guhl’s next move be?

Orba spent his time anguishing. His thoughts were being pulled in too many directions. He needed to broaden his field of vision... yes, but Orba’s experiences and way of thinking could not yet catch up with this situation. Or rather, he did not find it easy to cope with the threat of the untold thousands of enemy troops that were fast approaching.

Orba was constantly immersed in thought; when he was eating, when he was receiving the periodic reports from his men, when he was attending strategy meetings, when he was defecating – constantly.

Even when he was spending time with the princess, and despite the fact that he strongly reminded himself that – when we’re together, I really have to always pay attention – Orba would, again and again, fail to notice that she was talking to him. And, even though he would end up thinking Dammit!, he still repeated the same mistake.

Yet strangely, although he expected the princess to immediately lash out angrily or else adopt an unyieldingly distant attitude because of her fury, she did not particularly seem to mind. He wondered whether she was also exhausted of constantly giving him reminders.

“Are you listening, Your Highness?”

“Yeah,” Orba answered, looking as though he had just snapped awake.

‘Luckily’, the person standing nearby was not a fourteen-year-old girl, but rather Pashir.

“How are things going with the new recruits?”

“For now, in terms of suspicious behaviour... If we’re talking about whether they can be used as soldiers, then they have started cooperating but, well... if they were sent to battle, about half of them would run away.”

“Oh?”

“They were temporarily carried away by the heroic tale of the imperial crown prince who revived from the dead. I’m sure they were thinking that if they could work near you, they might also become heroes. But in practice, there are already more than a hundred who have run away because of how strict the training is.”

Pashir uncompromisingly looked reality straight in the eye. Yet he noticed that Orba was looking at him with a half-amused expression.

“Is there something you are wanting to say?”

“Why does a man who’s so far-sighted not run away himself?”

Eh? – said the expression on Pashir’s face.

“We’re not in a situation where I’m holding Mira or your gladiator friends hostage anymore. You’d do well to escape while you can. Or is the payoff for being an imperial guard worth losing your life for?”

“... Who knows. But then, I do not think you would get into a fight that you do not believe you can win, Your Highness.”

“I wonder,” said Orba as he sunk back into thought.

In terms of looking reality in the face, Folker, whom he had fought at Tolinea, was the same. In all likelihood, both he and Pashir had reasoned out that Gil Mephius would only destroy himself if things stayed as they were...

“Should I take a trip to Solon instead?” Orba muttered and Pashir gave him a startled look. It was rare for him to look that surprised.

“That was a joke,” said Orba, getting up from his seat.

Later on, after he had gotten changed and headed outside, he thought back on it. Was that really a joke? His words had been unexpected even to himself.

Incidentally, in this case, “getting changed” did not only mean changing his clothes but fitting himself out with a black breastplate, iron gauntlets and greaves, and placing an iron mask on his face. Before leaving Apta to fight, Orba had summoned the master blacksmith Sodan and had him forge something that would go suitably with his tiger mask. So what he wore now was different from what he had in the west.

He would go around throughout Birac in his separate guises as crown prince and imperial guard. He trusted the reports from his companions, but the ‘quality’ of information obtained first-hand was different. Such was Orba’s belief. He was willing to expend great effort in widening his field of vision even if only by a fraction; and besides, although he had decided to wait, it was not in his nature to just do nothing. Moving around also helped to relieve his impatience, if only by a bit.

After having walked around the barracks, Orba went to watch the airship units’ training. One of the company commanders in Rogue’s Dawnlight Wings Division was a demon of an instructor and was working the men hard. As for the ships and carriers, many of them had been supplied by the Haman firm, so there were some among them that had been made in Garbera.

Although that was probably not the reason why –

Oh. Attracted by the airships, of course.

Orba felt a presence behind him. It quietly crept up to him. For a short moment, it hesitated about what to do.

And as a result...

“The prince was just asking about you.”

“Kyah!”

At a distance close enough to feel the body heat from his back, Vileena Owell let out a small scream. Turning his head over his shoulder, he saw her hurriedly try to hide a stick which was rolling about on the ground. She had probably dropped it in surprise.

“Do you strike people down when you’re bored, Princess?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Red to the tips of her ears, Vileena did her best to toss her shoulders up jauntily. She was probably embarrassed from having been caught in a surprise attack and from letting out a most uncharacteristic scream.

“Have you come to train the soldiers again?”

“Humph, don’t make fun of me.”

Vileena said with a huffy expression as she plopped down next to him. Together, they watched the columns of airships cross the sky.

Although the situation was as it was, Orba felt that her warmth beside him was oddly comforting.

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