Rakuin no Monshou

Volume 2, 4: Sword Festival

Volume 2, Chapter 4: Sword Festival

Part 1

On this day, Zaat Quark was swamped with visitors.

In the morning was Simon Rodloom. As soon as he glimpsed Zaat’s face, he asked,

“Have you become thinner?”

Zaat bitterly smiled and shook his head.

“No matter what the situation, the amount I eat and drink will not change. It’s my one redeeming feature. Well, who knows what might happen in a week though.”

“Milord has been reprieved of your house arrest. Now you can eat and drink to your heart’s content.”

“Reprieved?”

The casual manner Simon mentioned this in left Zaat flabbergasted. Simon pointed out towards the window, and sure enough, the guards surrounding the residential hall were pulling back.

This morning, Simon presented himself before the emperor, and by some stroke of luck, the two of them were able to talk alone about the festival. They spent some time discussing about Garbera, Ende’s movements, and also how starting with their longtime enemy, the Bazgan House from the west, new activities have come about in a group of Tauran fortress cities. After this, Simon brought up Zaat’s name seemingly by chance. And the emperor, as if he had completely forgotten it up until now, laughed it off.

“After that, the house arrest was immediately called off. His majesty was flaring up at the time of the incident, but I myself did not take it to heart. That is why I was at ease. His majesty has not bestowed any punishment or of the sorts. From here on forth as well, if you were even to show your undying loyalty for Mephius—“

“For Mephius,” Zaat said sullenly.

He had resigned himself to bury his bones in Mephius. However.....

Whether or not he had understood the implied meaning, Simon kept silent. Zaat then raised the issue of Kaiser Islan. His execution would be held tomorrow. Even Simon could not overturn this. Zaat and Kaiser both had objected the emperor’s decisions, but the emperor’s sentiments towards their punishments differed greatly.

“Like this, he is no different from a sword-slave. At the whim of the audience’s favour, he may be commanded to die or be allowed to live. This makes everyone save the imperials nothing more than the emperor’s slaves.” Zaat said, staring down fixedly. “I, of course, love Mephius. I am quite fond of the simple nature of our people, and the militaristic trait that they, at times, possess. There is nothing in our country that can outmatch our strong and fierce troops. The ether has been exhausted, and once airship weaponry and that contemptible magic vanish from this world, the one reigning supreme in the world can be no other than Mephius. But with the way Mephius is—with our current emperor...”

“Stop, Zaat. You don’t know where his ears lie.”

“Lord Simon, do even you not hold him in contempt? The emperor is attempting to revive the Ryuujin Faith a second time! Most likely, it is only for the express purpose of reigning as the absolute sovereign. He would just as well brand all those who voice their objection against him as rebels. Yes, just as Jasch Bazgan once began his reign of terror in the name of the Dragon God.”

The matter relating to the Ryuujin Faith was already spreading far and wide as a rumour. Of how on the eve of the festival, the summoned elders were newly set to take part in the holdings of the ritual en masse within the sanctuary of the Dragon God Shrine. And also of how Kaiser, who had opposed him would be executed under the label as the first and foremost rebel.

“The peace with Garbera is also the same. He may have lent an ear to his retainers and received their words, however that is for but a brief interim. Surely, a person of your calibre should be able to understand this. His majesty has been frequently holding meetings with a messenger from Ende one right after the next. The contents of them can be easily guessed—. When morrow comes, I would not be surprised were Princess Vileena to be chased out the country, and in her stead the marriage will proceed with the grand princess of Ende.”

“That’s...”

Anxiety drifted into Simon’s eyes. This too, was a definitive fact. Emperor Guhl was not one to obsess over a single country such as Garbera. In vying for control of the centre of the continent, including Ende, balance in the relations between the three countries was essential. Guhl wanted to be the one pulling the strings of the remaining two countries.

The subjugation of Ryucown had served to strengthen the alliance with Garbera, but because of that, Ende could no longer afford to ignore Mephius. There were even talks Ende had proposed a beneficial alliance to Mephius; all according to Guhl’s favour.

“However, if that were to happen we would lose the trust of other countries and Mephius’ reputation would hit the pits. If his majesty continues to wield his power as he pleases, sooner or later Mephius will observe the hardships of decline.” At this time, Zaat’s eyes glimmered with light. “There are a great number of people unpleased with the emperor. If Lord Simon was to stand centre amongst them, nobles garnering high popularity and the great majority will give up their name to the cause. The few lords that there are have gathered in Solon. There is no better time than now during the festival.”

“Zaat. I’ll pretend I did not hear this. I will now take my leave.” Simon kicked himself up from his seat. “It is precisely because we think of the future that we must be of one mind. The matter with Kaiser is most regrettable, but I have no intention of allowing the same thing to be repeated.”

“All the more reason Lord Simon!”

“I can see you are more than ready to lay down your life. However, that would lead to a complete upheaval of the law. If you were to attempt to carry out your plans in a fit of impatience, unnecessary blood will be shed. The people will also get dragged into it, and this would provide a chance for other countries to strike. That’s the one thing we must avoid. I’m sure you understand that, Zaat.“

Simon placed his hands on Zaat’s shoulders, and then left the waiting room.

That was the morning meet.

The afternoon meeting was with Oubary Bilan. Though their standings had led them to meet in person countless times until now, they had directly spoken with one another even more recently.

Oubary did not stay for long. They exchanged some idle chatter and were playing only a single bout of a recreational board game, when he immediately stood up. And as if making use of that chance, he handed a certain letter over to Zaat.

“I would like you to leave the board as is.” Oubary laughed aloud, as he pointed towards the game board at the juncture of his departure. “Let us continue some other time say, when we will be exchanging a celebratory toast.”

After Oubary left, Zaat had a light meal, then retreated to his study.

“Those insolent Garberans.” He scanned the letter tens of dozens of times and finally let go of it, spreading it out on top of his desk. “...They plan to use me?”

Noue Salzantes’ signature was signed on it. Up until now quite a few letters from Noue had been delivered, but the contents of the letter this time was far more direct. Though that being the case, the contents could hardly be praised as heroic. He had no doubt kindled the flames of revolution and was sure to expect flattery towards his end, but instead what he got practically neared a complaint.

Ever since the wedding between Prince Gil and Princess Vileena had been decided, relations between Garbera and Ende approached a state of tension. It had originally been unofficially planned for her to marry into Ende. However, Garbera decided not to place all of its trust in Ende and prioritizing the interests of its own country above all else, chose to ally with Mephius. In order to save face, Ende showed no hesitation in making full use of its diplomatic resources. Ende eased tariffs on imported goods such as silk and spices, and Garbera’s second prince and head of the Tiger Order, Zeno Owell, appeared before the archduke whereby they exchanged undying oaths of friendship.

However—the archduke, Malchio Le Doria’s body is nearing its end.

Through its diplomatic sources and secret intelligence network, Mephius had more or less grasped the gist of it. Malchior was a man in his fifties, but his physical condition was quickly taking a turn for the worse. Despite his appearances before the public those two times in the past year, there existed rumours that he might even have been poisoned to death. Most likely, he did not have long, or so a great many people saw it, in spite of Ende’s ongoing domestic and foreign activities.

The archduke fathered two sons. The eldest was Prince Jeremie, and next in line was Prince Eric. Jeremie, though prudent, held little militaristic capabilities, and Eric profused in the arts of war, though came short in terms of prudence, the report had stated. And between them, the burly Eric seemed to desire war with Garbera, as was written in the letter.

Eric was originally the first pick to be Vileena’s groom. That being the case, the alliance was scrapped and he, taking it in insult, joined hands with some of the vassals with intentions of declaring a proclamation of war against Garbera.

It stands to reason the one succeeding the position of archduke will be Jeremie. So he has anticipated forthcomings with this in mind, has he?

He was making a show of his power and actions so that he could gain the favour of the people and appear to them the more suitable candidate. Although the current archduke hoped to continue friendly relations with Garbera, it would seem it was only a matter of time until his demise, at which time Ende would ready its troops.

As such, Garbera’s last ray of hope lay in its alliance with Mephius. However—

That cursed Noue. I cannot stomach that man.

Zaat had mentioned it before a couple of days ago that Guhl Mephius secretly met with a messenger from Ende. It was held in absolute secrecy, but Noue had in some way, through his informational network, grasped the contents of that meeting.

Come wartime, Noue was unnerved as to the extent of reinforcements Guhl Mephius would dispatch to Garbera. That, and the matter of Ryucown’s attempted assassination of the royal family could also very possibly be brought up and Vileena be made to return to her country.

This led Noue to keep his eye on Zaat. As the valiant man who had so righteously defended the alliance with Garbera, he would spare no second thought at coming to his aid—or so was written in the letter. Garbera’s aim was to currently bring about political instability in Mephius. Even though it was surely beyond Zaat’s power to do so, a temporary state of confusion would, at present, relieve their fears of getting stabbed from behind.

“However,” Zaat let out a low growl. Put in other words, precisely because Garbera and Ende were currently in a state of tension, was it a good opportunity to bring about reform to Mephius. Even with a temporary state of disorder, there was little concern that the other countries would intervene.

Half of the day had passed since the order for Zaat’s house arrest had been dissolved, and shortly after he arranged a point of contact, he set out. Waiting in the horse wagon Zaat Quark faced were the group of soldiers under his command—leaders of the Blue Bow Division. Each and every one of them were people he placed his trust in. Since shortly before, he had relayed the signal that pressed them to ready themselves. Through the house arrest on this occasion, they understood that ‘that time’ drew near.

Zaat turned back at his own mansion fading out of sight. There he saw a sea of flames. He blinked his eyes several times in surprise. The rows of flames disappeared. It was an illusion.

The following day, right before noon, Simon Rodloom had unexpectedly met face-to-face with Noue Salzantes at the Solon grand stadium.

Noue had just shown himself off the carriage of a noblewoman he wooed last night, and Simon had scheduled himself to visit Kaiser, who had been transferred to the underground cellar of the stadium.

After exchanging greetings,

“I make my way here every day,” Noue said with a smile. “I am completely fascinated with the gladiator games, you see. The one in the most recent year was by all means a sight to see.”

“Let us cordially welcome it.”

After two or three short discussions, Simon made his leave. Noue stared fixedly at the departing man.

That man is the most prominent amongst the Mephian leaders. It’d good to have him as an ally, but it would be far easier to predict his movements as the small accessory that Zaat Quark similarly is.

It was the same with Oubary Bilan. As the peace talks progressed, Noue had sent a written letter to the general. He had heard Oubary was of the faction opposed to peaceful negotiations and appeared himself to have been won over to Oubary’s cause, all in a ploy to have him as another pawn under his control. Noue had investigated Oubary’s character beforehand. Oubary possessed the fortitude of a soldier, and while he did have his share of achievements, wasn’t the brightest of men. His way of handling things enlisted dissatisfaction and complaints, and were reflective of his own habits. He was the type of man most easy to control.

Noue repeatedly sent letters to Oubary, making him more than well aware of how highly Garbera regarded him. And in doing so, led Oubary to become all the more indignant of the unfair position he had found himself forced into in Mephius. Then Oubary remembered of how Garbera valued his true merits.

Soon enough, he sent back a letter of his own. The piece of information that the man known as Zaat Quark was also the head of the anti-imperial faction, was also received from Oubary.

I can use this.

Thinking this, Noue soon engaged Zaat by means of correspondence. Noue observed that he too, possessed an easy to manipulate personality. Zaat was a big-headed man, and like Oubary, boasted in pride.

Mephius is one big dragon. It’s body, or rather, it’s long lived years has swollen its pride, so much that it thinks its body larger than it truly is, thus giving me the chance to drive a wedge in. The standstill will, in the not too distant future, be dominated by us through the preparations I have set into motion.

Discontent amongst the Mephian nobles towards the emperor was smouldering. That too was, of course, also looked into. That was why he hatched a plan that only required him to throw in a single match, but then the matter with Kaiser and Zaat occurred, and things suddenly began to advance in his favour. All of this was not Noue’s doing, but rather, as a result of the emperor, Guhl Mephius’ conduct.

Mephius is walking the road towards its own ruin.

Mephius would, according to his plan, exhaust its good fortune. Now he could devote himself towards the country of Ende. Noue did not hope for Mephius’ destruction, nor did he wish for it to be assimilated by another country. Who knows how much money and time it would take for that to happen. What Noue dwelled uneasy over was the existence of Ende’s ally, the powerful eastern country of Arion. Arion’s longstanding campaign in the east was said to be approaching its end. Were the country of Garbera to engage this faraway country in a single battle, it would not stand the slightest of chances. For this express purpose, Mephius mustn’t be allowed to continue this troubling alliance.

Noue aimed to temporarily bring about disorder in Mephius and strike the emperor in the eye. He would back up either Zaat or the imperialists, according to whichever side offered the biggest advantages. Then he would have Oubary leading the backing, as the general completely immersed himself into the role of a ‘patriotic hero’. If it was this man, the domestic situation being played out in Mephius could be read and Noue could easily plan out a means resulting in success. And above all, Mephius would without a doubt reform its alliance with Garbera this time coming.

Ever since he had enlisted the aid of Oubary within Mephius, the thought of Princess Vileena entering his plans never once surfaced.

That person is far too straightforward.

She made a fitting leader, but she also would not think to approve such a plan. Her notion of royal blood differed from that of Ryucown. But on the contrary,

If that spilt royal blood were to end up protecting Garbera...

A level-headed glimmer dwelt within both his eyes, underneath that indifferent, smiling guise.

As Noue thought over his strategy, Simon met with Kaiser in the dungeon. Though it could be called a meeting, it was one across the prison bars where but only a mere five minutes worth of conversation was allowed.

As such, Simon left out the extended greetings.

“How is your family?”

“I have told them not to come.” Kaiser turned pale and then smiled. “Milord, what of the future of the Kaiser House?”

“I know. Leave it to me.”

“Thank you.”

Kaiser remained an upright man ‘til the very end. To Simon, he was a sincere man with little to no taste. However, he felt it truly representative of this one man, that he remained sincere and all too serious for his own good, to this end.

“What of his majesty?” he said, as he gazed at the ceiling from below. “Has he had a change of heart?”

“—“

“I do not hold a grudge against him. Just that, at the time the previous empress, Lana-sama was alive, granted he still held a fiery temper, but no matter who the person, it would become a cause for celebration so long as he held the strength his majesty desired. But now, his majesty cannot even trust himself. In this one month, I have wept, clamoured, and cried out some thousand complaints across the empty skies, but right now, it will not serve to move His Majesty to tears.”

It was sometimes even murmured within the palace walls. At the time Lana was around, the emperor would often listen carefully to his vassals. That was no doubt thanks to Lana’s generous personality. The one check in place was lost, and the emperor began to act as he pleased.

That is surely the case.

Simon and Kaiser had acted as a support for the emperor since he was young. They were well familiar with the previous empress Lana and the relationship he held with her while they were married.

The emperor trusted many to a problematic extent, but by nature held a reserved personality.

Currently, he was remarried to Melissa and appeared to be brimming with the energy of a youth. His relation with her certainly seemed just as well as with his former wife, but Simon saw this as no more than an appearance.

Is it not as if he has lost his support?

Simon couldn’t help but feel the emperor was determined to shut himself in. He could no longer recognize his longtime friend Simon within the depths of his heart, nor did he offer any love to his own son, Gil Mephius.

—Afterwards, Simon and Kaiser engaged in a lighthearted chat. Simon never said the words, ‘I’m sorry.’ That was the one thing he knew he mustn’t say. “This will not happen a second time,” he said to Zaat with conviction. Simon was most angry with himself for being unable to stop Zaat’s procession.

And after Simon took his leave, he, for some strange reason, recalled the memories of a man, whose name was but all he had heard, and whose very being he knew nothing about. This man, with whom he felt a bond of sorts.

The man named Ryucown.

He had the makings of a fool.

The rebellion stirred up by Ryucown was one with no future. It was one unaware of the times, or possibly one that attempted to shun away from the times. It was the act of a fool. It was tomfoolery that caused blood to be shed; tomfoolery that invited disorder.

However... Simon thought. Wasn’t that something he himself was fully aware of? He acted and put his life on the line knowing that there was no precedence and knowing that it was doomed to fail. All the washed blood, the spilt blood, towards his own country of Garbera mustn’t be let to go to waste.

That was Ryucown’s cry.

That was how Simon felt it.

Part 2

Lined up on the table were freshly looking fruits and drinks. There was a plentiful selection of meat, as if indicative to that of a glutton, that was more than likely to make one sick following their morning bout.

Orba barely delved into his meal, having only eaten one or two mouthfuls of bread. Though that is to say, this was not a problem of time or his health.

It was because he was joined by the emperor for his morning meal. Guhl, Melissa, Ineli, and the younger sister, Flora, and not limited to the members of the imperial family, Simon Rodloom, the military commander, Odyne Lorgo, and one of the senior statesmen, Colyne Isphan, were included in this breakfast meet.

The emperor had, in this manner, received those who sought his audience and invited them to join him for his morning meal, where he would listen to their concerns. Though it could be considered a vain act, it was a custom that had not changed since long past, and was still enacted to this day.

It was Orba’s first time participating in such a gathering. Until now, one reason or another was used to excuse himself from attending. Fedom wanted to avoid having the person acting as Gil meet with his own family and those immediate relatives who knew him well. But this time was different. He had kept Fedom out of the knowing. Had Fedom known, he would have used all means to obstruct him, and might have even forced his way into Orba’s company.

Well then.

Orba was nervous, but he had awaited this chance; the talking had reached a point of complete silence. Orba took a deep breath, and then opened his mouth.

“Father.”

Everyone looked on at Orba in light surprise. The former prince Gil might have refrained from speaking out. The emperor’s eyes also widened as he faced Orba.

“What is it?”

“I would like to make a request.”

“Oh? Could it be that you want something? A horse maybe? Or could it be you want the position of general? If it’s the crown you desire, it’s still too early for you.”

The emperor said to his good humour. He had most likely anticipated a rather ‘lively’ response, but Orba did not notice it.

“It is about the gladiator games.”

“Speak.”

The emperor’s mood did a complete turnaround, as he spoke in ill humour. Since morning, he had been downing the fruit wine as if it were water. It wasn’t as if Orba had’nt noticed the change in ambience, but for now, he assertively voiced his thoughts.

“I would like you to allow a member of the Imperial Guards, the one who defeated Ryucown, to participate in the gladiator games held during the festival.”

The unexpected proposal provoked murmurs of interest from everyone, with the exemption of the emperor. Oubary and the rest shone with anticipation. The emperor snorted at Orba.

“Again, why now of all times?”

“I have heard of how many hope for Orba to participate. The people too will certainly be joyed.”

“What do you think you’re saying?” The emperor stared directly at Orba. “The people will be joyed? You’re just using that as a pretence. You hope for your Imperial Guard to win so that you will have more to brag about, do you not? Rather, why don’t you participate yourself? It’s not as if no member of the imperial family ever participated before.”

“Y-You must be joking.”

Orba quickly lowered his head, fearful the emperor might have seen through him as the gladiator he was. Orba was sure this was the reason, but the emperor, Guhl Mephius’ gaze held a pressure on a completely different scale compared to those he had faced until now.

“Hmph,” the emperor snorted. “Well, it might not hurt to let things go as you want it. At the very least, I want to see a victory deserving of a hero.”

“P-Please wait, Your Imperial Majesty!”

The one who had cut in was Simon Rodloom. A strained mood hung in the air. Naturally, it was because everyone present was well aware of the incident that occurred in the Dragon God’s Shrine.

“If I may have a word, I implore you to not just let things run its course, but take a deeper look at the implications of an Imperial Guard participating in the games. Yes, gladiators may not wholly be slaves, but to allow a member of his royal highness’ Imperial Guard to be killed in front of the audience’s eyes will somewhat damage our authority.”

“Ho.”

“Your majesty previously mentioned that in the history of Mephius, it was not without incident that a member of the imperial family participated in a gladiatorial match, but the circumstances of the era were far too different and should not be used as a comparison.”

“Ho,” the emperor said once more. He placed his chin against his arm that rested against the armchair and glared at Simon through his heavy-lidded eyes. At that time, Colyne Isphan spoke up.

“Is it not all right? We of Mephius are a country of swords and dragons. Birthplace and lineage have no dealings in it. It is in our blood for us to compete.”

“Still—“

“And also, the Imperial Guard who defeated Ryucown is most certainly a hero. However, he was also originally a sword slave, and as such the people too will hesitate in openly praising him. If I may venture, have the lords and each and every one of the generals not likewise, been at a loss over whether or not it be appropriate to invite him to tonight’s evening party? It stands to reason that there is meaning in that Imperial Guard competing for Clovis’ seat.”

“Well put.”

The emperor nodded his head approvingly, as Colyne humbled himself. Colyne excelled in plays such as these. He read the emperor’s feelings, and even if the emperor held any sentiments, he warped the reasoning behind it, making it seemingly appear even more sound when he spoke it.

“Those who have obtained the same honour that Clovis and his aide Felipe have, supposing that they were born a slave, competed every year for that title. They are by all means a hero. Amongst them are also those who have risen to become a general. —This instance dates back no more than thirty years ago in our history, does it not, Simon?”

“—Yes.”

Every year, the gladiator tournament held during the festival awarded the winning two gladiators, who won through all others, as heroes. On the final day, those heroes would lead the two hundred remaining slaves and fight against the dragons as part of the main event. Even in Mephius’ history, the hero Clovis and his aide Felipe and all those who followed after them were, regardless of their origin, officially enlisted into the Mephian forces.

“Up to the remaining last, they have all been heroes that do not shame their title. Those who lose are only able to amount to that much, but those fallen warriors who compete for the seat of Clovis are great men who sacrifice themselves for Mephius’ tradition. There will be no damage to our authority or anything of the like.”

“Ohh.”

“I see, that certainly holds true.”

The other nobles showered him with praise, after which Simon offered no further protest. Like this, they had left the prince in question out of their conversation. During this time,

“So you listened to my request, brother.”

Ineli stealthily sneaked out a smile that spread across her whole face.

Orba did not respond to her with even a simple “ahh,” or “yea.” Even so, she didn’t mind. She was already lost in her own thoughts.

“Were he to say, win as the champion, I must by all means be the one to hand him the golden helmet that is proof of Clovis. At that time, I will announce him as the hero who had also saved the imperial princess, Ineli, from the claws of a dragon.”

Orba being Orba was at present, preparing for the next phase of his plans in his head, unaware that Ineli was talking like a young girl who spoke of her dream, and that nested within were malicious sentiments that sought to come into possession of the masked gladiator, Orba.

Rumours of Orba’s participation spread throughout the palace in no time at all. Though he may have been a former gladiator, it was an unprecedented situation where a member of the imperial guards participated in the games. People’s responses naturally went both ways.

“The prince has been living up to our expectations.”

There being those wholeheartedly approved of it,

“Is the prince not only pulling along at the glory of his first campaign?”

There were also those who criticized him behind his back.

One person, Fedom Aulin, upon chancing on these rumours exploded into a fit of rage. For him, the puppet, Orba, whom he had gone through great lengths to put in place, was nonsensically throwing his own life into harm’s way under his very nose. However, Orba had directly appealed to the emperor and it was already something Fedom could no longer overturn.

“Only two or three battles to go.”

Orba, concealing his plans of trapping Noue and Oubary, spoke in a carefree tone.

“Now this odd. Right now, in this whole world, you’d think the one worrying most for my life would be you.”

“Shut your mouth.” Fedom’s expression stammered, as if he were seriously about to faint. “Listen well. You mustn’t die. That much is obvious, but you also mustn’t get hurt. It will be suspicious when you return as the prince. Argh, curses!! You better prepare yourself. Once the festival is over, I’ll tie you up in chains like when you were a slave!”

And of course, that rumour had also reached Vileena Owell’s ears. As soon as she heard this, she shook off Theresia’s restraint and headed towards the prince.

In preparation for tomorrow’s stage appearance, Orba left his room and first headed over to the stadium grounds.

His decision to take part in the games was obviously not because the people had wished it. He thought to obtain a means of contacting Pashir through this tournament. Oubary had clearly mentioned this sword slave’s name. There was no doubt Pashir played a significant role in his plans. Orba would rile up his plans in every way possible.

“Oh?”

Just then, he happened across Vileena, who ran his way. Her lips were closed shut and her eyes twisted upwards. Last night, when she had come to visit him, her aggressive manner remained well hidden. It now resurfaced now once again. And it was ever more so direct. It was as if he were guilty of having done something that earned her disfavour.

“Why?”

Vileena began her accusing inquiry.

“Why, being?”

“Orba. Why did you make him participate in the games?”

“Oh. Does he have something to do with the princess?”

“He—“

Vileena, who had flown into a rage, found herself tongue-tied. Orba began to walk past her a second time. He would never have thought the princess’ business was about himself. Now knowing this, he no longer felt like arguing with her.

“He is a dear friend.”

As those words tore at him from behind, his feet suddenly came to a halt.

The fourteen year old princess strengthened her gaze.

“...That is why this is a matter not unrelated to me. Up until now, he has lived through difficult battles, overcome them, and he has finally been freed from those bonds and become a free man. You are forcing him to fight just as he was made to when he was a slave. And to what ends?”

“Garbera’s princess does not know of it. You view the gladiator games as a living hell, but it’s Mephius’ top entertainment. That even a single more well-known gladiator participates will liven the mood of the festival.”

“Are you not selling yourself to the festival’s mood so that you will receive everyone’s attention? Even if you have to sacrifice Orba’s life to do it!”

“He won’t die,” Orba said with a brooding face.

The foreign princess’ cheeks flushed and she drew even closer to him. Her face was reminiscent of one other time. It completely matched the one she made when she squared off against the prince as they proceeded for Zaim Fortress for not making a single move.

“Why do you say so?”

“That’s...because he’s Orba. He’s never lost once. As his dear friend, you should trust in his abilities.”

“That is not what I am saying!”

“This is also what Orba wants. Do not speak any further on this, princess.”

No matter how he tried to suppress it, his irritation continued to build up. The way he spoke of himself appeared the same way those very Mephian nobles would.

“Still, to think you were his friend,” Orba ridiculed. What do you know about him? Do you know how many lives he’s taken? Someone like you and those ‘prided’ nobles and knights find battles to be grave, honourable, and meaningful. He fights not for any of these reasons, but only so that he can survive. He stains himself with flesh and blood only so that he can survive.

“That is because you Mephian nobles...”

“SHUT UP!!”

Having exceeded his emotional threshold, Orba’s anger ran rampant in his words.

“Do not call yourself Orba’s friend a second time. Do not speak to him. Don’t act as if you know everything just because you are royalty.”

Vileena instantly became enraged. However, contrary to her appearance, she stood stock still and did not utter a single word.

Orba, lost in his emotions and not knowing what to do with them, quickly left the scene.

Who am I?

His heavy footsteps, together with the throbbing of his heart gnawed away at him as Orba questioned his own sense of self.

"As a gladiator, I am someone who cannot become something like the princess’ friend."

"As a slave, I cannot stand when the princess speaks as if she is aware of the circumstances of a slave."

"As the prince, I don’t mind even if Orba has to be sacrificed to accomplish my goals."

"Who...am I?"

As he repeatedly questioned himself, he quickly lost all awareness of the outside world.

This day, Orba headed towards the stadium and arrived shortly before the sun set. The games for the day had already come to a close, and there were no traces of people on the stadium seats.

The sword slaves emerged little by little onto the stadium grounds. Of the gladiators participating in the tournament, all those that held the status of slave were held in a stadium-equipped detention camp. There, they passed the day working their bodies on the vast stadium grounds in preparation for their match the following day.

The guards kept an eye on the centre, where the gladiators freely swung their swords, practiced their footwork, and engaged in one-on-one mock battles.

Then the masked gladiator suddenly appeared. Naturally, stares were thrown at him from all over. They likely had heard stories of him to some extent, and although they did not seem surprised, they neither called out to him nor approached him. Instead, a stadium attendant came up to him.

“I have heard stories of you. However, there is no need for you to go out of your way to stay here. On the day of your battle, we will send over a guide to pick you up.”

“It’s an atmosphere I haven’t experienced in a while. I’d like to get used to it.”

The attendant gave out a baffled response, and then brought out a sword for him. Orba began his stretches and then proceeded to swing his sword. And once again, the slaves only watched. It could also be said that they were unable to disregard him and clear away their interest in him.

He pretended to do his exercise routine, directing his gaze at the slaves countless times, but never eyed Pashir amongst them.

The gladiator games had two days remaining. If Pashir was taking part in Noue’s plans, regardless of what his role was, he would likely make his move within these two days. He held the status of a slave, and could not move as he pleased. This meant Noue’s plans would progress within the detention camp.

Until then, he needed to get closer to Pashir and grasp the entirety of his plans.

Orba felt impatient, but also firmly thought to himself, I can’t rush things.

What lay at stake was Mephius’ future, in other words, the hope he had at long last attained, the position of Prince Gil.

—The princess’ life, huh

He twisted his body around and stepped one foot out as he slashed the sword diagonally downwards.

Part 3

The following day.

Through a small window chiselled into a stone wall, Orba watched the progress of the gladiator games. He was in the waiting room for gladiators. As he held the status of a slave in this situation, he was placed in the same anteroom as the other sword slaves, but his being an Imperial Guard placed him in a narrow, but specially prepared room. Of course, his feet were also free of chains.

Just as when he had previously come here with Ineli and the others, a great number of games were simultaneously taking place. And yet to be seen amongst them was Orba’s match, whose turn was soon to follow suit.

“Over here please.”

A stadium slave girl entered the room and lay down his equipment. He recognized this girl. She was the girl who carried tea over to them when he came here with Ineli and company. Her refreshingly orderly features had left an impression on him.

She assisted Orba in putting on the leather armour. He inserted the sword as one would in the olden days into a round shield, and wore clothing and sandals that also seemed well past the times.

“These are some pretty old equipment.”

“They bear the symbol of Clovis’ era. There’s likely none who actually know if the gladiators of ancient times had taken part in this appearance. But it’s a matter of setting up the mood.”

He found something humourous in the way she shrugged her shoulders. Somewhat intrigued, he asked for her name, and Orba received ‘Mira’ as her reply. And in doing so, she fidgeted around, as if there was something she wanted to say.

“You are a person belonging to the prince’s Imperial Guard, correct? It is rude for someone like me to request for you to pass on a message, but if you were to happen to have the chance, could you extend my gratitude towards the prince?”

“Gratitude?”

“For offering his aid to Pashir-sama.”

With her face slightly flushed, Mira exited the room.

Oh?

Pashir seemed to be hard-headed and the type that was uncanningly popular amongst women.

Once he was alone Orba, just as he had done in the past before a match, leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.

So I’m here again.

So I’m here ‘again’.

Though he planned to keep a hold on his thoughts, his emotions had wormed their way out and left Orba listless. Early morning, Ineli and the rest had, before Prince Gil, invited him to observe the festival with them. It was to watch none other than the gladiator games, but of course, Orba turned them down, claiming he felt heavy-headed.

Ineli did say she saw me at Ba Roux—

That would be the time the Sozos turned violent. He was surprised to find the prince himself had also come. This meant he was still alive at that time.

Could the prince have possibly been killed by Fedom? Did he plan to make me a body double from the start and has been waiting for this chance all along?

His thoughts were in pieces, and he couldn’t concentrate the least bit. Then, Pashir’s name was called out repeatedly.

Orba snuck a glimpse and saw Pashir was in the middle of a one-on-one fight. He fought in a well-controlled manner, just like the last time Orba had seen him. He triumphed through three matches unscathed. And before he had any time to admire it, Orba’s turn was up.

His name was called by the guard and he exited the room. The other slaves were crammed into a series of antechambers. All their eyes followed Orba. From the front, from the sides, from all the way around the back, gazes pierced him from all directions.

As he continued to walk down the passage, Pashir exited the stage and made his way here from the other end. With deep black coloured hair and moustache, his height was slightly taller than Orba, though he possessed a massive frame. Seeing it again, it could be considered the ideal proportionate body.

His breathing heaved and his eyes were bloodshot immediately following the battle. He crossed paths with Orba.

“...Damned dog.”

Pashir spat out at a moment’s notice. Orba turned around and saw the back of the bulky man. A branded bruise mark could be seen; the mark of an X with a line straight down the centre. Orba’s back, likewise, bore that same mark. The mark of a slave.

“You damned Mephian dog. You better not lose until you face me. I’ll break you into pieces with these hands.”

Pashir spoke without turning back. Orba saw that mark burn up with his will and passion as it faded into the distance.

So that’s how it is.

Pashir was a slave. Granted, he had his own circumstances that led him to become one, but judging from the way he spoke, he hated Mephius. And aside from the Mephians, he hated the one praised as a hero, the one who had become an Imperial Guard.

Though it was an absurd argument, right now it served as Orba’s shackles. It would be difficult to gain Pashir’s trust like this. And that he had gone out of his way to cross paths with Orba sparked a certain conviction within him.

If it’s like ‘this’, there’s a number of ways I go about this.

Just before he came out the arched entranceway, a bright light flashed at him and with each step he took, the light filled up the large ring, until the ring in its entirety was painted white.

“It’s Orba!”

“It’s the Iron Tiger!”

Cheers roared down on him like a tidal wave, overwhelming Orba from every angle.

Even those in the first row were situated so far and high away from Orba, that even his face seemed smaller of a grain of rice, and unable to see him, they crammed the seats full in their zeal to get a better view.

Memories of the times when he stood straight out in the open as he worked himself into a sweat battling vividly came back to him. Each time his heart beat, his muscles pumped up, as if every nerve bundled into that single fibre.

“Imperial guard Orba, forward!”

Orba’s opponent was a man named Miguel Tes. He passed off as a hopeful up-and-coming gladiator, and according to Shique’s impression of his first match,

“He’s a smart gladiator that sticks to the basics.”

So it seemed.

“If you’re gonna do it, do it with resolve.”

Orba recalled how the day before, Gowen had repetitively nagged this to him.

He was first opposed to Orba participating in the tournament. “You haven’t wielded a sword for over a month. You should know that winning through a series of battles in the arena won’t be likely,”—Gowen reprimanded Orba with a sigh, well aware of his stubborn streak.

“Don’t make light of your opponent just because he’s your typical gladiator. Rather, it’s because they’re like this that makes them strongest in their final moments. No matter how strong you get, how great you become, never forget the basics. Every technique, every scheme, every eye-catching killer move out there is founded on the basics. And maintain your composure.”

Gowen had even intruded into the prince’s room and annoyed him to no end. “If you do this, you won’t die.”

I know that.

He walked towards the centre of the Solon arena and faced Miguel Tes. Blond hair and blue eyes, aged near twenty, he was a man with handsome features. His blue eyes looked straight at Orba and a faint smile could be eyed at the corners of his mouth. His current profile in the games was ten matches and ten wins.

“My best regards.”

Miguel greeted him without a hint of hesitation. Orba never once replied back to gladiators who greeted him in this way. He stayed silent this time as well.

“Ryucown should be the strongest of the Garberan knights right?” the young man bluntly pointed out, and then further continued speaking. “He’s also the man Mephius is most afraid of. Which would mean up against any Garberan knight, any Mephian soldier, you who defeated him would still be stronger. There’s no better match I could ask for.”

He smiled and revealed his white teeth. His composure seemed to indicate he had already experienced more than over fifty battles.

“If he beats that Miguel, his popularity will skyrocket even outside of Solon.”

Today, Ineli was also seated in the exclusive seating area for nobles. She enjoyed herself in the front row as a slave girl poured tea out for her.

“That’s a nice expression on him. He has brains, and I’m sure many women want to support him.”

“As if.”

Baton Cadmos, who sat next to her, said. The fat Troa stood at the stands completely engrossed in buying food.

“And? Is he Orba? I thought so, but isn’t he fairly thin? Or rather, isn’t he just a kid?” Baton arrogantly spat out.

His attitude towards Ineli was clearly different from when Gil was around. But Ineli didn’t really feel the need to nitpick at it.

“Isn’t he just a returning gladiator who’s full of himself? Well, I’d like to see how he lives through this. I’ve always been thinking it was impossible that no matter where he went and who he faced, he was always the stronger. There’s no way a single person can be that resourceful.”

“But, he killed a dragon before my very eyes.”

“That’s also suspicious. It’s a ploy to liven up the crowd, not to mention the dragon was also drugged...Ow!”

Ineli stepped on Baton’s feet with as hard as she could, causing him to jump up. Ineli glared at him the whole time.

“Really, I was attacked! It’d be different if I was in on it.”

She brushed him off with the swing of a hand, as if Baton was asking for it.

“Hmph. Well, why don’t I take a look at his skill then. The skills that Miguel showed yesterday were fairly good.”

She was aware that the crowd was already chanting Miguel’s name. Because he had caught the eyes of the people of Solon within this stage filled with gladiators, it proved his ability was the real deal.

Well, you’ll just have to see for yourself then.

Her plump lips formed a smile. The cheers calling out Orba’s name were also loud. But they only knew him in name. A sense of superiority welled up within her, knowing this hero had personally saved her.

On the other end, placed opposite the seating area for the Mephian nobles, was a seating area for guests where the Garberan messenger, Noue Salzantes, was present. He looked on in the midst of the heated enthusiasm, maintaining a refreshingly beautiful appearance that women would die for.

“Begin.”

The one-on-one fight between Orba and Miguel commenced. Miguel promptly tried to dive in. However, that was a feint, and he had only stamped out his forefoot. Orba quickly leapt backwards. Miguel shrugged at the overly excessive response and invited laughter from the spectators.

Only one person.

“See that?”

Ineli smirked, as if she knew everything. When Miguel tried to go forward, Orba retreated back. His back hunched, he continued to maintain a distance that allowed him to gauge his opponent’s move.

“He’s like a cat,” Baton laughed. Ineli ignored him.

Miguel dashed in in all seriousness. And Orba also leapt back, hoping to gain distance. But this time, Miguel did not stop his feet. He demonstrated excellent footwork that made it seem almost as if he were being drawn in to Orba, and pressed on.

Two, three times, blades flashed between the two. Orba seemed to have forced the blows back, but Miguel was steadily shortening their distance. Orba’s feet stopped. Miguel’s attack, disguised as a feint, had finally reached his mask.

The crowd gasped in amazement at how in that instant, Orba was within hand’s reach of Miguel. It was not that the sword had reached the mask so much as Orba stepping in, resulting in the tip of the sword thrusting itself against the mask into a forceful halt.

At a distance where even their hilts were side by side, the slightly startled Miguel hoped for a contest of brute strength. In this moment of hope, Orba once more leapt back. Miguel having exerted his strength, stumbled forward. Orba’s sword came sweeping down on him. The series of skilfully employed bodily manoeuvres left Ineli wide-eyed.

At the same time, the shrill clang of metal sounded off. In an immediate attempt to defend, Miguel’s sword was sent flying in the air. He fell, hands and knees on the ground. As Orba gripped his sword again in an attempt to put an end to the battle, Miguel slammed his fists onto the ground a second time. That was the signal for surrender.

“Oooh.” Gasps absent of despair and praise were let out from the vicinity.

Orba looked up at his surroundings.

In the arena, assuming a situation where the match was decided and the loser’s life was intact, the outcome of his life was left to the audience’s discretion. If the majority gave the thumbs-down in dissent, the loser’s life would mercilessly be brought to an end. Conversely, if the majority of crowd arose and waved their hands in chorus, he would for the present, be exempt from death.

There were many instances where popular gladiators as well as those swordsmen who displayed a brilliant match were allowed to live.

But even if that were the case, should the thrill of the moment be found to be particularly lacking, or the audience unsatisfied with the amount of carnage, they would desire a brutal ending.

By a stroke of good fortune, Miguel received a lot of support and was spared. Orba flung his sword away and left the side of the loser. Orba had displayed an overwhelming difference in ability, but the crowd was instead perplexed by the sudden conclusion.

“Did you see that? Did you, Baton, Troa? His overwhelming strength!”

The only one crying out in excitement was Ineli. “Yeah,” Baton replied, not particularly too happy about it. And Troa, who hadn’t the faintest idea of the rules of the arena simply nodded in agreement.

What Baton found most displeasing was how her eyes moistened and her cheeks dyed red. He suspected it did not result from bloodlust. And in fact, Ineli was unusually worked up. While watching Orba’s fight, the scene that unfolded in Ba Roux vividly came back to her.

At the time the Sozos approached her, she felt nothing but fear. The silhouette of the masked gladiator after saving her, as she slumped down onto the floor and looked up at him, was forever etched into her memory. She was a girl tired of everyday life and always in pursuit of thrills. Thinking back to that scene, her heart throbbed and a pleasurable feeling filled within.

However, while she supported the masked gladiator, she also hated him. He had not spared her a single glance and left her there when he saved her from the dragon. And to add further insult, he offered his hand to that foreign princess of all things, just when Ineli had only been one step away from striking her a blow that would humiliate her beyond redemption. She could not forgive him for that.

If you’re going to win, win with a bang. I want you recognized by everyone as a hero.

And when you die, die a dog’s death. Then I’ll tear that mask off your dead body.”

These two conflicting feelings clashed, stirring up a tempest of emotions, but Ineli could still feel her body trembling from the sway of a pleasant sensation.

“I wonder if he can’t somehow be invited to tonight’s party. It would be improper if I personally sent over a messenger. Baton, can’t you do something about it?”

Many gladiators were invited as guests to the nightly parties hosted in the palace and noble residential halls during the festival. And by inviting the highly popular gladiators, the nobles elevated their standing.

“Can’t you just ask the prince to do it?” Baton replied, not the least bit interested.

“He is the prince’s imperial guard after all.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m asking this because I can’t rely on my brother,” Ineli said with a pout.

Troa smiled with a kebab plastered against his face. “He’s feeling unwell again. He must have been scared stiff from the battlefield.”

“Ah, forget it. That’s right! Maybe I could ask Fedom. He’s the director of the Gladiator guild, right? I wonder if I could negotiate something with him about Orba.”

Even as they were talking, the next set of gladiators came out and proceeded to bet their lives on their sword.

After that, Orba fought two more matches. He was pit against a golden haired animal, supposedly transported over from the eastern lands, of which his name took after, a tiger, and then crossed swords against gladiators in a two for one.

Both ended in satisfying victory. This was different from when he placed himself in the foreign environment that was the palace. In a battle where he held a sword in hand, he had nothing to fear.

His unwavering display of ability did not fall short of the spectators’ expectations, but the way he went about the battles were somewhat plain and left the arena-loving citizens of Solon slightly on the unsatisfied side.

The day’s gladiator games finished before sunset. Orba did not return to the palace this night and requested the supervisor of the camp to sleep in the same room as the slaves. His stated reason was that returning there every time would be annoying.

Orba joined the slaves at the dining location. The barely clothed men sitting on the stone benches handed out the plates that the slave girls would fill with what small meals they had. While eating his meal bare-handed, Orba thought to himself how he hadn’t experienced this in a while, and found it strangely amusing how this environment evoked a feeling of nostalgia.

There was little to no talking. They were all people sent in by slave companies from various regions. Certainly, it would be strange to see them happily talking away when they would be forced to kill one another the following day, but the current atmosphere was somehow different. Like the previous day, they were all conscious of Orba. But no one called out to him. They only continued in silence.

Orba glimpsed at Pashir who was seated opposite him. He was once again looking in Orba’s direction. When their eyes met, he would immediately raise his empty cup into the air and Mira would rush over in a trot carrying a vase and pour water into the cup.

The man apparently supervising the slaves showed himself temporarily, but left without a word. Just as their meals were about to come to an end, Pashir suddenly spoke up.

“The likes of you coming here has had one good thing happen.”

Orba stared half gapingly, without a clue as to what Pashir was saying.

“The warden always drives us out, but he held himself back with the likes of you, an Imperial Guard being here. Thanks to that, we’ve had our fill of time to eat.”

Pashir gave a hearty laugh and everyone similarly chimed in.

A short while after they quieted down,

“Why have you come here? You are a hero of Mephius. Are you that confident in killing others?”

“I was ordered to come. What else could it be? Don’t speak as if I have the same tastes as a slave.”

Orba purposely denied their claims and stood up from his seat. He alone was the only one without chains fastened to his feet. Then just as he was about to leave,

“There’s no difference between you or us. Even if your feet aren’t wrapped in chains, if you were ordered to kill, then you’re the same as a slave. I’d say you’re just a beast in chains made to kill in public.”

“Shut up.”

After raising his voice, he walked off in large strides.

Shortly after leaving their midst, Orba’s feet stopped as he lost himself in thought. He harvested from the short exchange just now.

Pashir resents Mephius. He hates it.

This plan then, would not serve to benefit the Mephian nobles.

Did Oubary and Zaat propose this plan while keeping their names under wraps, or is this Noue’s scheme to retaliate against Mephius?”

Tomorrow, Orba was set to take part in a match on dragonback. It would be a match between two fighters saddled onto a medium-sized Baian.

Of course, Orba had’nt set foot here only to kill other slaves. He needed to make full use of what little time he had.