Rakuin no Monshou

Volume 6, 5: Ether Disturbance

Volume 6, Chapter 5: Ether Disturbance

Part 1

The time had finally come.

Resolve burst from Raswan's brow like sparks struck from a flint. His eyes were stretched open wide and as he marched roughly forward, his usual cold expression replaced by one so different that he seemed like another person.

It was in that state that Raswan, fully armed and with more than twenty soldiers following behind him, appeared before the castle gate. The soldiers too wore helmets and armour. Only one in that group was not carrying a weapon: a lone middle-aged man. His face was pale and he appeared to be considerably agitated.

“What is going on?”

It was no wonder that the soldiers standing guard looked astonished. Incidentally, the soldiers acting as guardsmen for Taúlia’s castle – which could more aptly be called a manor – were subordinates of Toún Bazgan, Raswan’s father.

Without stating his business, Raswan simply said, “I’m going in. Move.”

“I will go and fetch Lord Toún. Please wait a moment,” sensing a somewhat dangerous atmosphere, one of the guards headed away from the gate. The gleam of his sword aimed at that soldier’s back signalled the start of Raswan Bazgan’s uprising.

Blood spurted and screams broke out from the assembled court servants. Raswan expressionlessly stepped over the guard’s corpse. He and the soldiers entered the castle.

The guards there couldn’t hide how shaken they were at facing Toún’s son Raswan. Above all, the vigour with which he strode through the castle was no ordinary thing. He gave the impression that if you approached him he would cut you down. Perhaps because the soldiers were overwhelmed by this, Raswan proceeded unimpeded into the castle.

The guards in front of the massive doors to the audience chamber however held their spears crossways and barred his path.

“Stand back.”

“Stand down!”

They shouted in unison but here again Raswan didn’t waste his breath and resorted to force of arms. In the blink of an eye he cut down his fellow countrymen and soldiers, and wrenched open the imposing door to the throne room.

Within were Queen Jaina and Archduke Hirgo Tedos. They were in the middle of a meeting with the goodwill envoys had been sent from the various western countries. Having of course heard the commotion, they had all risen from their seats and had been on the verge of fleeing. Screams arose from the delegates at the sight of Raswan’s drawn and bloody blade, and even Jaina gasped.

At that point, fifty or so soldiers led by Toún Bazgan belatedly drew up behind Raswan. They glared at his soldiers who were blockading the still open door. Both sides unsheathed their swords simultaneously but Toún was so shaken and confused upon learning of his son’s actions that he was unable to give any orders.

“Raswan!” He called out loudly but Raswan neither answered his father nor even turned to look at him, merely fixing his gaze on the throne with eyes as piercing as a hawk’s.

“Have you gone mad, Raswan?” Archduke Hirgo shouted. He was the adoptive father of Bouwen Tedos, the commander of the Fifth Army Corps, and had served since the time of Ax’s father.

Raswan’s mouth twisted into a sneer.

“Mad? No, I have come to claim my rights as a legitimate descendant of the Bazgan line. Since that throne appears to be empty, won’t you give it to me?”

“What nonsense is this!” A tremor passed through Jaina’s cheeks. Her daughter Esmena greatly resembled her and she was usually a very gentle woman, but her expression now was markedly different from that usual. “This throne belongs to the father of the country, my husband Ax Bazgan. You should know that well!”

“The Bazgan throne is the throne of Zer Tauran. Isn’t that Ax’s favourite phrase?”

“What has that got to do with your behaviour?” Hirgo shouted over Raswan’s head to a point behind him. “Toún, seize this lunatic. For all that he is your son, this is nothing less than rebellion against Taúlia!”

The soldiers on both sides were as tense as a drawn bowstring, keeping watch for any sign of movement. But,

“Now, now. Hang on,” Raswan, the person responsible for this mayhem, spoke with startling nonchalance. “I’ve brought someone with me. Let’s first of all hear what he has to say.”

As he spoke, Raswan drew towards him the middle-aged man who was the only unarmed member of his group. He was a craftsman from the town. His face had been drained of all colour from the sudden bloodshed. His breathing was ragged and he seemed about to collapse at any moment.

But the words spoken by that nondescript man threw the hall into turmoil.

“Ridiculous,” Hirgo groaned but even his face had gone pale.

According to the man, roughly half a year earlier one of Governor-General Ax Bazgan’s subordinates had come to see him and had requested that he make a war fan. Moreover, he had asked that it be made to look the same as the one which usually hung from Ax’s waist. He had described the design of the handle in particularly minute detail. The handle of Ax’s favourite war fan encased the sovereign’s seal of the Magic Dynasty.

“You all remember it, don’t you?” As though to thoroughly observe the unrest caused by the man’s testimony, Raswan slowly swept his gaze around his surroundings. “Governor-General Ax Bazgan was captured at Apta during the campaign against Mephius. After that, Taúlia and Mephius suddenly made peace. Do you remember what was said at the time when the war fan disappeared for a while from his waist?”

“You, what are you trying to say?” Jaina asked, her face ashen. Raswan chuckled softly. “Are further words necessary? Governor-General Ax had the fan, and thus the sovereign’s seal of the Magic Dynasty, stolen from him by Gil Mephius. It was then used to threaten him into binding us in alliance with Mephius. As a member of the Bazgan House, no as a Zerdian, to have lost the sovereign’s seal is a dishonour. Yet Ax went further and in order to deceive those around him, he had this man make a substitute fan.”

The hall erupted into a furore. As Toún’s men looked at each other, Raswan alone listened coldly to his own words. The middle-aged man he had brought along was certainly a craftsman but he had in reality received no request from Ax to make a war fan. As Ax certainly understood that this was a situation which could influence the entire country, Raswan had not immediately been able to uncover any evidence. Ax had probably commissioned it abroad where he could conceal his identity. Or perhaps he had sealed the mouth of the craftsman who made the fan by having him killed in secret?

If he had a little more time, he would have investigated in more detail but he was in a hurry to press on. He had reluctantly and at great cost hired this man who was well-known within Taúlia. Naturally, since he would become a hindrance in the future, Raswan intended to kill him quickly and pretend that he had gotten caught up in the drama of the rebellion.

However that may be, the hall was pulsing with agitation. Raswan took the opportunity to raise his voice.

“That damn Ax no longer has the right to be the head of the Bazgan House. Don’t you agree? I will take back the war fan with my own hands. Don’t we need a new ruler who will push anew for the revival of Zer Tauran?”

“D-Don’t be absurd,” sensing that the mood within the hall was turning, Hirgo also spoke in a deliberately loud voice as he inched his way towards Raswan. “Enough of your speculations. We should verify all this when his lordship returns. Since you deliberately chose a time when he was away, your schemes are as clear as day. Pull back here, Raswan. No matter what the circumstances, your actions are inexcusable.”

“You still don’t get it? If his lordship returns, then what? Do you think that Ax, who has had the sovereign’s seal snatched away from him and who has lost the right to be governor-general, will be able to overcome Garda? Now that the threat is closing in on the whole of the west, Taúlia needs a new leader.”

“I told you to pull back. Stand down now before it is too late.”

Even at the best of times, Raswan was an irascible man. When things didn’t go the way he wanted, creases would wrinkle his brow. He was filled with ample resolve and his nerves were stretched to breaking point for this grand, once-in-a-lifetime performance.

As the distance was short, Hirgo was unable to see it coming. At that moment, Raswan’s right arm swept upwards and brandished his sword, still dripping with blood, over his shoulder.

“Archduke!”

Jaina’s cry was too late. In one strike, Raswan’s blade tore through Archduke Hirgo Tedos from his right shoulder to his chest. Hirgo staggered, a bloody froth dribbled from his mouth then he collapsed backwards. For a moment, there was complete silence.

“S-Seize him!”

Now that it had come to this point, even Toún was forced to make a decision. He waved his right hand and gave his men the order to attack.

A bunch of spears gleamed within the hall. But the spearheads pointed towards Raswan amounted to no more than twenty. Of the remainder, twenty were turned against their comrades and ten were pointed at Toún himself who had just given that order. He had been about to draw his sword and personally charge forward but was stopped in his tracks.

“You bastards,” he muttered in blank surprise as he stared at his subordinates’ faces. He didn’t know of course. That his men who were supposed to come rushing in reinforcement were all being held back in front of the castle gate. More than fifty of the soldiers who followed Raswan were there with their weapons at the ready.

“These are Lord Toún’s orders,” they announced and allowed nobody to pass inside. To make matters worse, the one who was leading them was the vice-commander and Toún’s right-hand man. No one except Toún Bazgan had the authority to countermand his orders, and Toún was inside the castle. Thus the soldiers who came running from elsewhere were disposed of.

Raswan didn’t spare a single glance for his father who was faced with those spears. He looked down at Hirgo’s remains at his feet and, his eyes dark, he muttered:

“I’ll declare war on Mephius and definitely take back the sovereign’s seal with my own hands. And then, Zer Tauran will be restored.”

At that moment, Ax’s daughter Esmena Bazgan had only just returned to her chambers. She had come back from paying a get-well visit to Bouwen who had been moved to a room inside the palace.

Esmena was relieved that her childhood friend’s health seemed to be improving steadily. It was just that having lost so many of his men, he couldn’t help but feel depressed.

“I wonder if there is some way of cheering Bouwen up.”

“You should go and visit him every day, Princess. Lord Bouwen will feel better from that alone.”

“Is that right?”

“That it is.”

“You are all smiling very strangely.”

In fact, the ladies’ maid found it heart-warming and lovely how Esmena was busying herself over Bouwen. As for being in low spirits recently, it was the same for Esmena. While worrying about her childhood friend’s health, the princess’ body and mind were gradually recovering and that made the ladies’ maids happier than anything.

The sunlight was warm; it was just another peaceful day.

Moments later, the atmosphere inside the palace changed completely.

The soldiers guarding the inner quarters thought that they could hear violent footsteps running.

“It seems like there is some kind of disturbance inside the castle. Princess, please don’t set a foot outside of here.” Having said that, they ran off with the same energy that they had arrived with.

Esmena’s heart started pounding.

After that, the ladies’ maids went out in turn and brought back the information they had received from the guards. When Esmena heard that soldiers led by Raswan Bazgan were attempting to seize control in the audience chamber, she felt as though reality was crashing down. She did not have a particularly good impression of Raswan but she would naturally never have imagined that he would plot a rebellion.

It went on. News flew that even Archduke Hirgo Tedos had been cut down. It also seemed that the castle gates were being blockaded and that the other soldiers would not be able to rush in to help. Which meant that the castle’s military strength amounted to the thirty men who were guarding the inner quarters. They had held a discussion behind the locked doors and had apparently agreed that when the time came, they would go and cross swords with the soldiers who were holding the gates.

The ladies’ maids were also thrown into a furore. At the head maid’s instructions, they were piling up sofas and desks in front of the door to build a temporary barricade.

Lord Gil. Amidst the flurry of her surroundings, Esmena felt like she wanted to collapse on her bed. Now when her father was away on the battlefield, the only one she could rely on was but a memory.

“Lord Bouwen has left his room,” the lady’s maid who had volunteered to act as liaison with the outside informed them through a gap at the door. “The overseer for the pageboys wanted to stop him but he was carrying a sword and glaring so fiercely it sent him running.”

A sound caught in Esmena’s throat. Archduke Hirgo Tedos was Bouwen’s adoptive father. He must want revenge. Even though he was recovering, he had been badly injured in battle. Could Bouwen really stand up to Raswan alone?

Ah, as Esmena rubbed her shoulders, she felt as though everything she knew was crumbling away. Her father wasn’t here, Archduke Hirgo had been slain, even Bouwen was hurrying towards the jaws of death. Even though the sun had risen on what should have been a normal day like all the others. Thinking about how the world had changed completely in so short a time caused her to feel almost dizzy and Esmena unsteadily sat down on her bed.

Unconsciously she reached for a packet that was leaning beside the bed and hugged it close. Simply from that, she felt as though it were transmitting warmth to her.

This is the proof of Mephius' alliance with Taúlia.

She would never be able to forget that voice with which the parcel was handed over.

Originally, it had been a gift from Gil Mephius to her father, Ax Bazgan. However, having brought it back, Esmena did not immediately hand it over to her father nor did she check its no doubt valuable contents, but instead hung on to it for a while. That was unusual for the docile Esmena. She had wanted to bask in the lingering scent of her one encounter with Prince Gil at Apta and for that she was prepared to afterwards face her father’s wrath.

A few days later, she had finally been about to deliver it to him when news of Prince Gil’s death had struck her ears like the toll of a bell announcing the end of the world. Gil’s death and these events happening now all seemed like a bad dream.

A nightmare. Yes, a nightmare. I have been tormented for so long by a nightmare.

From the depths of darkness, the sorcerer who claimed to be Garda was calling Esmena’s name. From the other side of those piled up shadows, hands stretched out to grab her hair and shoulders. Esmena felt that these current events were all a continuation of the nightmare that had once afflicted her.

Lord Gil, please come quickly. Dispel the demons that have taken hold of Taúlia. Dispel my bad dreams. Please.

As Esmena shut her eyes and held the parcel tight, taking refuge in the warmth of her memories, an eerie laugh crossed her mind.

Startled, her eyes flew wide open. For a moment, it had sounded like Garda’s loud laughter which has terrified her so many times in her nightmares.

Isn't this supposed to be funny? That Prince Gil is alive?

But it was a laugh that had been uttered by the Mephian gladiator that she had invited to her chambers previously.

Gil is dead.

Begging your pardon, but what does the princess know about the crown prince? That kind of man should just be forgotten.

Esmena’s shoulders trembled. Now, the words of that insolent gladiator sounded to her like a rebuke from Gil himself.

She certainly knew nothing about Prince Gil. She didn’t have the right to cry and indulge in sentiment. But... But even so, she felt like she understood. Crown Prince Gil Mephius would certainly scold her if he could see her now.

How would she appear to him, this woman who was crying and frightened, who could only beg for help when the country was in danger?

Esmena Bazgan’s steel-grey eyes were clouded with tears, but determination flickered within them. And when she once more picked up the parcel, she understood its meaning for the first time.

Part 2

Blood spurted from the nape of his neck and Orba was on the verge of breaking his stance and falling backwards. The enemy continued to leap towards him..

His sword didn’t connect. It had only been a light thrust to keep it at bay but even so it should have struck the demon’s head, yet it passed right through.

“Guh!”

As he continued to retreat, Orba’s entire body went cold. When it came to battle, no matter what the situation was, his blood would be boiling, yet now it ran as cold as if it were freezing. The feel of the sword that he grasped in his hand. The weight of the steel that was transmitted to his arm. As a swordsman who had faith in his ability to tear down any kind of obstacle, it was impossible not to fall into despair when his sword utterly failed to prevail, and despair in the middle of battle led only to death.

Sorcery.

It was something that should no longer exist in the human world, something that perhaps transcended the human world. Orba’s movements had unwittingly lost their vitality. He was unable to do anything but simply continue to retreat until his back hit the wall of a house.

“Don’t mess with me!”

In that instant, Orba’s instinct for survival turned his fear into an anger whose embers’ burned bright. But his blood still ran cold. It was no more than the desperate counterattack of a heavily wounded beast.

The black demon flapped its wings and dived diagonally down, barring its claws downwards. Orba stepped forward to intercept it and was about to swing his sword in a side sweep.

At almost exactly the same moment, the dragon spewed thunder again and as the colour of flames burst into sight to his right, Orba closed his eyes out of reflex.

Damn it!

Let alone his blood, it felt for a second as though every one of his bodily fluids had frozen solid.

He halted his sideways swing and was going to pull the sword towards his chest for a single blow from beneath but for some reason his body wouldn’t move that way. His sword moved by an instinct that overcame reason and came into position in front of his face. And that sword parried a blow that came from directly opposite him.

“What!”

Staring wide-eyed, Orba noticed the figure of a demon swooping down from the side. But his awakened instinct told him to prepare for an attack from a different direction than the sight that was reflected in his eyes. Orba switched his body-weight to his heels, bent his knees and jumped two, three steps to the side.

He’s...

The real attack differed from that which was visible. Above all, the wind that now struck him from the front was one that carried a stench that Orba’s nose was familiar with – it was a wind created by a steel sword. To close his eyes for an instant and be able to grasp that correctly was thanks to his experience as a gladiator who had survived for six[1] years.

In that case – As he faced the demon that was leaping towards him, Orba pretended to stagger and lowered the tip of his sword. If the enemy was human, then it would attack the weak point that had been exposed. If his reading was off, it meant Orba’s death.

The demon swooped down from the side – that was what was visible but an unhurried bloodlust was blowing from right in front of Orba. It was something which had also radiated from the bodies and swords of the gladiators that Orba had fought one-on-one and was a sensation particular to a sword.

Orba dropped the tip of his blade downwards and put all his energy into bending his knees and sinking towards the surface of the ground. Above his head, a raging tempest swept down. At the same time, Orba’s sword leapt like lightning from the ground and plunged into something.

The demon should have been on the verge of leaping at him from the right. But at that moment, the demon’s figure vanished from sight and in its place appeared the black shadow of a person. Clad in black from head to toe was a swordsman with human limbs. The sword that Orba had thrust out was plunged deeply into its abdomen. Orba put all his strength into pulling it out.

“Guh!”

The swordsman gasped and fell forward. He was clearly dying. A cloth hung from his helmet so that his face couldn’t be seen, but there was no doubt that viscous, clotted blood was flowing from his abdomen and from the area around his mouth.

Breathing raggedly, Orba gazed at the blade that was smeared in blood and human fat then once more examined his surroundings. Black-winged demons were chasing after the figures of the people and soldiers who were running, trying to escape. It was a strange scene. But was that entire pack of demons black-clad swordsmen like the one he had just struck down?

Is that the real nature of sorcery?

Did it dazzle people’s eyes or trick their minds? Either way, it seemed certain that creatures such as these demons did not really exist. It looked like the aim was to plunge the soldiers who had entered Kadyne into chaos by having these soldiers who were cloaked in illusions commit repeated slaughter.

Orba considered exposing them one-by-one thanks to the sense that he had started to develop in the fight just now, but the number of enemies was unknown. If they realised that he had noticed their true shape, they would swarm around him alone.

That being the case – he couldn’t go around breezily doing the right thing by saving the people and friendly soldiers who were about to get killed. In the current situation where only Orba had seen through the enemy, Kadyne seemed headed towards annihilation.

A man entered his field of vision, screaming and helpless to do anything as a demon’s claws attacked him. At a distance he might be able to cross in time if he ran, a woman was lying in the street, shielding a child.

Orba closed his eyes.

But after that one brief instant, he resolutely opened his eyes wide and burned into his retinas the moment in which that man and that mother, whose names he didn’t even know, lost their lives. Teeth tightly clenched, Orba turned back to the building he had come out from a little earlier. He intended to get Stan and leave the place at once. He needed to check whether Shique and the others had already entered Kadyne, then, if possible, he could give them his orders and they might be able to overturn the situation.

Stan had already raised himself on the bed.

“Orba.”

He raised his eyes feebly. Orba was about to tell him not to move but, “Outside, there’s an incredible amount of ether swirling about. Even just from here, my head feels like it’s about to split.”

“Ether? You can sense it?”

“Like this, it’s the first time. This isn’t normal. ......But, Orba,” even though Stan’s eyelids were trembling, his eyes were filled with strong purpose as he stared at Orba. “No matter how huge it is, there is only one will controlling it. Take me with you. I might be able to tell where the enemy is.”

Orba’s thoughts spun quickly. He didn’t really understand half of what Stan was saying. But however much sorcery lay outside the boundaries of common sense, even though it seemed like something out of a nightmare, if it was something that was handled through human skill,

I can stop this massacre.

If it could lead to that simple conclusion, he would consider any number of ways to fight.

If it came to it, he was a man who made decisions quickly. By nature, Orba believed that speed was of the essence in a fight.

“Right,” Orba decided promptly. At any rate, they needed to hurry; while things stayed as they were, the damage would increase. Since Stan himself had decided to go, there was no point worrying about his health. Orba led him outside but then clicked his tongue. The horses were gone. They should have been tethered to a wooden post by the gate, but they had been frightened by the explosions and, violently tearing off the rope, had bolted.

Orba and Stan resolutely decided to run through the streets. While waiting for Stan, who tended to fall behind, Orba peered around the corner of the alleyways to check that there weren’t any demons – or rather, enemy swordsmen.

Engulfed in flames, screams still swept through Kadyne. The roads were filled with corpses that could no longer speak. Soldiers, women and children. Had it have been the work of demons, one could only tremble at the sight of such a scene. But now Orba knew. This wasn’t the doing of unfathomable monsters but was the result of living humans swinging their swords.

Hoh.

Looking up at the sky, his eyes widened slightly. The black dragon was flying in the air. But looking at it once more after having concluded that it couldn’t exist, he guessed that it must be some kind of air carrier. No doubt something that belonged to Garda. It would have been concealed in the outskirts of the town and once the sorcery was put into effect, it carried out an aerial bombing.

To burn to the ground from the sky a territory that should be under one’s own control. It was the same thing that Orba had done in Apta.

Stan showed the way as they went. It was unclear how he was sensing ether, but as they advanced further and further, his simple and unaffected face clearly revealed the pain he was in.

“They’re being sucked up,” now and then, he would groan as though in the grip of a feverish nightmare. “The ether and the hearts of the dead are being sucked up.”

Evading the enemy’s sight, grieving bitterly as they abandoned the hunted populace, the destination they eventually arrived at was the temple of the Dragon Gods faith that was near the castle buildings. I see, thought Orba as he ran. It was a fitting place for the enemy leader to be.

“Wait,” unsurprisingly, Stan’s utterly exhausted frame sank down beside the staircase leading to the temple.

Orba firmly grasped the hilt of his sword and rushed in. He expected that there might be a large number of Garda’s troops, but instead, the inside was deserted and there was no sign of life. As he went further in, the staircase sloped downwards and across from it a hall lined with columns came into view.

A single man was inside. The hooded figure wore long robes and in his hand he brandished a staff. Encrusted within it was a jewel sparkling with the seven colours of the rainbow which was emitting some kind of wave. Although it was invisible to the eye, and although he couldn’t sense it as well as Stan could, that was undoubtedly ether.

Killing his presence and stifling his breathing, Orba slowly and quietly stepped out from the shadow of the columns. Suddenly, without warning, the man turned around. Orba was prepared for that too and ran down the hall with his sword in one hand.

“Are you Garda?”

“Am I Garda?” The man who seemed like a sorcerer laughed in a hoarse voice that sounded as though his throat had been crushed. “In a sense, you poke at the true nature of things. Masked boy. But the likes of I am merely a passageway chosen by Lord Garda.”

“A passageway,” Orba parroted his words but in any case, he had no understanding of sorcery. “At any rate, if I kill you, it looks like this senseless bloodshed will end.”

“I congratulate you for having made it here. But that is all.”

As soon as he had finished speaking, the sorcerer took a leather bag that was tied at his waist and threw it towards Orba. As soon as it hit the ground, it gave off light and exploded. Orba had been about to cut him down but stepped back and instinctively shielded his face.

Thereupon, holding out his staff as though taking a stance with a sword, the sorcerer lunged at Orba. The distance between them was considerable. It shouldn’t have been able to reach him but it extended like a whip and coiled around Orba’s right arm.

“What!”

Just as he felt its cold touch on his skin, the staff effected a horrifying transformation. Before he realised what was happening, it had turned into a snake. Twisting its body that was speckled with black spots, it tried to sink its fangs into the nape of Orba’s neck. Orba frantically tried to bend his neck backwards out of reach but even as he was doing so, the snake coiled itself round repeatedly and slithered upwards. The part that corresponded to its tail stretched out an unnatural length, its tip clasped in the sorcerer’s hand.

“Kill him,” the sorcerer ordered, his voice filled with mocking scorn.

He was not talking to the snake he was using. A soldier clad entirely in black equipment stepped out from the other side of the shadows within the temple. It seemed that a single guard had been allotted to the sorcerer.

He held an axe in one hand and approached at a leisurely pace. As Orba’s right arm was blocked by the snake, he couldn’t use his sword to fight against him.

Breathing harshly while desperately turning his face away from the snake that was even now aiming for his neck, Orba tried to step back. But the sorcerer who was clutching the snake’s tail stood firm with unexpected strength and wouldn’t allow him to retreat.

The figure of the soldier approached to within striking distance. Behind the mask, Orba’s eyes glittered with impatience.

He seemed to try once more to retreat but instead staggered forward from the recoil and ended up in a posture that was all but presenting his neck to the enemy.

The enemy raised his axe and a wind signifying death rose before Orba to envelop him.

But this time, Orba hadn’t staggered but had stepped forward of his own accord. He had moved forward so as to create a range in which he could fall back and at the same time that the axe was about to strike, he retreated half a step backwards and lifted up his right arm.

Blood did not spill.

The head of the snake was struck off by the axe and it turned into the staff, whose two pieces were sent flying. At the same time, Orba smashed the soldier’s kneecap with his sword and as he sank to his knees groaning, he lost no time in swooping in to strike twice at his head.

Jumping over the soldier who was in his death throes, Orba advanced towards the sorcerer. Under the hood, his face showed an expression of astonishment. But he didn’t give up on victory and once again made as if to grope for something at his waist.

In that instant, Orba threw his sword with all his strength.

Struck unexpectedly, the sorcerer wasn’t able to dodge and could only yield as the steel tip penetrated his chest.

Part 3

“Raswan Bazgan!”

A shaking voice reverberated around the audience chamber. In the hall, movement stopped with swords and spears still interlocked and a new wind blew with that person’s entrance. Toún and Raswan Bazgan, father and son, turned towards the same direction. A scornful smile appeared on Raswan’s face. “Well, well.”

“Father!”

When the new arrival – Bouwen Tedos – saw Archduke Hirgo’s form lying in a pool of blood, his steps faltered for a moment. Bouwen was the son of one of the elite guards to the royal family but his father had died in battle when he was twelve years old. Recognising his quick wits, Archduke Hirgo has adopted him as a son shortly afterwards.

Having lost his second father, intense anger appeared in Bouwen’s face. He strode forward, forcefully pushing aside Toún’s subordinates. Normally he was a young man who loved flowers and birds, and now the figure of his manifested anger was so terrifying that Raswan's soldiers could not easily draw near him, even with his sword sheathed.

“It’s fine. Let him pass” as he spoke, Raswan unsheathed his own sword. “You have good reason to attack me. Like I have good reason for driving out my uncle and taking the throne. Once I become king, I will not be able to put my own affairs first. I’ll gladly take your heart.”

“You’ll have to rip it out, rebel.”

Bouwen’s face was suffused with blood but underneath it was still pale and he should have been resting in bed. In the battle at the Coldrin Hills, his shoulder had been smashed and he had taken bullets to the back. He had recovered considerably in the last month, but not to the point where he could wield a sword.

But Bouwen was unflinching as he stepped up to the centre of the hall to confront Raswan.

The two of them were often compared to one another. Not only were they close in age and of similar physique, they were alike in their knowledge of the martial arts and alike too in being quick-tempered, and time and time again, their names had come up as candidates for the succession. Although to be precise, that was the word on the street and Ax himself had never once alluded to it.

However, perhaps because that mood transmitted itself to them, it couldn’t be said that Bouwen and Raswan were habitually close. They never even spoke familiarly with each other.

If they fought head on, who would come out on top? Despite the current situation, their duel was attracting an interest that was much like curiosity.

The two of them slowly started to measure their distance. A number of eyes followed both their movements.

The first to move was Raswan. Propelling himself with his left foot, he jabbed at Bouwen’s throat. Bouwen repelled it, twisted left and hit back from the side.

After that, it turned into a battle of attack and defence that no one could take their eyes off. From across a fixed distance and while drawing a circle to the right, the two of them swung their swords as though they were mowing down large trees.

The people watching didn’t make a sound.

Their skill seemed roughly the same. But as their swords clashed five, six times – as was to be expected, Bouwen’s stance began to slip. It wasn’t only the soldiers who were watching but also Bouwen himself who felt that from there on he would only be able to push forward with brute force. For that reason, he lunged forward in a single, desperate blow. At the risk of getting injured, he closed the distance between them with reckless force. Right as Raswan performed a feint and was about to begin his next assault, he thrust at Raswan and miraculously slipped under his guard unharmed. Sword against sword, their guards locked together.

The force of the attack took Raswan by surprise. His footwork was thrown out of step. Bouwen applied his body weight and was about knock down the treacherous retainer.

“That’s as far as you go!”

The soldiers on Raswan’s side had been too caught up in the duel and had for a moment neglected to pay attention to themselves, allowing Toún Bazgan to make his move. But perhaps it was also because he didn’t want to see his son pierced by sword in front of his own eyes. Toún hurled himself at the nearby soldiers and cut across the hall, breaking into a run as he aimed at Raswan.

But it backfired. When he saw right in front of him the father of the man he was about to strike down, despite the murder of his own adoptive father, for an instant, Bouwen’s fervour weakened.

Taking advantage of that, Raswan swept at his opponent’s legs. As Bouwen pitched forward, the sword fell from his hand.

At the same moment, Raswan’s soldiers stopped Toún’s charge and pinioned his arms behind his back.

“It’s over,” Raswan smiled coldly. Bouwen was not moving from where he had fallen.

Having gotten to this point, the soldiers on both sides were suddenly seething murderously. It was looking more and more like Taúlia would be the scene of a fight in which blood would be washed for blood. At that moment,

“Please wait.”

Once more, someone had appeared in the hall.

Had it have been anyone else, they would not have been able to halt the surge of bloodlust within the room or caused everyone to look their way.

Had it not have been Ax Bazgan’s only daughter, Esmena Bazgan.

Everyone stared at her half dumbfounded. They understood that she must have come to the audience chamber through the passageway that led to the inner quarters. They understood it, but no one had expected that the usually gentle princess who wouldn’t so much as kill an insect would step alone and with her head held high into a hall where swords and spears glistened.

“Princess,” Toún’s subordinates called out.

“Please withdraw, Princess!” Raswan’s soldiers cried out as though entreating her. They had to drive Ax from the throne for having lost the sovereign’s seal and for having allied himself with Mephius, but even so, they felt neither hostility nor hatred towards his daughter. Rather, once Raswan was joined with Esmena in marriage, the inherited blood of the Bazgan House that once established Zer Tauran would run even thicker.

Trembling faintly, her wide-open eyes brimming with tears, Esmena ignored the soldiers on either side of her and looked straight at Raswan, as though their gazes were tied together with a string.

Who there could have known?

Back when Mephius and Garbera had concluded peace. At that time, Ryucown, a treacherous vassal who spoke out about his dissatisfaction, and his followers occupied Zaim Fortress. And Princess Vileena of Garbera had turned an inflexible gaze at Ryucown even as his soldiers pleaded with her.

Naturally he couldn’t know that this was a repeat of that situation and for a moment, Raswan’s face turned unpleasant. However, he immediately mended his expression.

“This is not a scene in which a princess should take the stage. This is a matter for a man who grieves for his country and who will stand to shoulder the responsibility of that country. Nor will your mother be harmed. Withdraw,” he ordered. Bouwen lay at his feet. Raswan’s sword was at his neck.

When she saw it, Esmena’s face turned even paler. She was a girl who had always kept away from quarrels and fights. Exposed to the bloodlust that had spread throughout the room, it would not have been surprising if she lost consciousness and collapsed.

“The one to withdraw will be you, Raswan Bazgan,” cried Esmena, lifting the corner of her eyes in an expression unlike her usual one.

“What are you saying?”

“Y-You are not qualified and dishonour the throne that legitimately belongs to the ruler, Ax Bazgan. Sheathe your sword immediately and leave.”

“What could you understand about government? Ax Bazgan has already lost the right to a legitimate claim over Zer Tauran. I did not take action because I coveted the throne. As proof of that, I would not immediately designate myself governor-general of Taúlia. I will personally take back the mark of being Zer Tauran’s king.”

“The mark?”

“Indeed, Princess.”

Raswan smiled, having regained his composure. He had certainly been startled when Esmena had appeared but after all, compared to the grimly resolved man in the prime of his youth that he was, she was just a young girl ignorant of the world. There was nothing she could do.

“Ax foolishly let himself be robbed of it by our old enemy, Mephius. Then without even regaining it, he bound himself into an alliance with them. If that isn’t a betrayal towards not only of Taúlians but also all Zerdians, then what is?”

Armed as he was, Raswan looked every inch the young warrior. His features were well-ordered, his physique was also good and above all, he had a vigour that burst from him and overwhelmed his surroundings. It was no wonder that the soldiers who had pledged their loyalty to Ax were shaken.

Now that Bouwen had fallen and that Toún was being prevented from moving, the only one confronting Raswan was a single princess. He smiled contemptuously.

“I do not like blood. You should understand, Princess, the anguish it caused me to rise to action despite that. Once Ax has been expulsed, I intend to gather the entire army and attack Mephius,” he fired that remark.

There is such a thing as momentum. When big changes are about to occur, those who ride that momentum as though riding a wind blowing hard from the bottom of a gorge manifest a power that would normally be unthinkable, and give off a supernatural charm, almost as though they had been chosen by the gods. Right then, Raswan was displaying that pattern.

“This is as it were a holy war for all Zerdians. With these two hands, I will without fail reclaim the sovereign’s seal of the ancient Magic Dynasty and...”

“The sovereign’s seal of the ancient Magic Dynasty,” Esmena spoke up, interrupting him. Raswan drew his eyebrows together unpleasantly.

“So talkative.”

“Raswan, that seal,” Esmena took out the cloth-covered parcel that she held to her side and unwrapped it with one hand. “Is this it?”

For a moment, Raswan felt dizzy from shock and voices rose in confusion from the soldiers who were watching the development from behind Esmena. In her hand, she unmistakably held the war fan shaped like a dragon’s head that Ax always carried with him. As though it were shining with a clear and colourless light, a great number of people narrowed their eyes as though dazzled by its radiance illuminating their faces.

Only Raswan, his expression transformed, pointed at it. “I-It’s a fake,” he decreed. “It can’t be here. Ax took a fake fan to the battlefield. There’s nothing strange about that being another one!”

Esmena wordlessly took the fan in her hand. The grip was a bit wider than was usual. The reason for that was demonstrated by Esmena herself. She removed the bottom part of the grip to reveal a rectangular crystal. Within it, something could be seen to be glittering. It was the sovereign’s seal of the ancient Magic Dynasty, said to have been made from a fragment of a claw of a Dragon God.

Everyone in the hall held their breath.

“Impossible,” one of the soldier’s from Raswan’s group groaned. The muscles of his face were quivering violently. “Lord Raswan, what is this? Wasn’t the sovereign’s seal stolen by Mephius?”

“Don’t be fooled!” Raswan screamed, clearly unable to maintain his usual state of mind. He thrust out his finger. “T-That’s also a fake. Esmena, hand it over. It’s said that nothing in this world can damage the Dragon God’s claw. I’ll destroy it with my own hands.”

No sooner had he spoken than he was about to approach Esmena. But at that crucial moment, she mustered all of her strength to glare at Raswan.

“The sovereign’s seal of the ancient Magic Dynasty which is in the custody of the Bazgan House to which I belong. It was you yourself who said that it is the mark of the ruler of Zer Tauran. You who called it a fake and who was going to destroy it with your sword, does that not make you the enemy of all Zerdians? Everyone! Seize this fool.”

Raswan was beyond listening and was about to grab hold of Esmena. But instead, his own shoulder was caught from behind. Bouwen had risen with the speed of a tempest.

“Let go!”

As he struggled, the sword fell from Raswan’s hand. Seizing the opportunity, the soldiers made their move. The weapons carried by Raswan’s soldiers all sprang into action and there too fighting broke out. The soldiers who had risen in rebellion had clearly lost their fervour. Judging Ax to be cowardly, they had followed Raswan but that was because they were proud of their history and lineage as Zerdians.

It could be said that their defeat was determined the moment that none other than Raswan has been about to trample that pride underfoot. Among them, there were some who let go of their spears of their own accord.

Unable to comprehend the entire situation, Esmena was swaying where she stood and was on the verge of collapse. Esmena had a delicate and sensitive personality, and her body and mind had already been pushed to their limit. Somebody was supporting the princess’ shoulders.

“Princess, it’s dangerous. This way.”

Esmena was already more than half unconscious. A soldier clad in the armour of Toún’s troops held her by the shoulder to help her from falling and Esmena unresistingly followed him out of the hall.

The fighting in Taúlia’s audience chamber did not last for long. More than half of Raswan’s soldiers had lost their fighting spirit and fell to their knees; the remainder lost their lives. Raswan himself was captured by Bouwen and soldiers who had come as reinforcement.

“The princess?” Once he judged that the situation had been settled, Bouwen looked up.

“A while ago I noticed one of the troops leading her out but...”

“Is that right,” answered Bouwen, his face somewhat pale as the wounds in his back had reopened. He was overwrought after just losing his adoptive father then having barely been able to protect someone important to him, and so was surely feeling relieved. Thus he couldn’t realise.

As the battle in the hall was about to come to an end, the soldier who was with Esmena did not lead her to the detached living quarters but to a castle courtyard. For some reason, he waved his arms a few times in a movement that looked like he was dancing and a black airship unexpectedly materialised. It didn’t look as though it had simply been camouflaged and hidden beforehand and there was probably no one in Taúlia who would be able to understand how it came to be there.

The soldier slowly removed his helmet. Although his face had been youthful when he had called out to Esmena, now it was that of an elderly man. His breaths sounded like a snake slithering through the desert as he carried the swooning Esmena to sit in the airship’s seat. Taking off with a sound like claws on metal, the craft rose into the dark blue sky at a speed beyond what anyone in Tauran would ever have seen and disappeared into the western skies.

Meanwhile, Moldorf was stationed in Eimen. The enemy was steadily approaching. Within a few days, the army led by Ax would be planting their flags in Eimen’s territory. If they broke through this city, Garda would be in danger. Even so, they received the same orders as ever and Garda himself had not left Zer Illias. They had stationed the troops and after that,

“Do not block the enemy’s advance on Eimen,” was the sorcerer’s only order and he brooked no answer.

That was their usual way of doing things but what was even more incomprehensible was the report that his younger brother Nilgif’s troops would leave Kadyne. Since an enemy detached force was said to be nearing the city, they should be departing soon.

“What are they planning?”

Even if he asked, the sorcerers would give no answer.

If they were going to concentrate their military forces in Eimen, shouldn’t they have done so from the start? Tilting his thick neck, Moldorf nevertheless did what he had done until then and focused on things he could actually do. Once the troops from Kadyne, which included his brother, joined them, they would have to reorganise their battle formation.

What a headache-inducing job this is, his lips twisted as he spread out a map of Eimen’s surroundings. How was he supposed to go and inspire his men and his companions to fight a battle that he himself had no enthusiasm for?

Moldorf felt that at times like this, he wanted a drink. But because so many soldiers had been allotted to Eimen, the rations distributed were decreasing day-by-day. There was no longer any alcohol to be had.

If this goes on and food runs out, the soldiers won’t keep their sanity.

Resigned to the situation with the hostages and with his native city, what would see him launch the beacon of insurrection was remarkably down-to-earth: Moldorf was irritated that there was no alcohol. Gulping it down every night as though to drown in it was the custom – or better said, as far as Moldorf was concerned, it was a completely natural desire dictated by instinct in almost the same way as eating a meal or sleeping.

Alcohol, huh?

Yet even Moldorf had once stayed away from drink.

From the window of square, stone-built building, Moldorf looked up at the cloudy sky.

In Tauran were powers were constantly vying for supremacy, there had always existed a relationship between the three countries of Lakekish, Fugrum and Kadyne. At the western edge of Tauran, Lakekish had a fortress to defend against raids by the nomadic tribes of the western desert. Therefore, whenever the situation in the desert looked dangerous, those three countries would often form a cooperative alliance. At those times, it was a long-standing tradition that each of the countries would, for a short period, leave a son or daughter of the nobility in the custody of the others as a pledge.

Three years ago, a young prince of Lakekish was sent to Kadyne. His name was Y?kin and he was seventeen years old. This was an exceptional case since those sent as pledges were often young children whose age was in the single digits. As in those days Kadyne’s princess Lima was fifteen, they were close in age. There was some thought of receiving him as a kinsman if the alliance were prolonged.

Going by appearances, Y?kin was a fine figure of a man but one didn’t feel from him the ambition of a Zerdian warrior. Already from that alone, Moldorf and those like him unilaterally decided that he was worthless as a man and on top of that, after arriving in Kadyne, Y?kin rarely left the living quarters that had been assigned to him. Even when the king himself planned to hold a banquet for his welcome, he turned it down on the grounds of poor physical health.

Does he see us as enemies? It truly felt as though he was treating Kadyne with contempt and among the military men, Moldorf included, the antipathy towards Y?kin grew stronger.

Sensing their mood, Lima Khadein chided Moldorf and the others.

“He is just shy. Why are you gentlemen immediately being so impatient?”

Even though she was a daughter of the royal family, she was a woman who noticed these small things between men. When the princess told them that, Moldorf and his companions couldn’t do anything other than take it into account but, after all, Princess Lima was still but a young girl. The question of whether there was something that interested Y?kin was of no concern to the Kadyne warriors.

And like that, two months had passed since Y?kin’s arrival. When the annual festival was to be held, this time, Lima organised it. Partly because she had always been attentive towards him, the prince from Lakekish seemed unable to refuse her invitation and had for the first time shown up to take his seat.

It was fine that he had put in an appearance but Y?kin was as lacking in liveliness as he ever was. Continually downing his drinks, Moldorf watched him in irritation until, less than two hours after the start of the banquet, Y?kin seemed about to excuse himself from the table. It looked to Moldorf like he was spitting on Princess Lima’s solicitude and, flying into a rage, and, before he even realised what he was doing, he had violently shoved Y?kin’s thin chest. The prince had fallen backwards, taking a number of tables with him, and was bleeding slightly from the head.

Using violence against royalty from another country should of course have been treated as a serious crime. The ones who saved him by speaking up for him to the king were Lima and Y?kin.

Speaking with him afterwards, he realised that Y?kin actually did have a frail constitution and that even when he was in Lakekish he had rarely been able to go out.

“Because of this body, I am treated like a parasite within my own country,” the smile he gave was certainly meek but it was also somehow dazzling. It was easy to guess why, despite there being a younger brother, the eldest son himself had been sent as hostage.

From beginning to end, Moldorf’s huge body was hunched in on itself and his head was lowered.

“Moldorf, please stop.” He had done the same before Princess Lima and because he had been excessively prostrating himself, she had burst into laughter. “If a hero such as yourself stays like that, the people around us will wonder what kind of a monster of a princess I am. My chances at getting married will be pushed back because of it.”

Her flower-like smile had seemed to melt into Moldorf’s breast.

From that day onwards, Moldorf decided not to touch alcohol again. He had intended to be firm in his resolve but, in the end, he didn’t even last half a year. The reason being that Nilgif would drink with great relish and ostentation right in front of him. Eventually, the brothers got into a fight over it.

Seized by a strange feeling of nostalgia, Moldorf was about to break into a smile when his expression suddenly turned serious again.

Princess Lima.

It was impossible for him to believe that the princess had betrayed the country. No, even if it were true, it was all because of the strange magic arts Garda had at his command. Apart from Lima, Kadyne’s royal family had been annihilated. On top of having a duty to protect her, Moldorf was indebted to the princess for having saved his life.

I will save you without fail. So Moldorf vowed to himself time and time again.

“Show true loyalty, Moldorf.”

When those words suddenly came to mind, Moldorf’s expression turned bitter. It was nothing more than bullshit from a brat who didn’t know the circumstances. And yet, why was it that it wouldn’t stop echoing deep inside his ears like this?

If she saw me now, would the princess scold me? Like she did that time, that thought welled up within him.

...And then, when the enemy was finally drawing near, the report came that the troops led by Nilgif had entered Eimen’s territory.

As he was preparing to go out and greet his little brother, Moldorf received fresh news. The information came from a scouting unit from Fugrum that had taken position in the mountains south of Eimen and that had been assigned to survey their surroundings. Moldorf thought it was suspicious how the messenger seemed hesitant to give the report, but he soon understood the reason why.

“With that, I have given my report,” he then left as though fleeing.

Moldorf stood there for a long time, completely still. He didn’t know how or what to think. A fierce rage that seemed to grill his body and a feeling of despair that made him just want to sit down and give everything up brushed against the surface of his heart.

At long last –

Moldorf abruptly raised his head.

I need to hurry.

His younger brother would receive the same report. In which case, he needed to hurry to him immediately. Because he was afraid that everything they had endured until that day would all be for nothing.

References and Translation Notes

1. ? [sic]