Editing Rakuin no Monshou:Volume1 Chapter2

==Chapter 2: Two Boys==

=== Part 1 ===

After that, having slipped into the Mephian territory of Birac, Orba repeatedly stole. He had no hesitation or any difficulties with it. Running around barefoot on the ground day after day, he headed over to another area just before the surrounding people and guardsmen memorized his face, doing the same thing over and over until he, once more, headed for his next location.

He started hanging out with boys of the same age who had the same circumstances. Together, they usually sold stuff they’d gathered from dump sites or stuff they’d stolen at the side of the road, sometimes snitching purses with a single wield of the knife, or threatening wealthy-looking merchants coming out of bars, plucking them of their money.

While spending his days like that, one time, something happened that caused several people to get seriously injured amongst the same-age group Orba was hanging out with. Apparently, they’d been challenged by boys from another group. The children were having a children’s turf war. And as always, it was accompanied by force.

Everything was taken from them. Everything – meaning, they already had such a minimal lifeline where they barely managed to live another day, but if they were cut off like this, basically all of their members would be left for dead.

“We’ll either die, or fight and die. But those who want to do more and win, follow me!”

Orba gave those children, who were about to become fainthearted, a pep talk. He didn’t want to have everything snatched away from him twice. Gathering up the remaining members of their small group, Orba retaliated against a group of opponents that was much bigger in number.

However, he didn’t attack them straight ahead. He thoroughly gathered intelligence on the rival group beforehand. So, when the timing was right and they had the least number of opponents in place, they carried out their attacks.

What Orba valued above all was information. He always had to have the latest information, understanding both friend or foe, singling out the enemy’s numbers, strength, movements, and other things like that.

''This is what separates adults and children.''

It was the only thing Orba thought. A child who knows nothing only gets robbed without even knowing who the enemy is. But if you distinguish friend and foe on your own, and if you know your enemies, you can become the adult on the robbing side.

When Orba was fourteen, he’d become the leading figure among the boys his age. At first, the group he was acquainted with numbered only about ten, but, increasing with each passing day, it finally expanded to more than a hundred members.

However, the black blood that boiled inside of Orba never cleared away. There were hundreds of verbal disputes as well, where he certainly was the kind of person to use physical strength and mostly settled things quickly with his fists. At the same time, though, rather than spending the nights with his friends, drinking alcohol, making a racket, getting in high spirits, and chattering, he was also the type to keep to his own, prop up his knees in a dim corner of the room, and be lost in thought.

Therefore, Orba, who liked to spend the night alone, made some spare time for reading. When immersed in the world of books, he was sometimes reminded of his older brother Roan, thought of Alice, or worried about his mother’s whereabouts.

For how long should he be conserving his strength? First of all, could he call upon that strength when fighting his ‘enemies’? And how many nights more would these thoughts circle around in his head? There was no end to the insecurities and self-questioning. Nonetheless, Orba still held that time of worry dear to him, because it allowed him to keep pushing forward.

It was about four years after coming to Birac.

That day was supposed to be just another ordinary day. Ordinary being extremely busy, counting the profits in the safe from the illegal gambling house he was running, before preparing his meet with influential gun-smuggling merchants in the alleys of Birac, training with sword and gun for about one hour, and revising his plan to attack a merchant ship with several of his best men, which was to be carried out within the week.

The plan at the end of the week was a large scale one. They intended to make a surprise attack on one of the air carriers – formally called dragonstone ships – that was fully loaded with gold bars and goods slated to be delivered to the district west of the city-state, by ambushing it in the ravine located twelve kilometres southwest of Birac. They had three single-seared airships prepared on their side. Several platoon leaders, including Orba, were already assigned with flying practice.

However, because it was such a large-scale operation, no matter how much the boys agreed on the method, there were big holes as well.

Several boys of the former rival group, envying Orba’s success, had slipped into their group as spies, and had leaked several details about their plan to the Birac garrison.

The second floor of the bar they used as a hideout in those days, was attacked by surprise, and Orba found himself surrounded by the city guards. He didn’t have any weapons at hand to fight back and all the escape routes were blocked. The moment he was struck by their ropes, having again become a person deprived of status, Orba bit his lips causing blood to trickle.

''Bastards.''

Still trying to resist as his face and body suffered at the guards’ fists, Orba again felt the swell of dark blood inside of him.

''Shit, shit, shit!''
''It’s not over. I’m still alive. Mephius or Garbera, I won’t be killed easily, not even by these people. I will live. Live by all means.''




He was put in prison for possession of a large amount of illegal weaponry, and obviously for planning to attack a merchant ship, and one crime after another, such as repeated gang robbery and illegal gambling, was further uncovered.

The time to carry out the investigation didn’t take a day. And Orba, who was once more tossed into a cramped cellar, got a hot iron pressed against his back. He was branded. A long, vertical line in the centre of an X mark, was the proof of being a slave.

He got a high fever from the pain, and that evening inside prison, when Orba was alone, writhing in agony, he experienced an even stranger fate.

“…Indeed, they’re alike.”

He was grabbed by the chin, and felt himself being lifted. Far from able to shake it off, he didn’t even have the energy to open his eyes and see the face of this person. Even without paying attention to any of his emotions, it was like his brains were on fire, simmering slowly. <!--unsure about first part-->

“From what I heard during the interrogation, his voice is also the same.”

“Even though they’re alike, it has its limits. Actually, he seems to be a different person depending on the angle. If he were a little more alike, he’d have some purpose. Well, what’s going to happen after this?”

“According to the place I selected, this man holds some interesting portent. With luck at your side, he’ll certainly be helpful to the master any time in the future, won’t he?”

“But a sword slave? If this kid’s life may not be there on the morrow, how can he be of help to me? If I had known about the verdict earlier, I would’ve considered dealing with it differently.”

“No. You certainly won’t know tomorrow’s fate if you invested in him, but this man should expect to become a huge talent. To put it in other words, nothing can be made of this man now. But after passing his days as a sword slave – naturally, if he doesn’t get his neck reaped on the first day, or possibly die from some other cruel twist of fate – I think that he’ll survive more than three years, no, two years, possibly.”

“Then, I suppose I’ll wait without expecting anything. At any rate, there’s certainly no way this lad can become a slave with his actual face.”

At that moment, Orba, being held down by the same people that had branded him earlier, suddenly felt an oppressive feeling on his face and, with just the trace of a heat like fire, Orba’s skin started burning. He squirmed around, screaming, wondering if maybe it all was a dream, not even being sure whether he was really still alive or not.




The next morning, his body still tormented by the pain and fatigue, Orba was dragged and taken out of the dungeons, and then tossed onto a cart where stark naked men were crowded together. The medium-sized Houban dragon, a dragon with a flat body and eight long legs, was fitted for pulling. Still within a light-headed state of mind, Orba went away from Birac being pulled by the dragon.

It was probably about two days later when the journey came to an end. They got a meal once a day, but because it was only one cup of water and some dried meat, the men, including Orba, were exhausted, doubled over, not even having the energy to start a conversation.

“This is another strange slave, huh?” a man with a tanned, muscular body said, white hair and a moustache covering his features as he peered into Orba’s face. “Gladiators that are already renowned often wear such masks or helmets to promote their personal appeal, but is he really a newcomer?”

The man grasped Orba’s face, and tried to pull it off. Reminded of the pain, as if his skin was getting torn, Orba immediately flung back at the arm.

“Bastard!” an armed swordsman said, about to beat Orba up, when the man used only the word “Stop!” and took control, grinning with his lips buried in his beard.

“Looks like this is no ordinary mask. According to your background, you’ve got an unyielding spirit. But most of the time, it’s merely only that of a stubborn lad, who’ll become nothing more than a tame dog after three days. I was appointed as a breeder, who’ll teach you to ‘sit’ and ‘wait’. I’ll teach you first-hand what’ll happen to you if you oppose me.”

With those words, the man raised a fist the size of a hammer and slammed it into his bare back. A painful grunt escaping his lips, Orba doubled over without a word.

“I am Gowen. I’d like to form a long-standing relationship. You’ll be made to kill each other after ten days at the earliest. Let’s hope it won’t come to that.” <!--it may also roughly mean that he has no expectations, but I don't know if he means them or the time for the match-->

After that, the sword slave training began, and Orba also noticed that he was wearing a mask that night. Looking at the mirror in astonishment, Orba, resenting the joke, frantically tried to tear it from his face, but it was stuck closely to his skin and he couldn’t take it off, as if it had become part of the skin itself.

After one hour of wrestling, out of breath and sweating all over on his body, he punched his own strange figure reflected in the mirror.

It cracked with a shattering sound and the iron mask became a warped reflection.

''How far must they go to scorn people? Giving me such a foolish mimicry, how much further must they make me fall?''

''I’m going to live and get out of here, by all means! I’m going to find the ones who made such a mockery of me and make them suffer through the same thing!''

As he pretended not to hear the sound of his own sobs, he crumbled down on the spot.




The next day, Gowen summoned Orba before him in the practice ring and suddenly threw the sword he had in hand at his feet.

“Try to strike me any way you want.”	

Orba looked at his opponent with a look that doubted his sanity. Even though Orba wasn’t thinking about trying to escape right now, at the moment Gowen was unarmed, and what’s more, considering the chains usually tied around his ankles, it was ‘only during practice’ that these chains were removed. 

Orba picked up the sword, bent his back as if building up his ‘reservoir’, and rushed forward within a single breath.

It was much like a surprise attack. He acted without mercy. He aimed for the throat. He was going for the kill.

However, his arm did not reach for half the amount he’d imagined, and on top of that, he was kicked hard and fell to his knees. Standing up, he made the same move once more. It brought the same result. The moment he struck, Gowen nimbly went to his side and suppressed him by the elbow.

“You seem to have a little experience. However, that experience only gets in the way right now. Forget it,” Gowen said, after he easily dodged Orba, who tried to attack him for a third time.

Orba wasn’t used to being told things so unsympathetically. His head was seething with anger as he turned and struck, but Orba had no luck no matter how much he tried to challenge Gowen. What irritated Orba the most was that his opponent didn’t seem to take it seriously. So he cursed Gowen, provoked him, recklessly charged at him saying he’d kill him, while in truth, despite keeping a watchful eye, he couldn’t find any openings in his opponent.

“Are you trying to kill me, Orba?”

Orba’s supposedly polished self-taught style could not be called brilliant.

“But, that’s too bad. You no longer have anything. No name, no status, no clothes, nothing to eat, and you just can’t do anything about it. Yes, even your life. Slaves don’t even have the freedom over their own lives or deaths. Even if you want to get it back, you can’t just repurchase it by offering more money than what you were sold for.”

This one-sided training where he was only getting knocked down was equal to a hellish self-punishment, however, as the day came to an end, an ever more excruciating pain was lying in wait for Orba.

It was the mask’s ‘curse’. At midnight, while he was lying down exhausted, it suddenly emitted a heat like flames that burnt as if they were melting Orba’s face, much in the same way as when the mask was placed on him the first time.

It was mostly in the evenings, through irregular intervals. Sometimes nothing would happen for three days straight, while at other times the heat was being emitted regularly for three days and three nights.

At those times, there was nothing Orba could do. He could only roll over the ground, drawing blood as his ankles scraped against the chains, and continue to hope that the pain would go away sooner, even if just for a second.

''I’m going mad.''
''I’m going mad, I’m going mad, I’m going mad.''

As he rolled over the floor, Orba harboured that fear time and time again, and even thought to become so might only be better. However, the power to hold onto it until the end, just before his consciousness was about to be taken away by a white, splashing wave, worked out at last. Gritting his teeth, bending his back as if the bones should break, Orba endured it just to endure. Many of his fingernails broke, as he tore at the ground, and tore at his mask. 

The other slaves, and the soldiers held responsible for monitoring the slaves of the Tarkas Gladiatorial Group, naturally felt revolted by his figure frothing in pain. Rumours soon spread whether it was a curse by true magic, causing Tarkas, who had bought Orba from the slave traders, to make a bitter face.

“Merchandise is merchandise. Like I care if it’s magic or a curse!? Just don’t ever let him die when he’s not earning his pay!”

Giving those orders, Tarkas was certainly a most undaunted man. Orba was generally ignored as long as he didn’t die a dog’s death.

''I won’t die.''

It was a long, long night. His flesh and bones scraped by pain and the temptation of madness, wishing to die every second, it felt like the night would never break, but eventually it came to an end. Unless Orba himself gave up his life into the darkness, dawn would always come. Exhausted, lying down with his body already having no drop of strength left, he could feel the morning light upon his mask. Unsteadily raising his hands and taking hold of the mask, he pushed strength into his fingers and made an oath.

''Unless someone stabs me in the heart, I will never let myself die.''

It was as Gowen said. ''My life is not mine. But it doesn’t automatically belong to Tarkas either.''

''My life, with all that was taken from me, is all that I have.''

His heart had been beating in order to live until he’d meet his mother, Alice, and possibly his brother Roan again, his muscles only brandishing a sword to reach those who raided them, with the purpose of building a mountain of corpses.

After that, Orba was totally absorbed into his training. The sword and Orba’s body soon became integrated as one. He was holding formless hatred, without knowing how to clear himself of it, and different from the time when he was just full of unease. The sword gave form to his hatred. His sword became a spear of hatred, that cut and tore through all doubts. Altogether put in another way, it became his desire to live.

“If you want to survive, learn the technique to kill an opponent, and at the same time, also to kill yourself. People who can’t solely kill themselves, are killed by others in the end. There’s no exception.”

Gowen said so clearly. And Orba followed those instructions.

He killed his emotions. He burned them vigorously, roaring like a flame, day and night, so that he could also thoroughly burn himself. However, at the same time, the fire couldn’t be extinguished either. 

Therefore, at midnight, although lying down quietly with possibly his face scorching under the mask, Orba continued burning his secret firewood – the anger and hatred in his chest – smouldering them into glowing embers.

Before long, he received his debut match. When Orba set foot in the arena, he was welcomed by a large crowd surrounding the place.

While the sky and earth were wrapped in loud voices, Orba fought a man that had picked up a sword like him, and killed him. He didn’t even remember whether his opponent was young, or if he was older than him. Only the moment he killed, and the moment even more cheers poured onto his sweating back, was what he remembered in great detail.

“Die!” Orba yelled as he looked up at the spectators. “Fuckin’ die !!”
<!--死にやがれ Basically, he says die with a verb suffix that indicates hatred; like he’s cursing. Can’t really translate it, so I put it like this.-->

Although the voice itself was drowned out by the cheers, Orba raised his bloody sword and continued spitting his profane language at all of them.

And, within one week’s time, he was to perform his second match. It was against a bearded man holding a zigzagged short-sword. It was something of a disgrace. There might have been jeers, or they might have progressed to the name of gods. Twice, thrice, he took a blow from a violent slashing attack. Each time, Orba changed his grip on the sword. He changed the placement of his feet. He was studying how to fight in the midst of battle.

He fended off a sword that was about to attack him from his side. And his opponent’s body was ''opened'' before his eyes.

Orba had swung his sword down right in front of him. The sword had cut into the middle of the face. Blood, bones, and brains were spilling from all sides. His hand growing numb, he hardly had any sense of touch. It was the third time he’d killed someone.




Orba became a gladiator and time went by for a little less than two years. In that time, there were countless battles. There were also many endless nights spent counting all of the stars that filled up the night sky.

However, after a year passed, the curse of the iron mask heating up gradually disappeared, and after another half year passed, the periodic maddening pains became unbelievably docile. Although, it was no ordinary mask, as he still wasn’t able to tear it off, not getting a dent whether he struck it with the pommel of his sword or with a hammer. On the contrary it only seemed to endanger his own life and he was simply forced to postpone his wish to take off the mask.

And — when five days passed after Orba stopped the reckless voracity of the large-sized Sozos dragon at the Ba Roux arena,

“I found out why Tarkas was so merry,” Gowen suddenly said at the breakfast table. “You know Mephius and Garbera have been making peace negotiations, right? It looks like they’re finally planning to put an end to the ten-year war.”

“Hmm,” Shique nodded. “So the crown prince of Mephius and the princess of Garbera are going to have a political marriage, huh?”

“Mephius has various etiquette concerning marriages of the imperial household. The marital vows have to be performed at Seirin Valley<ref>Valley of Holy Descent (聖臨の谷).</ref>, for example, and there are also gladiatorial fights in the repertoire to be hosted. It looks like we from Tarkas Gladiatorial Group are the only ones recruited.”

Kain whistled. For a little while now, he was making the repairs of a clock with dexterous hands at the table, as requested of him by Tarkas.

“Well, that means they’re going to make us kill each other in front of the imperial family.”

“We can pay our respects to the crown prince himself. Exciting, isn’t it, Orba?” Shique said, while Orba was as usual bent forward with his eyes on his book.

“It won’t change a thing. Not one. Just putting flowers on armour and sword,” he replied bluntly.

=== Part 2 ===

It was early after dawn when Gil Mephius returned. Leaving his horse at the stables and heading for the back gate, Gil soon recognized the figure of Simon Rodloom and got a sombre look on his face. And then, as expected, he ended up having to listen to his complaints.

“Young prince, I am not impressed. You’ve been tomfooling around like this every day and night.”

“Your hobby of ambushing people is awful too.”

He shrugged his shoulders and turned to look behind him, at the friends he’d been hanging around with. They were all children of nobility – seventeen, eighteen of them – around Gil’s age and just a collection of second or third sons with no claim to the family succession.

“I do not want to mimic a father impatiently waiting for his daughter’s return either. However, your highness is also in the offing for the wedding<!--is there a good term in English for this? Lit:. waiting to be wed.--> with the Garberan princess. Things like this will not do. Please show some understanding.”

“I know. Don’t glare like that. Exactly because the wedding is at hand, I want to enjoy the freedom of being single before it’s too late.”

“It’s just that I can’t cover up for you every single time.”

“That’s why I told you – I know!”

Gil was about to lose his temper as usual, but,

“If you truly know already, please prepare to dress yourself in due haste. His majesty is waiting at the palace gates.”

“Father is?”

Blood draining his face, the angry expression was replaced by the tint of dismay. Also, Simon did not fail to notice that the prince’s friends were laughing in secret.

“Well, see ya.”

“Prince, at the dawn of the wedding, let’s make some racket all night again.”

As expected, even though their outward behaviour was very friendly, they seemed distant. While all of them had renowned noble fathers, they hung around the prince nearly every day and night. In the canyon-rich country of Mephius they had street races with rare horses, invited young women from distinguished houses to entertain at the river, gambled, imitated hunts, and drank alcohol, and had meaningless wild parties.

''But that’s only their responsibility'', Simon thought.

The nation and its soldiers were tired of the long-standing war. However, although there had finally come an end to the battles with Garbera with the political marriage folding the curtain, it wasn’t what everyone had been hoping for. To make matters worse, during the peace negotiations, the southern territory of Apta that had played a central part, had been divided with Mephius getting the short end of the bargain.

Sandwiched between the two countries of Mephius and Garbera, was the Duchy of Ende. It didn’t have a very large territory, but the country had a long history whose lineage could be traced back to the beginning of the magic dynasty, and also had tight connections with the gulf countries across the sea. Furthermore, because the powerful eastern nation, Arion, had a longstanding relationship due to their similar lineage, they weren’t an opponent to make light of if they decided to compete for supremacy of the continent’s centre.

Ende hadn’t intervened in the ten-year war, but, although it continued to keep a small trading relationship with both countries, albeit separately, it had shown signs of forming a military alliance with Garbera. 

As soon as the Emperor of Mephius received the information, he easily took back the vow he pledged three years ago before the divinity at the Dragon Gods temple, ‘Until the neck of the Garberan king is presented before me, I will never sheathe my sword,’ and suggested to make peace with Garbera.

Of course, Garbera wasn’t so sure of his change of heart. But they also had some conflicts amongst themselves. If they were amply allied with Ende, it might be enough to attack Mephius anyway. However, the war had brought much damage and ruin to Garbera. Moreover, if they would increase military activities together with Ende, they also raised the concern that Ende might do with their territory however they pleased.

For Garbera, who had the same dilemma with Mephius standing at their side, the territory of Apta was brought in. In the end, as a result of weighing the different options, Garbera complied with Mephius’s request for an alliance.

''His imperial majesty, too, must have considered it a bitter decision.''

In and out of the country, Guhl Mephius was whispered of as the ‘Dragonheart Emperor’. Partly as a literal symbol of fear, but also partly as nothing more than irony.

Around the time they entered their sixth year of war with Garbera – it was at the time when the aforementioned divination was done – Guhl had arbitrarily strengthened the imperial household’s influence in order to prevent confusion in the chain of command. The council, which consisted of the major aristocrats, lost half of their authority, and now it existed almost in name only.

Simon Rodloom, too, was a said member. The Rodloom House currently had no successor though, because twelve years ago, in exchange for becoming the council president, the western fortress city that made up the heart of their territory was handed over to another noble. Hence, as he currently had no territory to govern and no soldiers to command, he was a noble from a distinguished family in name only.

His situation virtually resembled that of other nobles. Aside from those who had kept their influence by being servile to the emperor for many generations, for those who were willing to hope for just a little progress in the country, the current Mephius was only a stifling place.

Simon thought he was much like the ones who’d hung around the prince earlier, having enough room for sympathy among the noble’s second sons, as they neither had a promised position nor a future to look forward to. If the war came to an end, and those who’d made a name of themselves on the battlefield were given titles, they couldn't have them acquire part of their extended territory. 

Of course it was the world of belligerent countries. Although war itself might not necessarily disappear after this, with Mephius currently wrapped in a feeling of war-weariness, an opportunity would probably only arrive after five, ten, or even twenty years.

The irony of the nickname ‘Dragonheart Emperor’ lay in the fact that, even though he was thought of as an authoritative dictator in his homeland, recently, he hadn’t been able to demonstrate his influence on foreign territories.

''Although it probably fits as a symbol for the current state of Mephius,''

Simon thought, not hesitating on having such opinions and showing a slight self-mockery while waiting for the crown prince to finish his preparations. Simon, who had retired from his position of council president, was now more like the prince’s nursemaid.

As Gil hurriedly jumped out of his room with a change of clothing and hairstyle, he ordered Gil to walk beside him.

“You’re so bossy all the time, Simon. Like a nagging courtesan.”

“There’s no need to get angry. Or you’ll hear that tone every day when you get married.”

“Why shouldn’t I get angry? I won’t be doing as told by a wife three years younger than me.”

“Although Princess Vileena of Garbera is young, she’s someone who has gone through a lot. She’s also resolved to brace herself for a confrontation with the prince.”

“What’s that, talking as if it’s some battle?”

“Married life ''is'' a battle. The vague line between winner and loser only gets thinner. It’s also important to know information on the opponent beforehand. So, are you willing to listen to me talk now?”

Although Gil only meant to make a joke, it had stirred up a hornet’s nest, and Simon, not at all caring about Gil’s scowl either, started talking about tales of Princess Vileena.

It was about five years ago, when Garbera was in the midst of a rebellion. It was the work of local lords secretly in touch with Mephius. They first attacked the villa where the king’s predecessor lived, and then took it over.  Princess Vileena, who had come over to play, also happened to be there and they kept her hostage along with her grandfather, the previous king. However, the princess, who was only nine years old at the time, did not shy from their rebel opponents at all, and seemed to have stood against them admirably, seeking the release of all hostages other than her.

Also, compared to other foreign countries, Garbera still vigorously mined dragonbone fossils, purifying the raw materials into the weightless metal known as dragonstone, which had become a big source of income. And, Princess Vileena was known to be an expert at flying the suddenly famous Garberan-style single-seated airships made of the very same metal.

“Certainly, she decorated the airship race that’s performed in Garbera once every few years, by becoming a splendid runner-up.”

“Do women ride airships?” Gil said, with a weary look. “Geez, she’s passed fourteen, but she still seems like a child. In Mephius, you don’t even think of women flying in the sky with such vehicles. I can’t even try to imagine my wife at the palace garden, capering in the sky with an airship. People would point their finger and make a laughingstock out of me. Why would the first prince born in historic Mephius give his bride a freedom like that? I’d rather look for a natural beauty anywhere in the city! Simon, isn’t it possible to cancel the marriage in some way, even now?”

He gave a nonchalant sigh, but it was Simon who wanted to sigh even louder. Should the royal prince come to graciously inherit the imperial dynasty, he’d half-heartedly give priority to his personal preferences over the nation and its people.

''The prince isn’t even a bad person. But what he said will only cause severe intrigue and mayhem'', Simon thought inside. ''And his father is a hero. Although he’s lost part of the southern territories, he also had the ability to make peace with Garbera within almost five minutes, outwitting Ende.''

''On the other hand, he isn’t a good father.''

“Father, have you called for me?”

The two had made their way over to the emperor’s private room. It was still early in the hours and the hall of the imperial court was not yet open. However, the impatient Emperor Guhl, sitting at breakfast, had already decided to let many men seek audience one after another and listen to their words.

Then, before the many nobles – the people who would later become Gil’s retainers – the father openly railed at his son.

“How much time has passed since I summoned you!? You still don’t have any territory, not a single soldier depending on you. You don’t even have a single job assigned to you, and yet you make off like that where my eyes can’t reach? But you were probably just occupied with your worthless nightlife, anyway.”

“No, father, I…”

“So, the only son that I’ve born is a useless sloth like you. It’s the most pathetic truth that our dynasty’s long history will meet disaster.”

Simon gazed at the prince’s shivering back. Over his shoulder, he also had a view of the raving emperor’s figure. Deep wrinkles formed on his face as the extent of his temper grew wilder.

“It seems like Princess Vileena is quite a courageous princess. I heard she can handle a gun and airships better than any ordinary man. You’re not evenly matched. Probably the only manly achievement you’ve got is that you’re about to marry her. Have you got the honour of killing a dragon, capture any survivors of the Ryuujin Tribe, or maybe even discovered an ancient spaceship buried in the ruins? Oh, those are feats worthy of a main character in a saga!”

The emperor pleasantly struck the table, buying the laughter of the retainers lined up around him. When several people followed suit, he added with satisfaction,

“You should be careful, or before you know it, you’ll be the one wearing a dress and carried up into the bed.”

''What a despicable sight.''

Of course, Simon did not mutter those words out loud.

Among those at table was Ineli, the eldest child of the emperor’s second wife, Melissa. In front of the girl with fair skin and highly donned hair, Simon had seen that Gil became a much more easily swayed man. Although he had apparently been invited by Princess Ineli to watch the gladiators just yesterday, she also turned down her face and suppressed her laughter.

In the end, Gil hardly uttered a single word either.

“I think I also find it a bit despicable.”

As soon as the emperor made his leave, Fedom Aulin spoke to Simon.

Although he was much younger than Simon, with his body covered in fat, he was also much bigger. He was the noble in charge of Birac Fortress and its surrounding area. He was also one of the sole leading members who proceeded over the peace negotiations, and was much more promising than other lords with their deathly gazes. Simon kept an eye on him.

Although, in truth, that hardly meant he was a great man.

“You can’t assume the prince can carry this country on such unreliable shoulders. Sure enough, compared to those who were fated to be born on the streets, you could call him lucky.”

Solemnly shaking his head, he lowered his voice to a whisper,

“The resistance against the imperial household is growing stronger. Emperor Guhl still gathers much respect and fear because of his successes, but when it comes to Prince Gil… The way things stand, those who consider him no good may not necessarily have to come out either. No, no, however, bearing the country’s future in mind, can we really just condemn them as traitors?”

It was obvious that with ‘them’ he meant himself. He was quite blatantly riling Simon up, trying to gauge whether or not he could become a potential ally, for there could possibly be an even greater amount of dead than there would be war casualties if Mephius lost the ten-year war against Garbera.

“The prince is young,” Simon said, not showing the slightest change in expression. “Anything can still happen after this. Even when His Majesty was young, there wasn’t any indication of him becoming the Dragonheart. We have to support the young prince and build the future of our nation together.”

“Haha! That’s so like you, Lord Simon. Your eyes are turned towards the future.”

Fedom stroked his strongly slackened jaw. Simon unintentionally spilled a smile.

''Well, I wonder if this man was able to understand my current honour student-like words.''

Simon was certainly worried about the current state of Mephius, as it was currently impossible for the prince to do good.

However, despite such fears, everything might start to topple into an unexpected direction very soon. And Simon would not separate himself from the person concerned. Having experienced the destined changes of Prince Gil Mephius up close, it was still much better than Fedom Aulin’s methods.

=== Part 3 ===

What was called the Mephius Empire, boasting their power as an ‘imperial dynasty’, dated back to seven generations before the current emperor, Guhl Mephius.

The Domick Flats that cut diagonally through the mountains was currently all of its territory. The famous Black Tower, known as the ‘Sword forged from the remains of the Space Immigrant Ship’s bow’, stood at its centre with the imperial capital Solon surrounding it in a circle. Among the natural stronghold formed by intricate valleys, many small forts were built that couldn’t even be called castles, which in turn protected several major cities and the large and small villages dotting the area. The forts, including the city and villages surrounding it, each had a district official, while the nobles in turn usurped and commanded several of its regions.

It was evening.

Gil Mephius was making his favourite horse run at reckless speed.

To the west, the Domick Flats were glittering and shining bright red, while, to the east, the mountains and rows of cliffs towered over like a pitch-black wall, enveloping it in darkness. If he’d look up at the slope rising to his west, he would see the rocky mountains where the Mephius Family built their castle three generations ago. It took the strength of dragons and humans, and it was said they even borrowed the power of several magicians who were rare in Mephius, to carefully carve the limestone mansion. Although it had first been used as a council hall after the new castle was built, now, it was only so in name.

But Gil didn’t spare those historical buildings a glance, as he cantered down towards the town streets, passing the statues of Mephius’s founding king and many heroes lined up in the natural corridor.

''Shit!''

No matter how much he tried to empty his head, his father’s face, the ridiculing voices, and the figure of Ineli’s downcast shoulders and shivering form kept coming back.

“About tomorrow’s plans?”

Although he had asked Ineli out again at noon, she rolled her alluring eyes in a charming gesture.

“Haven’t you just been scolded by father this morning? Although your boldness has indeed the quality of an emperor’s, shouldn’t you be a bit more prudent?”

[[Image:Rakuin no Monshou v01 097.jpg|thumb]]
Holding the hem of her skirt, she bowed before him. Her eyes, however, glancing his way with an upturned look, held signs of testing him out. And, as Gil was at a loss for words just like when he’d faced his father, she turned her back and left after saying, “Have a good day.”

While Gil ran his horse, he gritted his teeth.

''She was definitely provoking me.''

That sweet look in her upturned glance. Ineli had been implicitly making a mockery of Gil.

''— So, you’re still afraid of your father, huh?

''— A child that can do nothing but follow his father’s orders can’t keep me company.

''— Now, why don’t you hurry on back to your room and play by yourself?

Today he didn’t even get a little drunk. When the day fell, the black water lily powder he’d always mix with his alcohol, although it should have instantly made him forget about all annoying things as usual, just today, it seemed to have a bad effect on him. So he nearly doubled the amount he normally knocked back. Then suddenly, after getting severely drunk, Gil wanted to take a fast ride on his horse. He didn’t call for his friends. He was all by himself for today.

Gil had never received a single kind word from his father. He’d almost never seen him show a smile.

When he hadn’t yet become ten, Gil had tagged along on a wild dragon hunt. At the time, as a sort of ‘test of courage’, he’d placed his foot on the dragon’s neck, which had just been shot dead with a gun. Upon seeing his own son drawn as a painting, raising his chin with his arms crossed like a hero, Guhl said,

“Look, it’s a dragon-slaying hero! My son will rise up to the heavens devouring dragons.”

And he laughed, baring his white teeth.

Gil could not bring himself to stay irritated when he so cherished the memories of his childhood. On the other hand, he couldn’t help it that it was the only pleasant memory he had of his father.

''Father must really hate me,'' he thought.

It was obvious that he didn’t have the makings of a hero. How many times had his father sighed during his sword training? Publicly too, like earlier today. All the retainers supported his father. The only one that stuck up for him, his mother, had died five years ago.

And, before last year, his father took the widowed Melissa from a notable family as his second wife. He got two sisters she brought from her previous marriage. Because she had not yet fully finished mourning her late husband, there were many malicious whispers about her in the palace, and, also for other reasons, Gil did not like Melissa. She was, of course, not his mother. Like the older retainers standing at father’s side, in his father’s eyes, she was no person to look down upon.*<!--unsure-->

And at the time, her oldest daughter Ineli too… When he imagined looking down at her figure at the time, with looks that got more strangely sensual, Gil noticeably kicked the flanks of his horse in a fit of anger.

“Oh?”

Among the people who narrowly avoided being run down by his horse, was Fedom. He was just coming back from his mistress’s house. To his companions he asked,

“Wasn’t that the crown prince just now?” 

“Really?”

“At a time like this, without his friends?”

“It may very well be possible that it is our highness,” he said with a hardly amused hint of cynicism. “Alright. It doesn’t necessarily have to be so strange. Someone chase after him. If there’s any trouble, use my name and politely bring him back,” he ordered.




There was more than a common crowd of people in the middle of the streets. Slowing his horse’s pace with great frustration, Gil expressionlessly cut through the gaps between the boisterously laughing people. Of course, he didn’t have the appearance of being from royalty. Because the town people only knew their prince’s face from portraits sold as a courtesy at festivals, he should be able to come out without them even recognizing him.

Sure enough, even though no one called out to him, Gil was not able to ignore them as he let his horse walk through. For some reason, the sight of people getting merry and enjoying themselves got on his nerves. And, despite the light tones of the kithara<ref>An old Greek instrument, a bit like a lyre.</ref> and flute, it seemed that they were making a little fool out of him. Was the laughter rising everywhere simply them pointing fingers at him?

His heartbeat throbbed faster. The drug was finally having its effect and started dispersing Gil’s thoughts. As it were, the scenery before him, that he thought was softly disintegrating into a misshapen variety of viscous colours drawing him in, started to look like a row of little devils sneering at him.

''Stop…''

Every last one of them was laughing, pointing at him with twisted claws. 

Take a look – that’s Mephius’s crown prince. That man is like a child, forever frightened by his father. He can’t freely woo a single girl, that deplorable man.

He should just die already. A man whose rule is of no use to anyone in this country should just die right now.

''Stop!''

The series of disgusting colours squirmed and twisted all around him. The fear, which had likely been oppressed, further urged Gil’s disgust and terror. He truly regretted that he hadn’t brought a gun from the palace. Surely, if he filled all of these people with lead bullets, it would clear his head…

“Your Highness, Gil?”

Suddenly, there was someone holding his horse’s bit. That moment, it first looked like one of the figures embodying the devil, but when Gil, shuddering on horseback, stared very hard, he noticed it was a man whose face he’d seen several times before.

Considering he was carrying a sword at his side, and also wearing a handgun at his waist, he had to be someone of the imperial guard, who were allowed to wear arms at times of peace. But because he knew him only his in military uniform, he looked like an entirely different person wearing ceremonial clothes.

“Do you have some business in a place like this?” 

“No…”

The prince shook his head, pretending to be in a normal state of mind. The imperial guard was directly under the control of the emperor. That meant they stood at his father’s side, and they were not the kind of companions Gil wanted to be familiar with either way.

Although one could only become an officer class if he came from a good family, the ruler was permitted to freely appoint anyone regarding the soldiers forming his own division. Gil too, when he reached his fifteenth birthday two years ago, had received the authority to select soldiers directly under his own control, but that was merely a formality – in practice, he would one day directly inherit his father’s army division.

“It’s dangerous to be here on your own. Let me send a messenger to the court.”

“Leave it, don’t do something unnecessary. That aside, what’s all this commotion?” 

“Ahh.”

The member of the imperial guard, around his mid-forties, narrowed his eyes with embarrassment. He pointed at the centre of the street. On top of a horse-drawn carriage that had its canopy removed, stood a young man and women fully dressed up.

“Tonight’s my daughter’s wedding ceremony,” he laughed.

The girl was happily smiling with a face that resembled her father’s. Her pure white dress, although it couldn’t help being plain in comparison to those he’d seen at the imperial court, was strangely dazzling.

The daring, once-in-a-lifetime dress design revealed her cleavage, making her sensual body line stand out. 

“The prince should also take care of his body, being in the offing for marriage. I can call for a subordinate, and hurry on to the castle—”

Half of the imperial officer’s words didn’t even reach Gil’s ears.

The laughter, the sounds, and the people dancing in a circle, flickered darkly before him, just like a play of shadow puppets. The worthless smiles in the streets, the singing voices, and the dances increased the uneasiness within Gil.

Why were they all behaving in such a cheerful manner? Even he, the heir to the Mephian Imperial Throne, didn’t see such things at underfoot among his days. No, maybe it was that, just because they were commoners, they could spend their days without fear? They hadn’t chosen their lives. They received what they were given, and grieved for what was robbed of them. If he could also spend his days like that, how much comfort would it give?

It became all the more irritating. An all the more violent throbbing keenly put pressure on his brains. The thump, thump, thump, thumping made Gil’s body tremble. The shadow puppets were shaking along vertically.

At that time, Gil’s lips opened up in a semicircle. He was laughing.

What a foolish notion. That he, as the prince, should envy the happiness of such lowly humans. This would all become his territory one day. He just needed to remind them of that. He needed to teach them that, if such happiness was so easily given, it could also be snatched away in an instant.

“Right to the first night.”

“Eh?”

The officer of the imperial guard holding his horse’s bit once more raised his head. Although Gil was wiping drool from his mouth, the tone of his words was clear.

“I exercise the imperial family’s right to the first night.” 

“Prince!”

The officer’s shout made all of the surroundings faces face their way.

''Are you finally looking?''

As he got into the height of drunkenness, Gil laughed even more. If he’d had a mirror at hand right now, Gil would see that his own face resembled those demonic figures he was daydreaming about earlier.

''Do you finally notice I’m not part of you, not just one more life, not just one more human being?''

The males of the Mephian imperial family had the so-called right to the first night. It meant that, if there was a marriage between man and woman anywhere in the domain, almost without exception, he could take from the groom the right to spend the first night with the bride.

There was a time when it was believed the blood of a virgin was something filthy, and that going to bed with power-wielding royal family members or priests would cleanse that blood – although, with that said, it was essentially only a means to pluck high taxes, paid in order to avoid the right to the first night. The law was established about a little less than 200 years ago, in the midst of the successive battles with the Ryuujin Tribe that impoverished human civilization.

Nowadays, the right to the first night had become a dead letter. Just like the selection system of the imperial guard.

“Prepare some place, imperial officer. Are you listening to what I’m saying? If you go against the imperial family, not only you, but the bride too, will go to the guillotine.”

Surprise and confusion spread throughout the circle, creating a wave around Gil. The laughter subsided, the singing stopped, and the dancing broke up. The looks on the young pair atop the horse carriage got frozen still. 

On the contrary, Gil didn’t stop laughing. As far as he knew, the right to the first night had never been claimed before. Of course, neither had his father, Guhl Mephius.

Didn’t his father say he wouldn’t become such a man? Someone who would leave his name in history? Didn’t even Ineli try to taunt him? He’d show he’d surpass his father. From now on, they couldn’t say whatever.

In a world that had fallen silent around him, Gil was the only one who felt truly satisfied from the bottom of his heart.




Half an hour later, Gil kept the bride waiting on the second floor of a cheap tavern close by. The security of the barroom was entrusted to none other than the imperial officer from earlier. While grinning broadly on his own, he went up the stairs with a bottle of alcohol. The sound of creaking wood was strangely comfortable.

He threw open the door, and the figure on the bed moved with a shudder. It was dark. The only light came from a soot-covered lamp all the way over to the pillow. 

“Prince,” the woman, rubbing her hands together, tried to plead with him. “Please… please, let this slide. If it’s about the tax – I’ll pay! Please forgive me! I still… still haven’t entrusted my body to a man yet. Even my husband…”

“That’s why it’s called the right of the first night, isn’t it?” Gil said, sneering. “I’ll take care of all the tainted blood. After that, you can get intimate with your husband in peace, as much as you want.”

Throwing off his upper clothes, Gil sidled up to her on the bed. The bride let out a scream and backed away on the bed. He could see the flesh of her behind bulging through the thin clothing. Gil’s throat was rumbling.

At that time, there was a violent thumping on the door. Clicking his tongue and turning his head, Gil watched the imperial officer come into the room, and raised a stern look.

“It’s insensitive for the father to break in upon the bride’s wedding night. Although I heard there’s a custom where witnesses are invited to a royal wedding’s first night, that’s not the case for you. Fall back.” 

“Well, prince, will you please reconsider? This is a disgrace to Mephius’s imperial household!” 

“What are you saying? Someone like you hasn’t the position to scorn the imperial family. Openly disrespecting it like you just did is worthy of the death penalty!”

The imperial officer, Rone Jayce, watched the prince’s eyes up front. They were unfocused, and froth was leaking from his mouth. With a single glance, he saw they were the effects of the black water lily. As the prince fixed his sharp gaze, he continued blurting out incoherent words.

“I… I am of the Mephian imperial family… no… I’m that Guhl Mephius’s child. If you say the very country opposes me, fine, I’ll have you and your family packed into an inescapable coliseum! Suffer at a dragon’s fangs, until you settle all alone in its stomach for all I care! Leave, if you don’t like that. What!? That’s still not enough? We can just resume the marriage after this. I’ll even make sure to also put on one of those celebratory outfits.”

Gil turned his white back his way.

''Ah…''

In that defenceless state, Rone was dizzied, struck by a severe indecisiveness. 

Layla was his only daughter. Doing hard work as an officer of the imperial guard, he was never quite confident if he was a good father or not.

It was more than ten years ago, at the time of Rone’s birthday. He returned home, arriving near midnight. Although, in the end, he had even forgotten that the day was his birthday, Layla had been lying asleep with her face on the table. While his wife had placed a blanket on her shoulders, she said,

“She tried her best to stay awake, you know.”

His daughter was holding a white wreath of flowers, one she probably made herself, tightly in her hand.

As he’d softly placed her small hand in his own, he vowed he would do anything in exchange for his daughter’s happiness. Even if it took his own life.

When he came to, Rone was about to jump on Gil. He nearly tumbled to the floor, as he fell forward with the prince. The screams of his brain, saying ‘What are you doing!?’, was swirling along with the sound of everything falling apart.

But, Rone was not really thinking of that at all. The prince was obviously using a drug that made him act this way. If he lost consciousness here, by the time he awoke, he would possibly not remember a single thing. Even if not, he wouldn’t think much more of it than that had happened in a dream. Although it would be necessary to get a large crowd of people to cooperate with him, Rone would use any means necessary to ensure they did.

On the other side, Gil was currently in a state of frenzy. Having the belief he had to surpass his father or have his name be thoroughly defiled, he was about to raise his body, feeling signs of a wild beast. It was as if he wielded the power against his own father.

“Filth!”

As he struggled with this ‘father’, he noticed the handgun hanging at his opponent’s waist. He frantically tried to seize it. Rone noticed it too. At the end of the silent struggle, the handgun fell from both their hands. It fell with a solid sound on the floor. They both quickly extended their hands towards it.

Bang! – when a gunshot echoed throughout.




Following the news he received from his attendant, Fedom rushed to the front of the tavern with a restrained sword.

''The right to the first night, of all things!''

Looking at his side, there were several figures gathered up, assimilating with the darkness in a place where they did not stand out in the streets. All their eyes were glaring at him and Fedom got chills running down his spine. It reminded him of a dripping wet fuse. You’d leave it alone, since it wouldn’t make an explosion anyway, but if even one strong spark was incidentally thrown into the lot, it could quickly blow up anyway.

Clearing his throat, Fedom drew closer to the front of the bar room. Several people of the imperial guard were standing watch at the door. They had bewildered looks on their faces. Summoned by their superior officer, they hadn’t received an explanation on why they had to guard this bar either. Fedom raised his title as a council member and was led through.

Then – bang! – a gunshot rang that made his eardrums quiver.

Standing still for a moment, Fedom then quickly ran up the stairs. His attendant, being a great fighter, leading ahead, opened the door. They equally caught their breath. The smell of gunpowder reached their nose. There was a puddle of blood spreading on the cheap building floor.

''……''

Under those circumstances, a strange silence blew over them.

For a little while, Fedom wasn’t able to think of anything. He had no words, his mind seemingly refusing to accept what he saw for fact, and he only stared at it vacantly. However, bit by bit, reality started corroding his brain cells and a certain thought arose within Fedom Aulin’s mind. Even ''he'' thought it was a ridiculous idea. It was too much.

''No…''

Fedom swallowed a huge amount of saliva. Wasn’t this some heavenly revelation? Now, to break to the old empire’s shell and give it fresh blood? He could give real meaning to this country, suitable for its current turbulent times. Wasn’t this nothing more than a sign from the heavens, that no other than he could do this?

Despite the stench of blood in the cheap tavern, right now, Fedom’s eyes seemed as if they were wrapped by a golden light. While personally shuddering, experiencing excitement and fear, he realized that, if he wanted this, he had to hurry, and impatiently urged on.

At first, after commanding his subordinate to let no one enter this room, he approached the father and daughter who were embracing each other, shivering, on the bed.

“…I am prepared,” the imperial officer said. “But my daughter, and my family, is not to blame. I take all responsibility for this on myself. Please, have mercy on everyone else but me. I’ll do whatever you desire of me, immediately; be it the coliseum, you can make me face a dragon barehanded, offer my neck to the guillotine, or tie my four limbs to dragons and tear me apart.”

“Oh?”

Fedom’s cheeks were trembling. He was looking down for a quick glance at the man lying down with the bared back. He didn’t move a single inch. It looked like he was already no longer breathing.

“Do not fear,” Fedom said, albeit in a shaky voice. “He’s still breathing.”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t you hear me? He’s still breathing. Do not fear. The crown prince will be in good health.”

Rone Jayce remained quiet, still surprised. Fedom quickly resumed speaking.

“All right, if you still want to protect your family, I’ll ask you to not leak out a single word that I say, got it? If just one little thing about what happened here reaches my ears through someone else, you, your family, and all your blood relatives will be the first to enter a dragon’s stomach. Got it? In short, I’m telling you that ''isn’t'' the case right now. Understand?”

The imperial officer, Rone Jayce, suddenly glanced up. A spurt of blood on the chest, his daughter was clinging on to him. Over their heads, loomed Fedom’s face. Those eyes with undetermined focus were much like the ones Prince Gil had just a little while ago.

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===References and Translation Notes===
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