Rakuin no Monshou:Volume2 Chapter2

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Chapter 2: Days at the Imperial Capital

Part 1

Before the beginning of the founding festival, the people of Mephius, especially the inhabitants within the imperial capital of Solon, were enlivened. The ten year war with Garbera had ended, the number of peddlers and travellers from other countries would increase, and the circus troupe would also come from the east. The end of the war might have led to the beginning of varied opinions on the resist-to-the-bitter-end faction, but for the citizens, just looking forward to being able to partake in the festivities was more than enough to leave them delighted.

Solon would, in the following week, be dyed the color of the festival. For those that grew up in an environment enclosed within cliffs and valleys, those of various attires, different dispositions, the uncultured, and also the so-called ‘plain’ Mephians, this was the only time they could freely dress up, drink at the stands that completely filled up the halls and streets, and relish the usually sparse seafood in Mephius, as the orchestra, minstrels, troupes and attractions pleased their eyes and ears.

Mephius’ reputed gladiator games would, of course, be held for days in succession. The distinguished gladiatorial groups from each region would all be gathered in one place, where those who bragged of their strength would duke it out, in the imperial capital of Solon’s arena, which compared to all others, made them appear to be lacking in lustre, and awfully plain. Many from distant lands had showed up just to see this grand, magnificent gladiator fest.

And, every year, the arena in the imperial capital hosting this festival would hold a different theme. Amongst the gladiators who had survived day after day of fighting, the Guild would carefully select the ones with real ability, especially those with high popularity, until the final four men were chosen and to each, a one-on-one battle would be held. And then the two victors would, in the last day, accompanied by two hundred gladiators that had yet to participate in a match, fight against several large dragons—the last and biggest event of the founding festival.

It had been modeled after one of Mephius’ most popular historical figures, the Dragon-slaying hero, Clovis, who, together with the support of Felipe, fought to the very end. Despite being gladiators, they had been bestowed the same title, and released from their status as sword-slave. Furthermore, they had been officially employed as Mephian soldiers. In this day and age, the sword-slaves trained even harder than usual in hopes they would be able to participate in the tournament.

Speaking of which, Tarkas never got invited in the end.

At times like this, he would usually be in a sour mood. The Tarkas Gladiatorial Group was comparatively larger than most, and certainly well known, but the relation between his company and the leading nobles he had spent his entire life establishing had become superficial, and he lost the right to speak as an equal.

“If it’s Shique, I can get some money. Gilliam too, he certainly is the people of Solon’s favorite giant. And then there’s Kain; I’d like to see someone that can best him in a gunning match against two Baian tanks.”

As Orba muttered to himself, he thought back. If it were Tarkas speaking, he would say ‘Orba was a gladiator that didn’t give me my money’s worth!” His forte was the longsword. He never lost a one-on-one match. But it was a fact that his fighting style was ‘plain’.

It had been Tarkas’ dream to participate in the festival and get first place, but Orba held no interest in it. He wanted the festival in Solon to quickly start and receive it, and it was because Orba thought this way, that he didn’t understand the way the world ran. <!—unsure-->

Though, of course, he would do so not as the gladiator Orba, but as the crown prince Gil. Instead of going out into the gladiator games, he had a number of other duties to perform.

The day before the festival started, the Mephius royalty and chief vassals had, during the evening, taken the lead in the celebration of founding day, and held a ritual to pray for a good harvest in the coming year. In the centre of Solon stood the Black Tower, also known as the “Sword forged from the remains of a Space Immigrant Ship’s bow”. It was a symbol of the capital, and situated below was the Dragon God Shrine. It was a naturally formed cave, and they were, upon entering, enveloped in a freezing chill.

Everyone wore the hoods of their robes and walked in silence. Incidentally, participation of this ceremony was restricted to the men. There were no exceptions for royalty, and amongst them, the presence of Empress Melissa and her daughter Ineli were nowhere to be found.

The one acting as vanguard and holding the lamps was not the emperor, but several elderly men. They had dark brown skin and thin but treaded robustly. They were nomads of the Ryuujin Faith who usually lived in the mountains.

All preparations for the Dragon God ritual were handled by the group of elders. This was an old custom, back in the days when people all throughout Mephius worshipped the Dragon God. Before long they arrived at the inner sanctum. Their feet stopped, and they waited patiently as the group of elders offered a prayer in ancient words.

And engraved on the towering wall before them was the Mephius Dragon God bestowing wisdom and power to the founding emperor.

It was a vast, dimly lit space. The lamp kindled, and the deep, profound voices of the elders chanting could be heard as their shadows projected onto the wall. The sanctity of the ritual sent shivers down Orba’s spine.

So this is also something I must get used to.

Just how much more of this did he have to learn by heart and get used to; if they were to be drilled into his head, he might even end up respecting the nobles and royalty a little. As Orba held such baseless thoughts, his eyes met with Fedom, who flashed him a silent look of reprehension that seemed to say ‘Stop wandering your eyes all over the place’.

Once the prayer had finished from start to end, the elders moved down a passage leading to a considerably narrow room, and they alone exchanged drinks. It wasn’t a banquet, but another part of paying their respect. At night, in the central hall within the inner palace where the remaining nobles and countries’ envoys were waiting, the eve of the founding festival celebration would take place.

As they headed towards the room, Simon Rodloom called out, “Prince.” Fedom looked at Orba during this sudden predicament, but to his relief, Orba had refrained from meeting back his gaze. Simon was one leader amidst all the others. Who knew how long he could have been lurking behind Fedom.

Simon started off with a formal greeting, just like all the others, offering a ‘good health’ salutation.

“Not bad. You knew everyone wouldn’t give it much thought, so you chose to act a little more formal than usual.”

According to Dinn’s reports, he was regarded as the prince’s attending nursemaid, much to his displeasure. Orba had acted correspondingly.

“The young prince is the man of the hour after all. Speaking of which, you performed a splendid job with your first campaign.”

“Unexpectedly splendid, is what you want to say, right?”

“Yes, pardon my discreetness.”

“Everyone is surprised after seeing my real abilities. It’s because of the way I’ve been up to now, that everyone is probably feeling uneasy. Hmph, even if they didn’t mind at all, I could care less.” Rodloom smiled at his bitter expression.

Not bad at all.

Orba grew confident of his acting. After all, he only had to play the part of a simpleton. And then, Orba began, “I’m extremely pleased with my success with my first campaign,” as he continued to act the part of the prince.

“Did you meet Princess Vileena after that?”

The unexpected jab had, for a moment, left him short of a response.

“It has been the talk of the maids—those gossipy chattering sparrows, that Her Highness the Princess had intruded into your room, and firmly scolded you on your late return; such rumours have spread.” “Me, scolded by that princess? Madness!”

A part of what he spouted wasn’t an act, but his real feelings. Simon broke off into a smile.

“It’s fine like this. If it’s a single rumour, it might help the princess’ situation.”

“Help her?”

“She was the princess of our enemy until not too long ago, she herself must hold some misgivings, and hold conflicted feelings of her surroundings. But, with this, everyone would watch over the relationship between the charming prince and princess, and once this atmosphere develops, the people will follow suit.”

“And what will become of my situation? Am I just supposed to stay silent and laugh it off?”

“This is the time when the prince should show his talents. Show more concern. You should try to laugh with her about things, and become a lord not to be trifled with. Then she will hold a large amount of good-will towards you.”

“As if I need that sort of good-will.”

“You wouldn’t want this talk to reach his majesty’s ears, would you?”

“……”

“But even His Majesty,” Simon began. It was a private matter, but he decided to turn a blind eye and say it. “In his early years, in those times he fought with Lana-sama, it was up to me to be the mediator. Once your mother had made up her mind, she would stay firm.”

Lana was the emperor’s former wife, and Prince Gil’s own mother. She had died five years ago from an illness.

Naturally, Orba hardly knew about this. He avoided giving a response, which Simon kept quiet on, assuming it was because of his sentiments, as the two proceeded into the chamber.

And it was here where the incident that was likely to affect the future of Mephius would occur.

It was a narrow, rectangular room. In this part of the cave supported by wood and iron rods, were several laid chairs, just enough to accompany the group, centered around a crudely-built stone table.

Orba took the set position he had previously been informed of. One by one, the cups were placed before each seat. The bottom contained a small amount of honey. It was custom that the emperor then personally pour the wine. In last year’s founding festival, fruit wine had been offered. Of course, this year too, the best wine possible had been offered to show gratitude for the blessings.

“I pray for a good harvest in Mephius. Spirit of the Dragon God, please grant me your divine protection.”

As Guhl Mephius’ voice rang, everyone joined in succession. Orba—or rather, Prince Gil, was the last to go. His eyes followed the emperor, now walking with the wine-storing vase held under his arm.

The Mephius emperor

He was Prince Gil’s father, and needless to say, the man who reigned at the top of the empire. And if Orba’s reasoning was right, he was the man who planned the secret assassination of Prince Gil and his fiancée, Vileena. If a situation were to occur that would force these two alone, should he approach him deceivingly? Orba had no interest in finding out; he might even try to kill him, though, could a father even mistake his own son for an impostor?

Then the room filled with commotion. The startled Orba watched from the side.

Did I blunder?

His blood instantly froze, however, the one the vassals were looking it wasn’t Gil, but the emperor. Their faces filled with surprise and—profound fear. Orba also turned to look. The emperor was pouring wine to the first person. Orba didn’t see anything strange happening. The first was, an elder nomad of the Ryuujin Faith. The emperor then directed the vase to the next elder.

“Your majesty, please wait.”

The one who brought himself forward was Zaat Quark. Before the dignified demeanour he had when they had met on the streets was nowhere to be seen, and his vigorous face distorted in alarm.

“Please wait, your majesty. Lord Rodloom has yet to go.”

The room got gone into an uproar since the beginning of Zaat’s interjection. And it wasn’t only Zaat; many had impulsively left their seat. Orba also got up and walked two seats over to Fedom, who had changed his face to match the others, and gently tapped him on the back.

“...What are they talking about.”

“F-Fool. Don’t talk to me here.”

Fedom cursed at him in a low voice, but Orba pressed for an answer with his eyes, leaving him no choice but to speak quickly.

“...Last year, Simon Rodloom was the first to receive the ceremonial wine. It was perfectly natural for something done by rank. The order of pouring reflects the strength of his trust. And to prevent needless strife, the order had been decided beforehand.”

That was why the crown prince went last, Fedom seemed to imply. Ranking retainers was another unfamiliar concept for him.

At this point of the explanation, Zaat drew closer before them.

“Your majesty!”

“Silence, Zaat Quark.”

Guhl Mephius interrupted hoarsely, but in a sharp, hushed voice. With just that, the emperor had quelled the commotion and he stared at the eyes of his retainers who were frozen in fear.

“What is this, interrupting in the midst of a rite. Cease your actions.”

“I will not, your majesty,” Zaat said, turning pale, but did not stop talking. “The way things are being done have not been according to our followed customs. With all due respect, how could you put more trust on those nomads and putrid believers than we lords and generals who, for your majesty’s sake, have devoted ourselves tirelessly!”

“Zaat, stop it.”

None other than Simon grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to control him. But he was a moment too slow, as the emperor’s eyes opened wide and ripples on his whole face seemed to violently split open.

“To say this in no other than the Dragon God’s shrine, you’ve quite the nerve, Zaat. You, who defies me like those priests I now hold in contempt, are attempting to pollute this sacred ritual. The benevolent Dragon God shall certainly not bestow his judgment of anger on you, but will instead impose it on the emperor who acts as his representative, me. Depart from here immediately! I shall hand down my sentence afterwards, so you shall return to and be confined in your own mansion. Do you understand, Zaat!”

“Your majesty.”

“Your majesty!”

Orba watched as the situation once again turned into an uproar, and the emperor face seethed a bright red, while never removing his gaze on Zaat Quark, whose face showed a ghastly blue.

Internal discord amongst the nobles, huh.’’

He had no intention of mediating, and also planned to stay out of it. While he subdued the smile that form around his mouth, a casual sidelong glance at Fedom revealed that there was something odd.

His plump belly jiggled as his body quivered. It might have seemed he was in a panic, as sweat ran down his face, but it was identical to Orba’s, with a faint smile that seemed to come and go.

Part 2

The exchange between the emperor Zaat in the Dragon God Shrine spread within the Main Palace in the blink of an eye. And there was also the matter with Kaiser Islan. Everyone doubted the emperor’s way of doing things, but on the other hand, they had resolved themselves to tread cautiously, so that they would not be embroiled in the crossfire.

The arranged founding eve festival celebration had been held as planned and went without incident. There, Orba met with Princess Vileena. It had been ten days since they last met where he received the ‘scolding’ in his own room. She wore a white, high-collared coat and a Garberan-style skirt with the hem spreading out, and piled under were Mephian-styled trousers and boots. Theresia had painstakingly placed her greatest efforts to coordinate it, unbeknownst to Orba. In the presence of surrounding eyes, the two exchanged greetings as if nothing had happened. And then they were done. Their eyes never met after.

Hmph.

For Vileena, if the prince had adopted such an attitude, of course she would be angry.

The Imperial Guard delegates, Shique and Gowen who had come along, had no choice but to smile wryly.

“His highness led such great efforts in his first campaign,” Shique said shrugging his shoulders. “But once it comes to love, he is like that naïve boy on his first campaign.”

“You could say even the elders would lose face when conducting themselves as such. At least this much is to be expected of the prince.”

Orba disregarded the two, as they belittled him within earshot. Then, Gowen lowered his voice, “Putting aside the issue with the princess, it seems lots of things have been happening behind my back.”

“What do you mean?”

“In a bar in Solon, I met War.”

War was originally one of the sword-slaves from the Tarkas company. He had participated in the battle at Zaim Fortress and remained amongst the eighty sword-slaves, of which sixty-two had offered their service into the Imperial Guards. The remaining were more than adequately rewarded by setting them free. Amongst them was the giant gladiator, Gilliam. War was also one of those who had become free.

“That’s reassuring. Is he doing fine?”

“Hmph, he quickly grew senile. When I called out to him, he acted like he didn’t recognize me. There must have been some circumstances, so I brought him to a place with just the two of us before I asked questions. It appears to have been the ‘prince’s order’.”

“What order?”

“It seems to have been ‘to do in the Mephius mercenaries’. It appears to have originated from the commander during your first campaign—General Oubary, as he was called.”

He wanted to further question Gowen, but with Ineli and Baton’s appearance, he had no choice but to put it on hold. Forcibly making a smile he was unaccustomed to, he called out in a manner natural for the prince.

Naturally, Ineli and the others wanted to hear about the situation with Zaat Quark, but Orba could not say that everything said by the rumors was all there was to it.

“Everyone is saying that His Majesty the Emperor planned to revive the Ryuujin Faith again, just as he did in the western provinces of Tauran.”

“It’d be good if it does no harm. I would be troubled if I had to change my lifestyle. Would he possibly go as far as to prohibit certain foods?”

“You sure are being realistic, Princess Ineli.”

“Baton, you idiot.” Even though she scowled at him, Ineli couldn’t help but giggle. “It is because we are dealing with my father, that who knows what will become of his thoughts. Isn’t that right, your highness?”

Following that, each of the people who greeted him kept him company. Fedom was, as expected, the only one of the chief vassals present, and just as busy as the prince, constantly whispering into the ears of Dinn, the page, of each of the attending names and faces. There was no end to them.

Before long, they were alerted of His Royal Majesty’s grand entrance, and emperor Guhl Mephius, along with Empress Melissa made their appearance. Guhl gave a short glimpse at the prince. He might have done so now, but wouldn’t even meet his eyes at the time of the ritual at the Dragon God Shrine.

“Gil. You appear to have improved considerably.”

“I have.”

That was everything to the father-son exchange.

“Has your face not thinned?”

The remark had come from obligation as the empress, her face now no longer hidden.

She approached the end of her thirties, yet her attire and features slightly resembled that of a young girl; lined up against Ineli, they could be seen as nothing but a pair of sisters.

“To take part in battle is not the only role that men of the imperial family hold. Like your father, you must constantly keep a watchful eye and throw your chest out. Is that not right, your majesty?”

The emperor only slightly raised his brows.

Once the party had started and the countries’ envoys were invited to join in the ceremonies commemorating the founding of Mephius, they began to offer their greetings. Naturally, there were envoys from Ende and Garbera, and from the east, Arion, Zonga from the north—including the group of city-states along the gulf coasts, and lone islands such as Balor found far to the south had also come to visit. And to each, their own specialties—clothes, spices, condiments, bizarre musical instruments, designed furniture of varying sizes, armors decorated with jewels—forming large piles; amongst these, what caught Orba’s eye was a Garberan envoy.

The man who had introduced himself as Noue Salzantes seemed past his twenties. He had deep black hair and almond eyes that held a strange charm, and in terms of appearances, could be compared to Shique in handsomeness.

As a Garberan, he should have harboured ill feelings towards the prince, but Noue offered his greetings while smiling without batting an eye.

“On behalf of the king, Ainn Owell, I offer his apologies for the hardships the subjugation of Ryucrown may have caused to your Highness. We would like to express gratitude from our hearts for Mephius’ assistance. The people of Garbera will never forget the kind deed and camaraderie you have shown us.” Orba stared fixedly at Noue’s eyes. He was truly fit to be a civil servant, and did not seem to be one who would personally wield a sword. With these thoughts, Orba’s interest in him faded.

Garbera also presented a gift to the prince, consisting of three of Garbera’s airships, that caught his interest. He was already in the midst of organizing an airship squadron from the few capable in the Imperial Guards. The airship itself had fighting potential, but above all, but held great value in being used as a messenger in a battlefield. He was grateful of this gift, and wanted to take it out for a spin as soon as possible.

After that, Noue also expressed his salutations toward Princess Vileena. They were acquaintances. The Salzantes House was one of Garbera’s distinguished families. Moreover, Noue was recognized for his wisdom.

“It has been a while since we last met, Princess. You can be rest assured of the stagnant state of affairs.”

“Is father is good health? And what of grandfather?”

“Yes, they are,” Noue made a smile bordering that of guileless innocence. “It is the talk of the palace that the princess had written an appeal towards the soldiers in Zaim Fortress.”

Vileena turned red. According to Noue, her father had said,

“No matter where she is, she never was a person to sit down quietly and do nothing from the start.”

And in a strained laugh mixed with grief, her grandfather had said, “same as always,” with an openhearted laugh. “Even as she lived alone in my estate, in the coming day, the princess would be up to her usual mischief, and then suddenly disappear again, to have rescued a child from a burning house with an airship, and day after day, gossip of her venture would jump all around back to here. And as I thought she was just about ready to come of age and be fit for marriage, from far away, past the country borders, I hear of such news. If such talk of the princess has not died down, then this old me also cannot yet allow myself to be assaulted with illusions of the tiny Vileena running all ‘round.”

Vileena covered her eyes.

“Is that so…”

Vileena muttered, as her lips moved to form nothing less of a smile. Gripped with an undeniable yearning, her eyes became teary. Having heard the words of her loved ones, even if it was by second hand, she could not help but long to be near them. It had been nowhere to the extent of years, but thoughts of how she had come to be so far away began to be made anew.

Once the delegation of introductions, which had lasted for some time, was over, the festivities began. It was a sword dance. It was one of Mephius’ trademark where, several swordsmen were singled out, and chosen to dance with a real sword.

“Look, that is a Clovis contender, Pashir.”

“Those are some amazing muscles. I want to sleep with those big, strong arms wrapped around me, if not even once.”

“Who do you intend to place your bet on, Duke?”

The sword-dance performed on the eve of the festival involved the selection of participants in the gladiator tournament. The nobles would witness their sword dance in person, and place their bets on who could seize the same position Clovis or his aide Felipe held, as a form of side entertainment.

Pashir was also a name Orba had heard of. His eyes followed the nobles’ pointing fingers, and instantly,

Ooh.

He let out a gasp of surprise, when Pashir the gladiator looked directly at him. With a massive body, he was certainly an unyielding gladiator. With deep black hair and a moustache, his whole body teemed with energy. He immediately looked away. Was it by chance or not that he had looked his way. At the very least, the gaze he held was not one that held respect towards the nobles.

Finally, with the loud beat of a drum, all twelve members began their sword dance.

They formed a circle and aimed their swords to the centre in unison, and then kicked off in all directions. They trod their steps, and just as the man on the right appeared to be struck overhead by a sword, the man to the left parried the blow before his chest. With their feet, they swung only with their full strength across the air, each clash occurring with precise timing that produced a steady rhythm; and as the drum beat louder, faster, the clashes gave chase.

And soon enough, they looked throughout the hall for those possessing high skills, and on discovery, would provocatively swing their sword. This too, was a kind of custom, where the provoked could join in on the sword dance. The women dressed in light garnments would take in hand the respectfully offered swords, and enter into a new ring containing several swordsmen. The clattering of the weapons had further made it rowdy, where a single mistake in their pacing could result in the loss of a life, but the atmosphere produced by the blades had unwittingly drawn people in.

Before long, the aforementioned Pashir had separated from his dancing circle. Roaming the spacious hall, he began his search for people to provoke.

“Come to me, oh respected swordsman.”

“No, come to me!”

The soldiers who took pride in their skill and the young nobles shouted out. In an air of arrogance, Pashir passed by each of the men in turn, and then stopped his feet.

A faint commotion was raised, as the inquisitive eyes all focused on one spot. He stood directly before Prince Gil. Pashir directed a single, quiet glance towards him, but the violent passions hidden between those confronting pair of eyes had caught Orba’s attention. He was without a doubt, a man in his thirties. Of course, he was also experienced.

Oh.

A heated sensation welled up within Orba’s body and crossed his head. He was throbbing with resentment for being holed up in the room for so long. And also flowing out, was resentment at the continuous unaccustomed battles. The desire to take part in a real battle pushed its way out.

But he certainly could not brandish a sword in such a situation. Having received such a hesitant reply, Pashir’s face filled with scorn. Orba’s blood raged through his head.

“Your highness, leave this to me.”

From behind him, Shique stepped forward. He had read Orba’s feelings through his back. Orba was inflicted with a light feeling of bashfulness, but it would be foolish beyond a doubt to reveal his true character here. As the emperor had, he calmly nodded. It was not considered disgraceful to send a proxy in your place, if you were invited into a sword dance.

The hall erupted. Shique, at first glance, had a beautiful face that could be mistaken for that of a girl’s. The combination with him and the boorish Pashir was a sight to behold. With a smooth motion, Shique nimbly drew the sword from his waist, and lined his sword against the tip of Pashir’s sword.

They started off slow. Both cautiously and slowly let their swords meet, but eventually, they had judged the other as an opponent of worthy skill, and immediately increased their speed. Their rally from the start was entirely settled, and it soon became obvious the other sword dances were inferior to theirs.

Once Shique turned to the left, Pashir would move to the right. Pashir bent his back and readied to swing his sword, and Shique, familiar with this move, drew a large, showy arc that collided with his blow. Pashir quickly pulled back the sword he had just swung. The opponent kept sending out an unceasing, daggering look. Shique commenced his attack, pretending to have switched to defense, he swept towards Pashir’s feet.

Pashir had deflected the attack, as if he anticipated the move, quickly switching back to the offensive. Neither were stuck on offence or defence. Offence was defence. Defence was offence; it was no doubt the ideal swordplay.

Orba opened his eyes in wonder. The seriousness of both Pashir and Shique could be seen. Seriousness, meaning there was no hesitation in killing the other party.

There were several instances where lives were lost from a sword dance, and in most cases, the assailant was not charged. It was accepted as a formality, and the shed blood would be offered to fulfill the prayers for an abundant harvest.

After several matches, the sound from the drum had come to a dead stop, and simultaneously, the two swords engage in mid-air also came to a stop.

The centre hall burst into unstinted applause. As Shique wiped off his sweat, he responded to the acclamations with a smiling face.

“That was pretty good.”

Orba said to Shique, who had come back to his side. Judging the comment went both ways, Shique shook his head.

“Look at that, he isn’t even sweating. He hasn’t gotten serious yet. ‘Strong-armed Pashir’. I’ve heard of his name, but to think he was this good. “You also weren’t using your prided dual swords.”

Though he said so, even Orba was admiring Pashir’s skill. The aching in his blood had grown since before. But he was no longer a sword-slave. He held no obligation towards others, nor could he be forced to kill others out of duty.

“He’s very talented, but I doubt Tarkas would really want him,” Gowen said in a low voice.

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“He’s certainly strong. Strong, but plain,” Gowen readily concluded. “He won’t excite the crowds. That’s right, Orba. You’re also like that.”

Orba nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders. As Orba was troubled by his heated blood, he failed to notice that Noue Salzantes was attentively watching him.

Soon after, the party in the inner palace met its end. However, the nobles, officers, and particularly the young couples prepared to set out to town, as if to say the real festival would be from now onwards. They were already in a festive mood for the festival that would begin tomorrow. From amongst them,

“Things have become interesting.”

More exultant than anyone was Fedom Aulin, who had invited himself to the prince’s room.

“What could so interesting. Did you see your own face as you were being borne through a mirror or something?”

“The situation with Zaat Quark. The head of the anti-imperial faction was, forcibly placed under house arrest. This will surely create a commotion.”

It must have taken a lot to ignore Orba’s witty retort.

“And there’s also the situation with Kaiser. The misgivings towards the emperor will grow stronger and stronger. There is a possibility danger might also befall the crown prince. I’ll have you act as a body double a while longer.”

Tch. Fuckin’ grazing the issue.

Fedom had just forcibly tied the knot on the unnatural absence of the real prince. Orba just barely restrained himself from mentioning the occurrence with the ‘right of the first night’. He did not have enough information. To Orba, Fedom was not a person worthy of his trust.

“You did well today in front of his majesty and his chief retainers. No one would have thought you were a gladiator. It seems this was the better of the results.”

“You resemble Tarkas.”

“What do you mean?”

Orba turned the other way, without offering a response. To his good humour, he immediately moved on to talk of others.

“Is the news that Kaiser will be executed true?”

“I don’t know. It depends on how his majesty feels. That is not something of your concern.”

“Can’t you somehow mediate and get him out of jail?”

“What?” Fedom stared at Orba with startled eyes, short of any good humour. “When I said to ‘behave like the prince’ I did not mean to ‘’’be’’ the prince’. Keep your head out of politics. I don’t know what ideas you were given, but you better get rid of it immediately. Or better yet, focus only on the things you were assigned to.”

Afterwards, Fedom hurriedly returned to his residence within the palace afterwards, and called out the name ‘Hermann’ at the entrance, as if he had no spare time to even wipe off the dirt from his shoes. He was a magician that looked after and lived in the same manor as Fedom. However, a maid had rushed over to inform him that Hermann had been absent the past few days.

“Again!?”

Fedom let out an irritated groan, but it wasn’t a necessarily urgent matter. It was just what Hermann had said a few days ago.

“Soon, without fail, a change in fate shall occur. It would be best if you only focus only on how to prevent the body double from exposing his true colors. My master, the prince’s death has left a hole in the web of fate, and it’s true form—the golden mean so to speak, is in the midst of mending itself. To that end, a vast ‘gale’ will break out. The ‘gale’ will, without doing anything, swallow up a great many people. Please wait patiently for now. Amongst the countless that will be blown away from and vanish under the ‘gale’, the master will ride along the ‘gale’ as a friend. As long as you wait, you will certainly be invited to join the ‘gale’ towards fate’s destination.”

He wanted to be clearly informed behind the meaning of the words of the prophecy.

In Mephius—or rather, in its sphere of civilization, it was rare for magicians to be employed by leading aristocrats. They were almost never seen in public. There were even fewer of them than the prized species of dragons, Geysers or Ma Dukes, though there were also cases such as Ende and Arion, where the officially accepted magicians took part in politics and commanded in battle. These two countries were special exceptions, having statesmen that succeeded the lineage of Magic King Zodias.

Particularly in Mephius, prided in having the strong spirit of warriors, they prejudiced against those who wielded unfound powers. An example would be the historically well-known magician Garda, hailing from the western provinces of Tauran, whose customs were rather similar to that of Mephius. As a priest of the Ryuujin doctrines, he had exercised free usage of black magic in ether, ruling over the former capital Zer Illias. Even now, mention of his name instills fear.

Fedom never personally professed of Hermann. Three years ago, Hermann had unexpectedly visited Fedom, who strangely pleased with the fortune-telling he had performed, let him live a life void of destitution since then, only providing for him without knowing where he usually goes.

He knew the true identity of Prince Gil, and thus could be considered an existence that acted as Fedom’s Achilles heel, though Hermann himself was the one who originally foretold that a mere gladiator would be able to act as the prince’s double. There was no harm in keeping him alive until Fedom had achieved his own ambitions.

And that future isn’t too far away.

Naturally, such thoughts made him become self-important. Even the words of his wife welcoming back her husband, fell on deaf ears. He gave a light nod, and then continued his thoughts within his burning red face.

Because the emperor is so foolish as to strengthen his authority at the end of a ten-year war, anti-imperialist sentiments have increased. The imprisonment of Kaiser Island, and the placement of Zaat Quark under house arrest have only fueled the flames.’’

It was the long awaited opportunity. Fedom had no intention of patienty waiting until the emperor, Guhl Mephius, personally stepped down from the throne. He may be approaching the verge of old age, but as of yet was still in high spirits, and it was not guaranteed he might select Gil Mephius the First as his heir.

Having seen the favour she held for him, there was a possibility that Ineli would marry a distant relative of the Imperial House, where the husband would be made successor to the throne.

If I can bring together the anti-imperial faction with this, I can move freely in the future.

Within the faction, there numbered many like Zaat, who were anti-emperor rather than anti-imperial, but it was yet to be the time to call for change. The local populace aside, many in Mephius followed a conservative way of thinking. Fedom had assessed there was not enough momentum to dissolve the country’s system at this instant.

They may not have been able to bring themselves to abandon the long standing history of the empire however, the opportunity opened by the doubts raised on whether the emperor’s actions would be crucial.

First, I must gain more allies. There is no problem with the prince’s popularity. Rather, it would be convenient in the distant future to give off the impression that he is an imbecile. Most important is that I maintain a resolute will.

Boldly, but cautiously.

At times when pursuing large goals, taking a large gamble was also necessary. He had already placed his hand. It was a gamble where his, and all his relatives’ lives were in danger, should they discover he had set up a sword slave as the prince. He would ride the flow—this ‘gale’ as Hermann called it, and then quickly and keenly make his next move.

In spite of the late hour, Fedom prepared his wine and retired to his study. He wrote the various names of the lords in his notes, as he consumed the wine like it was water. His mind was clear, not the least bit drunk, but intoxicated with excitement, as he once more pictured how the future would play out.

Translator's Notes and References

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