The force that had left from Birac numbered about seven hundred. Three hundred infantry, a hundred and fifty cavalry. There were fifty dragoons on the fleet-footed, small-sized Tengo dragons, and the remaining two hundred were riflemen.
The one in command was the general of the Silver Axe Division, Odyne Lorgo.
Gilliam was part of a platoon of infantrymen.
Just in case, General Rogue also had troops organised and on standby inside and outside of Birac.
Orba himself, after watching his troops leave in the dead of night, was not in his bedroom but in his office. He could not command from the front lines in every battle from now on. Thinking of the ‘afterwards’, of the battles that would lead to victory against the Emperor, he would need to get used to sitting alone in his office like this, motionless and with his arms crossed.
Afterwards… afterwards?
A map was spread out on the office desk but Orba’s eyes had been shut for a while now. He had still not found a clear answer to the challenge that Folker Baran had thrust forward.
Inside the room, along with Orba, were three guards that Pashir had forcibly pushed onto him.
Princess Vileena, who had presented herself during the conversation with Raymond, had not afterwards interfered with anything to do with the battle.
“I leave this to you, Prince.” He had been hearing words to that effect earlier.
Will we take Nedain today? If we take it, what will come ‘afterwards’? The remaining major cities are Solon, Kilro and Idoro. If what Fedom says is true, Kilro’s lord, Indolph, will support us. In that case, Emperor Guhl will definitely send for the entire army to gather in Solon.
Actually, they had received information that the troops of the twelve generals, scattered throughout the country, were already moving along the highways.
Solon being the capital city, military ships and army corps other than the one’s assigned to defend it were not originally allowed to enter. Which meant that they intended to put the entire army to use in protecting the capital.
Well, whatever.
Orba opened his eyes and stopped thinking about the far-off future. Outside the window, it was pitch black. The wind seemed to have risen since earlier.
The seven hundred troops led by Odyne were marching through that wind.
Since the bridge over the River Zwimm, which separated Birac from Nedain, would naturally be under watch, they did what Raymond had done when he was coming to Birac and travelled north while keeping an eye on the highways.
Raymond was leading the way. Just like a fully-fledged warrior, a sword was hanging at his waist and he was carrying a gun on his back. And of course, his sister’s paper flower was an unobtrusive splash of white decorating his breast.
They marched while sending scouts to investigate their surroundings and check that there were no soldiers lying in ambush along the highway. Three times they hailed the sunrise.
When there was less than half a day to the appointed time, the soldiers on guard had vanished from along the road.
Scouts disguised as pedlars went flying to the relay station towns to gather information; there they heard rumors of some kind of disturbance within the town, and that the soldiers had hurriedly been called back. Upon receiving that news, Odyne and Raymond exchanged looks on horseback.
“Right!”
Odyne set his resolve, crossed along the highway and left it when they were at the north of Nedain.
The sun set once more.
They arrived at the quarry less than an hour afterwards. Odyne halted his warhorse and sent three riders in reconnaissance.
They soon returned and reported that there were many lights around the quarry.
The Abigoal troops, no doubt. They had succeeded in luring them out, just as planned.
Sitting on horseback, Raymond could feel his blood simmer and seethe. He wondered if this was what it was like, the atmosphere on the battlefield. He had no experience of war itself but he felt as though if he abandoned his consciousness to the torrent of blood currently coursing throughout his entire body, he would be able to hunt the heads of ten, or even a hundred enemy soldiers.
Odyne gave the order to advance once more.
He had the riflemen go ahead so that they could fire a first volley. The enemy lights would make good targets. After that round of shooting, there would be no more need for caution. They would close the distance in one swoop and descend upon the enemy from the rear.
Raymond realised that he was unsheathing his sword without even being aware that he was doing so. Actually, for the past two hours or more, he had been grasping the hilt so strongly it hurt. Because his tension was at its height.
Boyce, you bastard, are you somewhere within this net?
He believed that he must be. If possible, he wanted to strike him down with his own hands.
For Raymond, who had lived a life unrelated to warfare, it was a dangerous thing to believe that victory was already theirs.
He calmly whipped his horse and drove it forward.
At that moment, a furious peel of thunder rolled overhead. Or at least, that was the illusion that assailed Raymond, so violent was what happened.
The thunder rolled, and rolled, and with each thunderbolt, soldiers were shaken off their horses. The previous quiet was utterly transformed, and the surroundings were filled with blood, the neighing of horses, and the bellows of soldiers.
Riflemen had been lying concealed in the forest to their left. Because their attention had been focused on the lights in front of them, they had completely failed to notice their presence. Odyne’s side, which should have been the one launching a surprise attack, was suddenly caught in a fusillade.
The corpse of a cavalryman collapsed towards Raymond. A bullet had pierced through his head and, seeing his tongue hang loosely from his mouth, Raymond’s mind went blank. He shook him off in a panic and the soldier fell from his horse. Because his foot was caught in the stirrup, the body was dragged along as the horse broke into a run.
In that same interval, bullets rattled and more soldiers fell.
When he wondered whether the thunder had finally stopped, this time it was from in front of them that voices echoed.
A group cavalrymen led by Boyce Abigoal.
The riflemen that Odyne had sent ahead collapsed without any resistance.
“General!”
Gilliam, bending down, did not need to urge him.
“Retreat, retreat, retreat!” From horseback, Odyne repeatedly yelled the same word.
One after another, the horses turned around and galloped back along the way they had come. For a moment, Raymond was almost left behind.
“What are you doing? This way, hurry!”
Gilliam, who had been at the end of the column, rushed over and forcibly led him away. Raymond followed him, all but unconscious. Sweat, tears, and mucus flowed across his entire face. Within his narrow chest, his heart was drumming so fast that it might burst out at any moment.
He was already far away from that warrior-like state of mind in which he had believed that he could defeat any number of enemies. Now, he just wanted to flee into a silence with neither gunshots nor war cries.
“Are you there, Raymond?” Boyce’s voice sounded like it was just behind him. “You escaping, you coward? I’ve got your little sister.”
It would be a long time before Raymond would be able to decide whether that was an auditory hallucination born of fear or a real voice.
Odyne’s troops fled for dear life along the road to Birac. Among the infantrymen, some deliberately chose to stop and fight so as to halt their pursuers. Were the screams that echoed at Raymond’s back their shouts as they released fire, or were they their death throes?
It was an utter rout.
They ran south of Nedain for several dozen kilometres. They stopped once on the banks of the Zwimm. They had somehow managed to shake off pursuit, but many had fallen by the wayside. Now, less than half of them remained.
“We need to send a messenger to His Highness,” said Odyne as he was organising formation.
Raymond volunteered.
Although he had managed to free himself from the panic that had gripped him during their escape, with the return of sanity, Raymond felt as though he were being strangled by bitter regrets and self-condemnation.
I was under suspicion.
He had tried to act with the utmost caution. But because he was not used to these kinds of things, he must surely have committed any number of serious mistakes. He had fallen into the enemy trap, laid right before his nose.
For a brief while, Odyne stared into Raymond’s eyes. The general’s face was plastered in mud and clotted blood.
“Alright, go,” he gave his permission in only few words.
Raymond set his expression firmly and once again galloped on horseback towards Birac.
Three days later, he was kneeling before Gil and reporting their defeat.
“I am deeply sorry. Because of my incompetence…”
The dam that had been holding back his feelings burst. Teardrops fell one after another onto the back of his hands which were pressed against the floor. Most of the labourers who were supposed to stage the uprising had probably lost their lives. No, perhaps they had all been massacred. Moreover –
“My estate will surely also have been attacked. There were children that we were looking after there. What’s happened to them? M-My sister, Louise, too... what’s happened to her? Boyce has been infatuated with her for a long time now…”
He continued helplessly prattling on to the prince. Louise was a follower of the Badyne faith in which suicide was prohibited. He did not know whether that was lucky or unlucky, considering the calamity which must have befallen her. And anyway, women of the Badyne faith were obliged to marry the one they had given their chastity to. Violently assaulted, torn between doctrine and despair, how could he begin to imagine his little sister’s suffering?
Vileena was also present and listened with a sorrowful expression to his tearful reminiscences.
“Y-Your Highness,” Raymond Peacelow clung to Gil’s cloak, “Please lend me two hundred, no, even just a hundred soldiers. In exchange for my life, I will definitely, definitely show you how I’ll kill Jairus and Boye. Your Highness, please!”
“Your Highness!” Vileena cried, momentarily startled.
Gil seemed to stoop for a second, grabbed Raymond by the nape of his neck and yanked him up. Then he hit him hard across the side of the face. Raymond tumble to the office’s floor.
Gil walked up to him, almost trampling on his head.
“If I assign soldiers to you, those hundred or two hundred men will die in vain.
“Y-Your Highness…”
“Do you think that this defeat is your responsibility? Don’t be so full of yourself. I made the decision. And I let the soldiers die helplessly.”
“…”
“Call Rogue,” Orba ordered the page to summon Rogue Saian.
After quickly explaining the situation, all he asked was, “Can you leave?”
“Aye,” the veteran general clicked his heels together. His preparations were set so that they were ready for whenever the order came to head for the front.
“The enemy only consisted of the Abigoal House’s troops, which means that reinforcements haven’t arrived from Solon yet. Leave at once and join up with Odyne. Subjugate the soldiers posted along the highway.”
“Aye.”
“But if the enemy draws back into Nedain city, avoid pursuing after them. Set up formation in the surrounding area. As to where…” Orba pointed to a place on the map spread out on the table. “The cannons and airships go by carrier, the soldiers over land.”
This defeat was naturally a hard blow for Orba. He had, from the start, been walking the path of warfare because he detested those in power and hated tyrants. He felt nothing but seething anger towards Jairus and Boyce. And because of that, it was necessary to make his second move calmly and accurately.
To simply accept defeat – that would be a disgrace for the crown prince’s army. They risked losing in one go the momentum that had seized Birac and it would be bad if the surroundings heard about it. It would influence the attitude of the lords and generals. There was absolutely no sense in wasting time now.
“Raymond.”
“A-Aye.”
Raymond, who had still been stretched out on the floor just as when he had been hit, hurriedly scrambled to his knees.
“Accompany General Rogue. You’re familiar with the area. Guide them to set up camp.”
“Y-Yes.”
“Since Jairus knew about the insurrection, the villages might also have come to harm. Rogue, when defending the villages, try to add to our forces by encouraging the people to join. If it goes well, we might be able to threaten Jairus from within Nedain as well.”
Rogue bowed his head deeply.
In any case, it was probably widely known in Solon and Nedain that the crown prince had narrowed down his target to that city. It would have an effect. The significance would be especially huge for the people who had been enduring Jairus’ oppression.
Without wasting any time, Rogue Saian departed with five hundred soldiers and two air carriers loaded with supplies.
Around the same time, Boyce Abigoal, greatly puffed up at having personally driven away the army of the Impostor Crown Prince – the same which had seized Birac – started raiding the area’s villages as violently as though they had been an enemy nation, all in the name of ‘hunting the remnants’ of the insurrection.
He would come up with some pretext to snatch away money and goods, then murder the men and rape the women. As far as Boyce was concerned, there was no need to concern himself over the Nedain territory anymore. Since a nomination to the twelve generals awaited him in the near future.
And it was for that reason that he was in a village barn and almost leapt out of his skin when Rogue and Odyne’s combined military forces started advancing to the roar of cannon fire.
“What are the lookouts doing?” He yelled while separating himself from the girl he had just been pinning down, but it was already too late.
Compared to Raymond, who frequently visited the villages and who was thoroughly acquainted with the local topography, the arrangement of guards that Boyce had spread out was full of holes. And of course, Rogue and Odyne far surpassed him in leading soldiers.
There was some fighting but it was a completely hopeless situation and, in the end, Boyce Abigoal had no choice but to flee to Nedain without even having the time to straighten his clothes.
And just as Orba had predicted, the effect on the villages surrounding the city was huge. They gathered about five hundred young men who volunteered “to join as a soldier”.
This was not only because of their resentment against Jairus and Boyce. It was because they feared that if the Abigoal family was not driven from the territory, every village in the area would be set alight.
Afterwards, following Gil’s orders, Rogue and Odyne set up camp at a location some thirty kilometres west of Nedain.
Raymond Peacelow guided the two generals through the area and, putting his knowledge of the terrain to good use, recommended where to deploy their soldiers. One day, at dusk, he and a few soldiers headed for the northern quarry.
The corpses had cruelly been left scattered around. Dolph’s was among them. His eyes were open wide, as though in regret.
Raymond wept uncontrollably as he buried them.
When he afterwards went into the man-made cave where the labourers had been staying, he noticed the artificial flower that was still fastened to the wall. Although it should have been glimmering a gentle white, it was steeped in the colour of dark red blood.
Raymond plucked it from the wall and, along with the one which had been decorating his breast, he gently laid them down at the top of the hill on which they had all been buried.
I swear.
Raymond murmured within his heart. He knew that if he opened his mouth now, all that would escape from it would be cowardly weeping.
Right now, all I can offer you are paper flowers, but I will, without fail, bring you the heads of the Abigoal father and son, Jairus and Boyce. Without fail.
Reinforcements a thousand strong were hurrying from Solon to Nedain when, as though crossing them along the way, the results of the first battle in there reached the capital the emperor decided to follow up by sending a further one thousand five hundred soldiers. Now that things had come to this, Guhl Mephius also realised that ‘time’ was finally moving again.
However, unlike the trade-rich Birac, Nedain did not have enough surplus to provide food to a large armed force. Naturally, a large number of supplies also had to be transported, and for that, time and money was needed.
In terms of not having enough surplus, Solon had the same issue. In order to consolidate its defensive line, troops from all over the country were amassing in the capital. For now, everything was still fine, but would they really be able to put up the soldiers for several months now that they had lost Birac, the linchpin of the economy?
So even though ‘time’ had started to move, it was still inevitable for him to be hoping for an early decisive battle.
Maybe –
The people, military, and nobles of Mephius all surreptitiously gossiped about the same thing –
Maybe His Majesty Emperor Guhl will personally take command in this coming battle and head towards Nedain?
The troops in Nedain would soon be increased, at which point the crown prince’s side would also start amassing the troops that it had stationed at Apta and Birac.
In other words –
Nedain, mocked as a rural backwater, would be the stage of the final battle in a civil war which had begun in a way that no one could have imagined.
Immediately after Jairus Abigoal had returned to Nedain with his troop of reinforcements, Emperor Guhl Mephius finalized his decision.
From now on, they would need to launch large-scale military manoeuvres. And for that, it was necessary to first ensure safety at the rear. The ‘rear’ in this case was not their neighbouring countries, Garbera and Ende, but those who should have been Mephius’ trustworthy vassals and generals. In order to prevent any further dissension, Guhl had decided to clamp down on the internal situation.
“Cancel all scheduled gladiator fights at Solon’s central arena tomorrow. The Saian and Lorgo families are to be hauled there and executed,” he ordered.
The arena would be opened free of charge and all the nobles and soldiers currently in Solon, and did not have urgent military matters to see to, would be obliged to attend.
It would serve as an example to others.
Even though they had expected this to come sooner or later, everyone was shaken.
Rogue was, needless to say, a long-serving general while Odyne was widely known as a strict but capable officer. They were loved by many. Moreover, their respective son and daughter had only just gone through the ceremony for coming of age.
“I saw it with my own eyes.”
In a dingy tavern at the end of a tortuous and unpaved road, a plump man sat, his shoulders quivering. The man had a store near an avenue lined with the mansions of nobles and military officers.
What he had seen was how, soon after the army of the Impostor Crown Prince had taken Birac, the families of Rogue Saian and Odyne Lorgo had been dragged from their residences and led away by soldiers.
“General Lorgo’s daughter was so pale it looked like she might collapse at any moment. Because of that, General Saian’s even younger son was shouting encouragements to her. 'It’s alright, the Heavens know that our fathers have done nothing to be ashamed of, so it’s alright, they’ll definitely come and save us', he said…”
Rogue Saian’s son, Romus, and Odyne Lorgo’s second daughter, Lannie, had both taken part in the old ceremony of riding a dragon’s back at that year’s Founding Festival, so the townspeople knew their names and faces.
“I thought they’d only been arrested as a warning.”
“They can’t really be going to execute them…”
“Nah, won’t the crown prince come racing up at the last minute. He’s like the main character in a heroic tale, so I’m sure he’ll create a miracle this time too.”
“Idiot, don’t talk without thinking. Do you want to be executed as well?”
“And in the first place, it’s all because of that scoundrel who calls himself the crown prince that the generals’ fates have veered off course.”
The liquor flowed but the guests’ faces remained gloomy.
That night, the same scene and the same conversation were playing out throughout Mephius. Not only among the people but also among the chief retainers serving the imperial family. Although they avoided gathering or dining together as much as possible. Because if they did, they might receive unwanted enquiries from the emperor about secretly gathering and sneakily plotting.
Not a single noble or officer had appealed to the emperor to halt the executions. There had, however, been an incident in which long-time servants of both families had thronged before the palace gates in tears, but they had quickly been sent away by the guards.
It turned into a long night for many of those living in Solon.
Including for Simon Rodloom.
He was the emperor’s longest-serving retainer and was currently confined to his residence, accused of having remonstrated His Majesty about the crown prince when the latter was ‘still alive’.
The inside of the mansion was as silent as a grave.
Which might seem perfectly natural as it was the dead of night, but there was no hint of human presence.
Simon was alone at his desk in his study, reading quietly. His only light was a candle placed near him.
He continued reading in silence for a long time, before finally giving a single sigh and closing his book. Looking behind him, there was a pile of other books.
They were all the ones that he had been interested in but had never had time to read until now, only instructing his pages to collect them for him.
He had read them all now.
Simon stood up from his chair and stretched. He went to stand near the window and looked up at the night sky. Judging by the stars, he guessed that there was another three hours until dawn.
It was a long night.
Although he appeared to be fully concentrated on chasing the words on the page, intrusive thoughts tended to pop into his head one after another, hindering his reading and difficult to drive away.
I’ve still got a long way to go – every time it happened, he reflected on his own immaturity. Because of that, he had found it surprisingly difficult to finish the last three books.
Simon left the side of the window and returned to the middle of the room.
“Well then,” murmuring absentmindedly, he picked up the candle from the desk.
And tilted it across the top of the pile of books. He brought it closer and closer, without paying any attention to how the melted wax was dripping down.
He did the same with every one of the heaps of books piled throughout the room.
Finally, he returned to the centre of the room and nonchalantly tossed the candlestick to the floor.
He closed his eyes.
Acrid smoke filled his mouth and nostrils.
Even with his eyelids closed, the light of the fire intruded on his retinas.
When this moment came, what would he think, what would he feel? Simon had been wondering about that for a long time. It was an interesting question.
But now that the time had finally arrived, not a single word formed in his mind.
Simon smiled unintentionally. There had been so much turmoil and hesitation, so much reminiscing and dredging up of what seemed like every one of his memories between the time when he had formulated this plan and today. Perhaps he had already used up all of his words somewhere along that way.
Except...
I would have liked to see him.
A thought suddenly came to his mind.
The Gil Mephius of rumours.
The crown prince who now stood at a height, and with power great enough, to cross weapons with the current emperor, Guhl Mephius.
The world called him an impostor. They said that Rogue and Odyne simply craved power and had set up a different person who happened to look like the prince so that they could rebel.
But if he had to say... Gil had started to behave like a different person long ago, when he was ‘still alive’.
One only had to think about how he had saved the princess in Seirin Valley and slain Ryucown at Zaim Fortress, about how he had put down Zaat’s rebellion in Solon before it even happened, or again about the time when he had gone to Apta and repelled a surprise attack from the Taúlian army.
The same Crown Prince who had been mocked as a ‘fool’ not only by his father but also by the retainers.
It was not that Simon had not also found it strange. Compared to the other retainers, he had been somewhat closer to the prince, since he had been acting as his guardian. For that reason alone, Simon should have been having serious misgivings, yet he had solved all of his doubts with only a few words.
He resembles him.
More than the prince changing, it seemed to Simon that day by day, he was becoming more like a certain someone. In which case, he reasoned, it was normal since they were father and son.
When he had heard that Gil, who was supposed to be dead, was actually alive and was fighting against the emperor, he had simply thought that – You would probably have done the same thing.
In other words, when he was young and still the crown prince, and if his father had behaved like the current emperor was now, wouldn’t Guhl Mephius also have led the warhorses to fight against him? Simon Rodloom believed he would have.
And because of that, right now, he felt a strong desire to see Gil Mephius one more time.
And if that wish were to be granted, he thought that he would want to serve and support that Crown Prince Gil. It would feel as though the ideal nation, the ideal future, that he and his friend used to talk of together throughout the night were there before him.
But –
Simon did not have that right. Or at least, he himself did not believe that he did.
He had not been able to support his friend.
As time had passed and they had aged, had it not perhaps been he himself who had first abandoned the ideals of their youth?
If and when Gil Mephius brought about a new future for Mephius, there would be no role for him in that future. If the old was going to be defeated, better to leave by oneself.
And a new future will start to be spun, rising from the corpses of the defeated and the ashes of burned down palaces.
Simon remembered how just the other day, the Garberan princess had come to visit this room which was now filled with smoke and heat.
Gil and Vileena.
From the budding signs, both might be in love with the one before them.
In which case, there’s nothing more.
There was nothing more that he needed to think about, hope for, or worry about.
Simon’s shoulders relaxed.
In that moment, it was as though he could feel the wind in the wilderness.
Oh!
Although he had believed that there was no longer anything left for him to look back on again, right now, Simon was being buffeted by a strong wind as he galloped his cherished horse through a barren ravine.
Mephius had very few wild horses. There were only narrow strips of land in which emaciated horses could graze, so Simon was proud of his mount which he had only just bought from Garbera.
He remembered that that childhood acquaintance of his, who was likewise riding beside him, had been envious of it.
“Sell it to me, Simon.”
“Hmm, what to do…”
“Not just for money. For the daughter of the Evee House that you’re so infatuated with. Shall I write a letter on your behalf, since you’re so incompetent with a pen? No, wait, I can just use the imperial family’s authority to order your marriage.”
“They’re already rumours of how you’re extending your evil influence.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Oh, look over there. Do you see that rocky mountain like the horn of a dragon on this side of the ravine? If you can get there faster than me, I’ll think about it.”
“I want your horse for its speed. So aren’t you getting the order wrong?”
“You never know till you try. Well then, let’s go!”
“Wait, you insolent cur. You’d better prepare yourself because when I become emperor, I’ll have you locked up somewhere where the light doesn’t shine. Dammit, wait.”
The two of them galloped on, laughing.
In the present, his eyes shut, Simon Rodloom was also laughing. He opened his mouth a little too wide and smoke got in, making him cough violently.
But even so, Simon continued to laugh.
Early the following morning, Guhl Mephius suddenly sat bolt upright in his bed.
These past few days, the emperor had been sleeping lightly. He had barely gone to sleep when he was already getting up and heading for his study or his office. Because of that, those who served him closely all tended to be sleep-deprived.
Recently, he had not allowed Empress Melissa to enter his room either.
All alone, Guhl wiped away his night’s sweat with a somewhat dazed look on his face. Perhaps he had a premonition.
The emperor had soon changed his clothes and left the room, whereupon he noticed that the attendant who was already there waiting for him looked pale.
“What?” Guhl asked without any preliminary. “What’s happened?”
“Y-Your Majesty. We have been contacted by the soldiers from the capital’s guards. T-There has been a fire at the Rodloom mansion.”
“What?”
The emperor’s always glaring eyes became even more ferocious than usual, just as though the attendant he was staring at was a messenger from the underworld come to bring him notice of his own death.
“And Simon?”
“Although the soldiers on lookout raced to the rescue as soon as they noticed… They only found him after the fire had been extinguished.” He paused and visibly gulped, then continued with his head lowered. “He... He had already p-passed away.”
Guhl stayed silent for a while.
The attendant continued to talk tearfully. Recently, Simon had frequently made merry with the servants at his residence until late into the night. When a soldier on guard, alerted by the noise, had peered suspiciously through the window, he had met Simon’s eye. “It’s only at this age that I’m learning to appreciate alcohol,” he had said, laughing while a little shame-faced.
For as long as Guhl had known him, Simon had practically been a teetotaller. Yet last night, Simon had gotten thoroughly drunk and had flown into a rage against his servants. “Get out. Don’t let me see you again!” He had screamed and evicted them from the house.
Although they were confused by the change in their master, the servants thought that he was simply not used to indulging in alcohol and that he would be back to the usual Lord Simon by tomorrow morning, so they had left for the time being.
And then came the fire.
Simon had probably mishandled fire while drunk.
“Idiot.” After a long silence, the emperor shook his head. His lips twisted into an eerie, scornful smile. “No matter how old he’s gotten, that’s not like Simon. Is he trying to imitate that pesky fake crown prince? Pretending to be dead so that you can appear before me later? Search for him. He should be nearby.”
Considering the order just given, it was hard to tell whether or not the emperor had lost his mind.
Thereupon, a new report arrived. One of the pages who had served Simon was at the gate and was requesting an audience with His Majesty.
The imperial court was already abuzz with news of what had happened.
“Show him in,” the emperor gave his permission.
The page who had been granted an audience was a young boy with an honest-looking face. A single glance was enough to conclude that he had a lot in common with Simon. He was probably of good pedigree and, immediately upon learning of Simon’s death, he had set out to accomplish his duty to the best of his ability; even though it meant appearing before the emperor himself and even though he was currently as white as a sheet.
“The day before yesterday, Lord Rodloom called for me in the evening and handed me this. ‘Deliver it to the emperor the day after tomorrow’, he said.”
It was a wooden box of a size that could be carried under one arm. At first the page had been hesitant to take it since it was impossible for someone in his position to meet with the emperor. Moreover, those who were close to Simon were being kept away from the palace.
But Simon had simply smiled enigmatically. “What? There’s a small trick to it. You’ll understand the day after tomorrow. His Majesty will certainly agree to meet you,” he had said.
Because when he was saying it, he had looked as though he were looking forward to that time, the page had thought that he was probably preparing some kind of joke and so, in the end, he had taken the box. Not for a second had he thought that the ‘trick’ Simon spoke of would be related to his own death.
“Of course,” the emperor almost bellowed, “damn you Simon, of course you set fire to your own house. Show me.”
Normally, the emperor would never take something directly from the hands of someone from the lower classes. It would always pass through the hands of a third person who check it for safety reasons, but now the emperor practically snatched the box with his own hands.
He lifted the lid.
His expression turned completely unreadable.
His previous scornful smile had already vanished, but it was replaced with neither anger nor sadness. the emperor ordered everyone to clear out then returned to his bedroom with the box in his hands. Guhl Mephius took out what was in the box and lifted it up.
An old-style handgun that gleamed dark in the morning sun, which was pouring through a gap in the curtains.
It was in mint condition. Simon being Simon, even if he had kept it for self-defence, he probably had not fired it once, even to try it out.
There was nothing else inside the box. Not even a letter. It had only contained that handgun.
When he checked, there was a single round loaded.
Guhl spun the cylinder then pulled the trigger.
The response was an empty click. He continued to pull again and again. Spinning the cylinder each time.
“Well then,” Guhl muttered in a low voice, as if he did not want anyone else to hear, even though there was no one else in the room, “wouldn’t it be easy to blow my brains out with this?”
He could read Simon’s mind. His motive had probably been something close to what Guhl had just mentioned.
To use this to cut my life short or to aim at yours – you know which would, by rights, have been the best thing to do – was what Simon wanted to say.
And the emperor, of course, understood why. It was because of the families of the two generals who had joined the crown prince’s side. He had expected some kind of a reaction from Simon immediately after he had decreed the executions, and had in fact found it strange when there had been nothing but silence.
“And for that very reason…”
For that very reason, Simon should have picked up the gun and carried out a heroic suicide. It would have been far more effective if he had done so. And there should have been at least one letter. Simon should have left words of reproof against the emperor before shooting himself in the head, words which would have resonated with the many nobles and commanders who admired Simon. He would thus have earned fame for his chivalry and his name would have remained for a long time in Mephius.
Instead of which, Simon deliberately chose not to leave any words behind and to act out the shameful role of one who had caused a fire after getting drunk.
There again, the emperor could read his intentions.
Even in exchange for his own life, he had been worried about his old friend. Since it was fine as long as the emperor alone received his message, he had set fire to his own house.
“Damned imbecile!” This time, the emperor roared out loud. He paced up and down in long strides, acting as though he were trying to seize Simon, who could no longer be there. “Astounding. Does even a man like you not understand? Don’t you understand?”
Guhl’s eyes were flaring and his cheeks were quivering furiously. Drool flying from his open mouth, he spat out one angry roar after another.
“That damned imbecile. Fool. Unrivalled idiot. Are you happy now? Using your life however you want, without my permission. Are you happy now that you’re looking down at me from far above?”
Then, the emperor the handgun that he was still holding and held it level with his heart.
He pulled the trigger.
A gunshot resounded and a hole was drilled into the room’s expensive furniture.
“Your Majesty!”
He could hear his attendant soldiers yelling from the other side of the door. “Leave it!” He yelled as he contemplated the gunpowder smoke rising from the muzzle.
“A funeral gun salute for you, you bastard. Watch it well, Simon!” He flung those words in a shout.
– Later, the emperor had Simon’s remains carried to the Dragon Gods’ temple.
Since the funeral of the former chairman of the Council, Simon Rodloom, took precedence, the execution of Rogue and Odyne’s families was temporarily suspended.
Simon’s death however was not without effect.
For example, the footsteps of the soldiers who were assembling in Solon from all over grew sluggish along the way. Because lords like those of Kilro and Idoro came up with reasons to delay dispatching their troops, the reinforcements which should have been sent to Nedain still had yet to be organised.
More than ever before, there were voices openly whispering their support for Crown Prince Gil Mephius and the retainers, sensing the way the wind was blowing, found opportunities to meet in secret and seriously discuss their future course of action.
The wind, yes.
It was certainly blowing in favour of Gil Mephius.
Soon after Simon lost his life, Garbera and Ende started to move.
Zenon Owell, the second prince of Garbera, was at the bridge of an air carrier that was flying from the capital, Phozon, to Zaim Fortress which protected the northern border. They were going on military duties.
Or at least, that was what Zenon himself was expecting.
Terrified of internal strife, his father, King Ainn, and his older brother, Razetta, had adopted indecisive attitudes; but Zenon was convinced that whatever Salamand was planning would bring about a disaster that Garbera would not be able to recover from.
Salamand Fogel. The vice-captain of the Order of the Badger had won no little amount of fame, but, as a fervent admirer of Ryucown’s, he was also a man who wished to resume the war with Mephius.
According to him, it was ‘to protect the pride of chivalry’.
Once upon a time, Prince Zenon had thought the same thing. But not anymore. Which was not to say that he had lost his ‘pride in chivalry’. Each person had different beliefs and loyalties.
Salamand had advocated to the King that they should take back Princess Vileena, whom Mephius had branded a dishonourable traitor. It was to the point that her whereabouts in Mephius were unknown. If the people of Garbera were to learn of that, their feelings towards Mephius would inevitably and instantly deteriorate. Sometimes, the feelings of the people gave rise to situations that exceeded both their leaders’ predictions and their ability to contain them, and there was a risk that this might turn into just such a situation.
King Ainn Owell had allowed himself to be persuaded by the other retainers and had agreed to send a letter to Mephius. Salamand was given the task of taking it to Solon and, in the name of “showing them that we are serious,” he had gotten the King to consent to him leading several units of knights to Zaim as well. The movement of troops was a military manoeuvre in itself that would incite Mephius to remember their alliance, he reasoned.
However, according to information from Miss Rinoa Kotjun and from Zenon’s friend Noue, those in sympathy with Salamand had already carried a large number of weapons to Zaim and there was a high chance that they had even captured the fortress itself.
Salamand, you bastard.
Could it be that he intended to trespass into Mephius without waiting for the king’s authorisation? Thinking that, Zenon had immediately, and while in full armour, sought an audience with the king. He had requested permission to subjugate Salamand but his sovereign and his older brother, still unable to perceive Salamand’s real intentions, had been cautious.
Zenon had therefore carefully chosen his words. “I will start by heading towards Zaim with only a few men.” Following that, he had been granted to proceed to Zaim for the time being. From there, he had immediately hopped onto an air carrier that Rinoa had gotten ready. Along with twenty knights, he had ridden north, above the grass-covered plains of Garbera. Even though he had said that he would “start” that way, the truth was that at that point his men from the Order of the Tiger had already set off from their various locations. The one who had arranged for their ships was once again Rinoa.
While on the way, one of the ships had stopped at a supply base. Noue Salzantes had been waiting there.
On board the ship, in a cabin reserved for Zenon’s exclusive use, the two of them met up.
“There’s some unfortunate news,” after hurriedly giving his greetings, Noue cut straight to the point.
“What is it? Has Salamand reached Zaim?”
“Well there is that too.”
“If my father would just have made his decision a little faster – well, there’s no help for it now. And? What is this other bad news?”
He signalled with his eyes to the page who was laying out tea to leave the room. Once there was no one else there, Noue twiddled with the black hair that fell over his shoulders and said something strange.
“In Mephius, a man claiming to be Crown Prince Gil has appeared. And our Garbera’s Princess Vileena is by his side.”
“Huh?”
Zenon looked bewildered for a second.
“Huh!”
But then immediately changed the inflection of his words. His expression however showed mixed feelings.
“Wait, how is this bad? My little sister is alive, how could that be anything but good? No, but, a man claiming to be the prince? Wasn’t he supposed to have died after being betrayed by a retainer? Which means, he’s an impostor? Then, then is my sister by his side also an impostor? I don’t understand! Talk in a way that I can understand!”
He spoke in one go, not pausing once for breath. Noue nodded and gave a summary of the information he had obtained concerning Mephius. Zenon listened in silence then said,
“Interesting. It feels like something which couldn’t possibly be happening within one of our neighbouring countries but rather somewhere completely different. Noue, what do you think? the prince, and also Vileena, are they the real ones?”
“I have not yet been able to obtain any certain evidence. However, I believe that there is a strong possibility that they are. Rogue and Odyne, who rose in rebellion in Apta, are both known as upright commanders. So it would be perfectly plausible for them to stand up against the emperor’s tyranny; but they are not the sort of people who would then deliberately set up an impostor as the crown prince to validate their cause. Moreover, it makes no sense to bring out an impostor of the princess. On the contrary, claiming that while in Apta, she had gotten caught up in the war with the west and died would have been a far better way of highlighting the emperor’s viciousness. It would also have been easier for them to rebuild the relationship with our Garbera if they claimed that they were fighting in revenge for the princess.”
“I see.”
Even while he nodded, Zenon maintained a complicated expression. As her older brother, he was, of course, nothing but delighted that Vileena was alive. Moreover, he was acquainted with Mephius’ Crown Prince Gil. They had only met once, but he was a memorable man.
I’d heard he was a fool but he seems like a cunning devil – he had thought.
And then, very soon after that, when Zenon had been at the royal court, he had heard that Gil Mephius and been shot and killed by a Mephian retainer.
And that same Gil was alive.
If that turned out to be true, then Gil had probably faked his own death. That it was not a nation-wide conspiracy was clear from the fact that he was now colliding with the emperor head-on. It must be a plan that had been hatched either by Gil alone or with some people who were close to him. Was his little sister, Vileena, one of those people?
At any rate, with this, Mephius was at risk of being divided. No, from what he had heard, the hostilities had already opened and a civil war had started.
“And,” Zenon looked at Noue searchingly, “not to repeat myself, but how is this bad?”
“Salamand might also hear about it. On top of which, I would expect it to try and unsettle the court even further.”
A great many commanders would certainly be eager to seize the golden opportunity presented by a civil war in Mephius. Moreover, a Garberan princess was at the side of the crown prince who was fighting against the current regime.
Which meant that there was plenty of room to intervene in that civil war.
“And that also means seizing Mephius’ land and assets like looters at a fire.”
“We can assume so,” even though nobody was present, Noue spoke in a whisper, “and not only that, those who would get in the way of devouring Mephius once the disturbance is settled could be quietly made to disappear – that possibility also exists.”
“You mean Crown Prince Gil?”
“I mean Princess Vileena.”
At Noue’s words, Zenon pursed his lips and bit back his voice which had almost cried out in surprise.
“Whether the emperor or the crown prince wins, Mephius will unavoidably be weakened. Those who wanted to fight Mephius to the end during the war will only be able to gain political influence if Princess Vileena, the embodiment of the peace between us, disappears. Pardon my discourtesy, but I do not think that the king would have any arguments convincing enough to stop them, and I expect that he would let them persuade him into going for full-scale military manoeuvres.”
“…”
If that were to happen, Garbera would certainly profit from it. However, those who wanted to fight Mephius were at odds with Zenon’s current way of thinking. One could even call them political opponents. After pondering for a while, he said –
“Those who would destroy other countries, even at the cost of silencing their own royal family, cannot build a future that embodies Garbera’s chivalrous ideals.”
“Truly,” Noue nodded his slender chin.
His attitude was for all the world like that of a young man worried about his country’s future, but if anyone who knew about his recent past were present, they might well look at him and think – you sly bastard. Since, after all, Noue had most certainly schemed to have Princess Vileena killed.
“Setting the question of Vileena aside,” Zenon raised his fist to his chest, “there’s no doubt that Salamand is a man who looks down on the royal family and who will stop at nothing. We need to stop him at all cost before he manages to beguile my father with his smooth-tongued wiles.”
And if they pulled through this fight then –
Gil Mephius. I look forward to checking with my own eyes whether you are real or fake.
From there on, Zenon’s flight did not encounter any obstacles along the way and arrived at the point where Zaim Fortress was right before them.
They purposely let themselves be seen and landed within sight of the sentries. Even though they were flying the banner that proved that a member of the royal family was on board, no one from the fortress came to greet them. In place of that, soldiers were waiting for them, spears in hand.
Zenon Owell alighted from the ship and, accompanied by several attendants, he walked up to the gates.
“We were waiting for you, Prince Zenon.”
From the other side of the soldiers’ spears, Zenon looked at them as though contemplating something curious.
“It seems you know who you’re pointing those spears at.”
There was no reply.
Every one of the soldiers had pale faces, but the eyes within those faces seemed to blaze with fire.
So Zaim has fallen into the hands of rebels again? The thought flitted through the prince’s mind.
This was the land of Ryucown’s uprising and of Ryucown’s downfall.
“Is Salamand not coming out?”
“If he came out, he would kill Your Highness.”
“Oh really, are you worried about my safety? Well then, see you next time.”
Zenon did not enjoy drawn-out chatter. His cloak flapping, he once more boarded the ship.
The soldiers watched as the ship disappeared from sight in the sky and, although their expressions were becoming increasingly tight at having defied the royal family, they were relieved at having, for now, achieved their aim.
With this, we’ll have bought some time.
But –
“Enemy attack, enemy attack!”
It was less than an hour later that the airships sent out in reconnaissance literally came flying back, shouting that as they did so.
The soldiers standing guard at the gates soon saw it for themselves. A group on horseback was riding up amidst a cloud of dust. The flag of Zenon Owell’s Knights of the Order of the Tiger fluttered gallantly in the evening shadows.
When he was turned away at the gates, Zenon had accomplished his promise to the King to “start by calling with only a few soldiers.” Neither the King nor Salamand could have predicted that his second move would come so soon, but that was not currently Zenon’s problem.
He had more than a thousand soldiers ride in five of the ships that Rinoa had prepared. The remaining ship had been equipped with weapons and was at the rear, serving as the flagship.
Naturally, the fortress was thrown into confusion both inside and out.
“It’s the Order of the Tiger!”
“Impossible. It’s too soon. Was His Highness planning on attacking us from the start?”
“We can worry about that later. Enemy attack, enemy attack!”
For the second time since Ryucown’s uprising, the signs of war were looming over Zaim fortress.
“Prince Zenon is attacking?”
Salamand Fogel received the report just as the preparations for weapons and provisions had been finished and he was about to set off on horseback.
But they were still at the fortress’ west gate. He had not been expecting Zenon to attack so quickly.
Salamand was to lead eight hundred of his men west of the fortress during the night. After which, the troops remaining in Zaim would use a single air carrier to fly towards the Mephian border garrison. And bombard them. Once the garrison had fallen into chaos, the plan had been for them to cross over the Bruno Hills. In other words, he had not, from the start, had the slightest intention of officially conveying the King’s letter to the emperor.
But Zenon had been far faster than anticipated.
Within the royal family, which had grown craven since the war with Mephius, Zenon was the only one the Salamand recognised as a true leader and commander.
“What should we do, Lord Salamand?”
His subordinates from the Order of the Badger asked, their faces filled with tension.
“If it turns into a battle here, Mephius will notice what is happening in Zaim and the border garrison will be on alert. Shall we put the plan forward and have our ship attack them at once?”
“No, then the fortress will be insufficiently manned. If Prince Zenon takes Zaim too quickly, we’ll be at risk from the rear.”
In front of his men who were raising their voices fretfully, Salamand let go of the horse whose back he had just been about to jump onto and instead sat down on the spot with a thump. As a commander, he had learned from Ryucown that in times like these, he needed to demonstrate an attitude as firm as a rock. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them wide and sharp.
“First, strengthen the fortress’ defence,” he shouted. “Zaim isn’t a fortress that will fold under one or two attacks, even if the enemy strength is twice or three times ours.”
If they learned that there was internal disturbance within Garbera, the border garrison was more likely to spring into action instead. Until reinforcements arrived, that might, in fact, make it easier for them to find a chance than it would have under normal circumstances.
Dressed in the heavy, multi-layered armour that was traditional to Garbera, Salamand vigorously stood up.
“Battle stations!”
As a signal that he was declaring war, Zenon Owell had his warship perform a long-distance bombardment.
Nonetheless, Zaim was a fortress that protected Garbera from Ende in the north and Mephius in the west. They could not afford to destroy it. So he left things at the level of a threat.
The ground heaved with each roar of the guns and sprays of earth went flying.
Once it had started, Zenon gave the Knights of the Order of the Tiger the command to charge.
As previously stated, however, Zaim was Garbera’s sturdiest fortress. Because practically the only roads leading to it stretched out towards the south, the level ground there was studded with towers and gun batteries from where shooting and shelling spewed forth. Because of that, the infantry and cavalry troops could not get close to it and, since the line of fire also covered the skies, the airship units could not approach either.
“Zaim lives up to its reputation. Was it a little too reckless to attempt a ground war with only a thousand soldiers?” Noue Salzantes murmured from the sky. Riding at the rear of an airship, he was gazing at the battlefield through a pair of binoculars.
Without even sallying from the gates, the enemy was completely sweeping back the knights’ assault.
“Send up a beacon.” Once he had grasped the situation, Noue alighted back onto land and gave his instructions to a messenger. “Retreat. We’re retreating.”
The battle had not lasted even two hours.
The Knights of the Order of the Tiger started to pull back. From the fortress, they could hear the bellows of the soldiers, who were in high spirits.
While all the knights drew back to where the flagship was, Noue continued to gaze at the fortress.
“Is there no way to get them to pursue us?” He muttered.
He too returned to the ship and reported to Prince Zenon, who was on the bridge.
“Damn you, Salamand. Is he planning on a siege war?” Zenon practically spat out the name of the man who was now a traitor.
“We can assume that too,” Noue put a slender finger to his chin. “If he has chosen to oppose the royal family, then instead of drawing Your Highness to the fortress, he should be looking for a way to capture you or to take advantage of any opening. Having already turned his sword against the royal family, he should no longer have the leisure of being able to choose his methods. And yet, on top of deliberately placing himself on the receiving end of an attack, he didn’t even give chase when we withdrew.”
“Meaning?”
“Zaim is a sacrificial pawn. No doubt meant to buy time for Salamand to cross over the border.”
When he heard ‘cross over the border’, Zenon’s expression changed. According to Noue’s earlier predictions, and also to Rinoa Kotjun’s apprehensions, Salamand intended to drive a wedge between Garbera and Mephius, even at the cost of his own life, so as to rouse Garbera to war.
“Then we no longer have the leisure of choosing our means either,” Zenon said with a determined look. “The enemy shouldn’t have many ships. Shall we use our own to bombard the gates into oblivion and then charge immediately after?”
“No…” Noue’s long hair swayed as he shook his head. “We will wait, Your Highness.”
“Wait?”
“Yes. Since you arrived faster than expected, Prince Zenon, Salamand’s situation has changed. Let’s keep an eye on them and take our time waiting until the enemy gets impatient and launches their own attack.”
Noue’s expression was perfectly cool. He said to ‘wait’ even though he himself had pointed out that the enemy was stalling for time. Zenon was dumbfounded, but as Noue explained his plan, he was gradually won over to it.
As a matter of fact, Salamand Fogel was getting impatient at that very moment. The defence had been solidified in the expectation of a second and third round of assault; but after the first attack, Zenon had not made any other move. Mephius’ border garrison also seemed to have adopted a wait-and-see attitude, and there had been no signs of any particular activity. Of course, in terms of internal strife, Mephius had been there first. If they were to request reinforcements, there was a good chance that the response would be slow; so they were not going to make any reckless moves.
Even though that’s why this was such a good chance – Salamand ground his teeth, looking for all the world like the bear which had given its name to his Order.
The original plan had been to bring out their ship to attract the garrison’s attention.
But if they took the ship out now, the fort would be under-manned. It would make no sense to cross the border only to have Zenon pounce on them from behind.
“Damn you, Zenon.”
After two days had passed, Salamand realised that they were wasting too much time. The more time went by, the more they were the ones at a disadvantage. Unlike Ryucown, who had been promised supplies from Ende in the north, Salamand was alone and unaided. Once the provisions and water had been used up, it would no longer be question of the path of chivalry.
In that case…
Salamand had no ordinary amount of determination. Late that night, he removed all the wine casks from the ship and treated the soldiers to the contents.
“Drink, drink,” he encouraged them. “The braves who want to be the first to rush to General Ryucown’s side, raise your swords and I will grant you a speedy death!”
Salamand chose three hundred of his men to cross the border with him and assembled them into a suicide corps.
On the third day, after Zenon had established his troops’ position, and in the same way that they had when he had visited Zaim, the fortress’ gates were thrown open. Most of the troops within poured out like an avalanche. Salamand’s forces intended to stun the enemy with this onslaught.
However, at that very moment, the prince’s formation split left and right. From their centre, looking as though it were gliding along the slope of a small hill, Zenon’s flagship came into sight. It was obvious from the ship’s timing that they had been expecting the attack, and beneath their helmets, Salamand’s men wore shocked expressions.
The ship flew over the clash between the Order of the Tiger’s cavalry and Salamand’s infantry soldiers, and headed for the skies over Zaim Fortress. The fortress’ cannons and guns, which had been providing covering fire to the ground charge, did not have time to adjust their aim.
The flagship’s lower gun turrets rotated and fired rounds in quick succession. Beneath the booming guns, the ground shook as though in an earthquake. Even the air seemed to be trembling. Once the bombardment was over, and the ship had flown away from the fortress for fear of its anti-aircraft fire, Zaim’s southern gate and bulwark lay smashed into tiny pieces.
Having made sure of that, the ship quickly released a unit of small airships. Contrary to expectations, the ships did not swoop around the fortress to encircle it, but instead guarded the carrier as it descended towards the ground. Having landed, this time it discharged a huge number of cavalry soldiers.
The new arrival of knights caught Salamand’s troops in a pincer movement. Meanwhile, the airship unit finally began bombing the fortress, aiming to suppress its gunfire.
Destroying the fortress that protected their own borders was an unimaginably reckless and violent method, but according to Zenon, it was – fine as long as the north-facing walls remain sturdy. He had decided that, even if the southern side was wrecked, it would be an acceptable loss.
Seeing Salamand’s army abruptly collapse, Prince Zenon spurred his own warhorse on.
“Charge!”
Leading three hundred of his elite troops, he closed in on the fortress from its front.
“Dammit,” Salamand cursed, realising that his troops had so easily been lured out. But even so, “it’s fine, we ride. Even if we only kick up this much dust, the Mephian garrison won’t be able to ignore it. Be prepared for sacrifices and cut through!”
Such a prompt decision was perhaps something to be expected from an officer that even Zenon recognised. And this drastic step brought about some good luck for Salamand who had been continuously plagued with misfortune.
Had the decision been delayed, the Mephian border garrison would have been set up in position along the way leading from Zaim, and would have been able to repelled Salamand’s troop of five hundred. But the Mephian response was slower than Zenon and Noue had anticipated. Seeing dust rising from Zaim, they were, for a short moment, thrown into confusion. And Salamand’s unit was able to make use of that gap to charge at them from the flank.
Salamand did not need to annihilate the garrison. And in any case, Zenon’s troops were right behind them. It was doubtful whether they would continue chasing them over the border, and as long as they could outdistance their enemies, there was a good chance that both Zenon’s troops and Mephius’ side would be left in chaos.
“Hurry, all of you!” at the head of the unit, Salamand shouted fit to tear his own throat, kicking his horse’s flanks. He dodged the spears that flashed towards him from the ground and with an easy strike of his sword sent the head of a Mephian soldier flying.
For General Ryucown. And for Garbera’s future.
As blood sprayed, Salamand plunged forward without looking back and inwardly recited that like an incantation. He would get as close as he could to the imperial capital, and if possible, clash with the main body of Mephius’ army, and die. That was Salamand’s only wish.
Once word spread of how they had desperately tried to rescue Princess Vileena, their cause would be vindicated and public opinion within Garbera would instantly swing in favour of war against Mephius.
Meanwhile, Zenon Owell was exterminating Salamand’s ground troops. He was however experiencing greater difficulty than expected because of how desperately the enemy fought. It felt as though in each soldier, he could see Ryucown’s ghost.
You’re willing to go that far.
His armour drenched in blood, Zenon entered Zaim. As they had feared, Salamand had led a unit across the border. Sending a messenger to Mephius’ border garrison, it turned out that they had taken damage from Salamand’s charge. It did not seem that they would be at all inclined to trust his suggestion that half of them be sent in pursuit while the other half remained there on alert.
He had no choice but to circumvent the border and send messengers directly to the capital. Zenon chose several courageous men and had them head towards Mephius’ capital, Solon, each taking different routes.
It was only after he had finished giving orders that Zenon realised that he was still grasping his blood-covered sword and returned it to his waist. If Salamand managed to successfully carry out his plan, his own country might be split right in half.
If it’s Father…
He was afraid that, rather than letting the country be torn apart, his father might take advantage of the civil war in Mephius to send soldiers. Although he could see how that would be the correct decision for a statesman to make, giving in to agitators out of fear of a temporary disturbance would be fatal to the royal family’s prestige.
Ryucown.
Zaim Fortress was still filled with dust and the smoke of gunpowder. And amidst that dense fog, it seemed to Zenon that he had seen that young warrior’s imposing figure, all clad in armour.
The force that had left from Birac numbered about seven hundred. Three hundred infantry, a hundred and fifty cavalry. There were fifty dragoons on the fleet-footed, small-sized Tengo dragons, and the remaining two hundred were riflemen.
The one in command was the general of the Silver Axe Division, Odyne Lorgo.
Gilliam was part of a platoon of infantrymen.
Just in case, General Rogue also had troops organised and on standby inside and outside of Birac.
Orba himself, after watching his troops leave in the dead of night, was not in his bedroom but in his office. He could not command from the front lines in every battle from now on. Thinking of the ‘afterwards’, of the battles that would lead to victory against the Emperor, he would need to get used to sitting alone in his office like this, motionless and with his arms crossed.
Afterwards… afterwards?
A map was spread out on the office desk but Orba’s eyes had been shut for a while now. He had still not found a clear answer to the challenge that Folker Baran had thrust forward.
Inside the room, along with Orba, were three guards that Pashir had forcibly pushed onto him.
Princess Vileena, who had presented herself during the conversation with Raymond, had not afterwards interfered with anything to do with the battle.
“I leave this to you, Prince.” He had been hearing words to that effect earlier.
Will we take Nedain today? If we take it, what will come ‘afterwards’? The remaining major cities are Solon, Kilro and Idoro. If what Fedom says is true, Kilro’s lord, Indolph, will support us. In that case, Emperor Guhl will definitely send for the entire army to gather in Solon.
Actually, they had received information that the troops of the twelve generals, scattered throughout the country, were already moving along the highways.
Solon being the capital city, military ships and army corps other than the one’s assigned to defend it were not originally allowed to enter. Which meant that they intended to put the entire army to use in protecting the capital.
Well, whatever.
Orba opened his eyes and stopped thinking about the far-off future. Outside the window, it was pitch black. The wind seemed to have risen since earlier.
The seven hundred troops led by Odyne were marching through that wind.
Since the bridge over the River Zwimm, which separated Birac from Nedain, would naturally be under watch, they did what Raymond had done when he was coming to Birac and travelled north while keeping an eye on the highways.
Raymond was leading the way. Just like a fully-fledged warrior, a sword was hanging at his waist and he was carrying a gun on his back. And of course, his sister’s paper flower was an unobtrusive splash of white decorating his breast.
They marched while sending scouts to investigate their surroundings and check that there were no soldiers lying in ambush along the highway. Three times they hailed the sunrise.
When there was less than half a day to the appointed time, the soldiers on guard had vanished from along the road.
Scouts disguised as pedlars went flying to the relay station towns to gather information; there they heard rumors of some kind of disturbance within the town, and that the soldiers had hurriedly been called back. Upon receiving that news, Odyne and Raymond exchanged looks on horseback.
“Right!”
Odyne set his resolve, crossed along the highway and left it when they were at the north of Nedain.
The sun set once more.
They arrived at the quarry less than an hour afterwards. Odyne halted his warhorse and sent three riders in reconnaissance.
They soon returned and reported that there were many lights around the quarry.
The Abigoal troops, no doubt. They had succeeded in luring them out, just as planned.
Sitting on horseback, Raymond could feel his blood simmer and seethe. He wondered if this was what it was like, the atmosphere on the battlefield. He had no experience of war itself but he felt as though if he abandoned his consciousness to the torrent of blood currently coursing throughout his entire body, he would be able to hunt the heads of ten, or even a hundred enemy soldiers.
Odyne gave the order to advance once more.
He had the riflemen go ahead so that they could fire a first volley. The enemy lights would make good targets. After that round of shooting, there would be no more need for caution. They would close the distance in one swoop and descend upon the enemy from the rear.
Raymond realised that he was unsheathing his sword without even being aware that he was doing so. Actually, for the past two hours or more, he had been grasping the hilt so strongly it hurt. Because his tension was at its height.
Boyce, you bastard, are you somewhere within this net?
He believed that he must be. If possible, he wanted to strike him down with his own hands.
For Raymond, who had lived a life unrelated to warfare, it was a dangerous thing to believe that victory was already theirs.
He calmly whipped his horse and drove it forward.
At that moment, a furious peel of thunder rolled overhead. Or at least, that was the illusion that assailed Raymond, so violent was what happened.
The thunder rolled, and rolled, and with each thunderbolt, soldiers were shaken off their horses. The previous quiet was utterly transformed, and the surroundings were filled with blood, the neighing of horses, and the bellows of soldiers.
Riflemen had been lying concealed in the forest to their left. Because their attention had been focused on the lights in front of them, they had completely failed to notice their presence. Odyne’s side, which should have been the one launching a surprise attack, was suddenly caught in a fusillade.
The corpse of a cavalryman collapsed towards Raymond. A bullet had pierced through his head and, seeing his tongue hang loosely from his mouth, Raymond’s mind went blank. He shook him off in a panic and the soldier fell from his horse. Because his foot was caught in the stirrup, the body was dragged along as the horse broke into a run.
In that same interval, bullets rattled and more soldiers fell.
When he wondered whether the thunder had finally stopped, this time it was from in front of them that voices echoed.
A group cavalrymen led by Boyce Abigoal.
The riflemen that Odyne had sent ahead collapsed without any resistance.
“General!”
Gilliam, bending down, did not need to urge him.
“Retreat, retreat, retreat!” From horseback, Odyne repeatedly yelled the same word.
One after another, the horses turned around and galloped back along the way they had come. For a moment, Raymond was almost left behind.
“What are you doing? This way, hurry!”
Gilliam, who had been at the end of the column, rushed over and forcibly led him away. Raymond followed him, all but unconscious. Sweat, tears, and mucus flowed across his entire face. Within his narrow chest, his heart was drumming so fast that it might burst out at any moment.
He was already far away from that warrior-like state of mind in which he had believed that he could defeat any number of enemies. Now, he just wanted to flee into a silence with neither gunshots nor war cries.
“Are you there, Raymond?” Boyce’s voice sounded like it was just behind him. “You escaping, you coward? I’ve got your little sister.”
It would be a long time before Raymond would be able to decide whether that was an auditory hallucination born of fear or a real voice.
Odyne’s troops fled for dear life along the road to Birac. Among the infantrymen, some deliberately chose to stop and fight so as to halt their pursuers. Were the screams that echoed at Raymond’s back their shouts as they released fire, or were they their death throes?
It was an utter rout.
They ran south of Nedain for several dozen kilometres. They stopped once on the banks of the Zwimm. They had somehow managed to shake off pursuit, but many had fallen by the wayside. Now, less than half of them remained.
“We need to send a messenger to His Highness,” said Odyne as he was organising formation.
Raymond volunteered.
Although he had managed to free himself from the panic that had gripped him during their escape, with the return of sanity, Raymond felt as though he were being strangled by bitter regrets and self-condemnation.
I was under suspicion.
He had tried to act with the utmost caution. But because he was not used to these kinds of things, he must surely have committed any number of serious mistakes. He had fallen into the enemy trap, laid right before his nose.
For a brief while, Odyne stared into Raymond’s eyes. The general’s face was plastered in mud and clotted blood.
“Alright, go,” he gave his permission in only few words.
Raymond set his expression firmly and once again galloped on horseback towards Birac.
Three days later, he was kneeling before Gil and reporting their defeat.
“I am deeply sorry. Because of my incompetence…”
The dam that had been holding back his feelings burst. Teardrops fell one after another onto the back of his hands which were pressed against the floor. Most of the labourers who were supposed to stage the uprising had probably lost their lives. No, perhaps they had all been massacred. Moreover –
“My estate will surely also have been attacked. There were children that we were looking after there. What’s happened to them? M-My sister, Louise, too... what’s happened to her? Boyce has been infatuated with her for a long time now…”
He continued helplessly prattling on to the prince. Louise was a follower of the Badyne faith in which suicide was prohibited. He did not know whether that was lucky or unlucky, considering the calamity which must have befallen her. And anyway, women of the Badyne faith were obliged to marry the one they had given their chastity to. Violently assaulted, torn between doctrine and despair, how could he begin to imagine his little sister’s suffering?
Vileena was also present and listened with a sorrowful expression to his tearful reminiscences.
“Y-Your Highness,” Raymond Peacelow clung to Gil’s cloak, “Please lend me two hundred, no, even just a hundred soldiers. In exchange for my life, I will definitely, definitely show you how I’ll kill Jairus and Boye. Your Highness, please!”
“Your Highness!” Vileena cried, momentarily startled.
Gil seemed to stoop for a second, grabbed Raymond by the nape of his neck and yanked him up. Then he hit him hard across the side of the face. Raymond tumble to the office’s floor.
Gil walked up to him, almost trampling on his head.
“If I assign soldiers to you, those hundred or two hundred men will die in vain.
“Y-Your Highness…”
“Do you think that this defeat is your responsibility? Don’t be so full of yourself. I made the decision. And I let the soldiers die helplessly.”
“…”
“Call Rogue,” Orba ordered the page to summon Rogue Saian.
After quickly explaining the situation, all he asked was, “Can you leave?”
“Aye,” the veteran general clicked his heels together. His preparations were set so that they were ready for whenever the order came to head for the front.
“The enemy only consisted of the Abigoal House’s troops, which means that reinforcements haven’t arrived from Solon yet. Leave at once and join up with Odyne. Subjugate the soldiers posted along the highway.”
“Aye.”
“But if the enemy draws back into Nedain city, avoid pursuing after them. Set up formation in the surrounding area. As to where…” Orba pointed to a place on the map spread out on the table. “The cannons and airships go by carrier, the soldiers over land.”
This defeat was naturally a hard blow for Orba. He had, from the start, been walking the path of warfare because he detested those in power and hated tyrants. He felt nothing but seething anger towards Jairus and Boyce. And because of that, it was necessary to make his second move calmly and accurately.
To simply accept defeat – that would be a disgrace for the crown prince’s army. They risked losing in one go the momentum that had seized Birac and it would be bad if the surroundings heard about it. It would influence the attitude of the lords and generals. There was absolutely no sense in wasting time now.
“Raymond.”
“A-Aye.”
Raymond, who had still been stretched out on the floor just as when he had been hit, hurriedly scrambled to his knees.
“Accompany General Rogue. You’re familiar with the area. Guide them to set up camp.”
“Y-Yes.”
“Since Jairus knew about the insurrection, the villages might also have come to harm. Rogue, when defending the villages, try to add to our forces by encouraging the people to join. If it goes well, we might be able to threaten Jairus from within Nedain as well.”
Rogue bowed his head deeply.
In any case, it was probably widely known in Solon and Nedain that the crown prince had narrowed down his target to that city. It would have an effect. The significance would be especially huge for the people who had been enduring Jairus’ oppression.
Without wasting any time, Rogue Saian departed with five hundred soldiers and two air carriers loaded with supplies.
Around the same time, Boyce Abigoal, greatly puffed up at having personally driven away the army of the Impostor Crown Prince – the same which had seized Birac – started raiding the area’s villages as violently as though they had been an enemy nation, all in the name of ‘hunting the remnants’ of the insurrection.
He would come up with some pretext to snatch away money and goods, then murder the men and rape the women. As far as Boyce was concerned, there was no need to concern himself over the Nedain territory anymore. Since a nomination to the twelve generals awaited him in the near future.
And it was for that reason that he was in a village barn and almost leapt out of his skin when Rogue and Odyne’s combined military forces started advancing to the roar of cannon fire.
“What are the lookouts doing?” He yelled while separating himself from the girl he had just been pinning down, but it was already too late.
Compared to Raymond, who frequently visited the villages and who was thoroughly acquainted with the local topography, the arrangement of guards that Boyce had spread out was full of holes. And of course, Rogue and Odyne far surpassed him in leading soldiers.
There was some fighting but it was a completely hopeless situation and, in the end, Boyce Abigoal had no choice but to flee to Nedain without even having the time to straighten his clothes.
And just as Orba had predicted, the effect on the villages surrounding the city was huge. They gathered about five hundred young men who volunteered “to join as a soldier”.
This was not only because of their resentment against Jairus and Boyce. It was because they feared that if the Abigoal family was not driven from the territory, every village in the area would be set alight.
Afterwards, following Gil’s orders, Rogue and Odyne set up camp at a location some thirty kilometres west of Nedain.
Raymond Peacelow guided the two generals through the area and, putting his knowledge of the terrain to good use, recommended where to deploy their soldiers. One day, at dusk, he and a few soldiers headed for the northern quarry.
The corpses had cruelly been left scattered around. Dolph’s was among them. His eyes were open wide, as though in regret.
Raymond wept uncontrollably as he buried them.
When he afterwards went into the man-made cave where the labourers had been staying, he noticed the artificial flower that was still fastened to the wall. Although it should have been glimmering a gentle white, it was steeped in the colour of dark red blood.
Raymond plucked it from the wall and, along with the one which had been decorating his breast, he gently laid them down at the top of the hill on which they had all been buried.
I swear.
Raymond murmured within his heart. He knew that if he opened his mouth now, all that would escape from it would be cowardly weeping.
Right now, all I can offer you are paper flowers, but I will, without fail, bring you the heads of the Abigoal father and son, Jairus and Boyce. Without fail.
Reinforcements a thousand strong were hurrying from Solon to Nedain when, as though crossing them along the way, the results of the first battle in there reached the capital the emperor decided to follow up by sending a further one thousand five hundred soldiers. Now that things had come to this, Guhl Mephius also realised that ‘time’ was finally moving again.
However, unlike the trade-rich Birac, Nedain did not have enough surplus to provide food to a large armed force. Naturally, a large number of supplies also had to be transported, and for that, time and money was needed.
In terms of not having enough surplus, Solon had the same issue. In order to consolidate its defensive line, troops from all over the country were amassing in the capital. For now, everything was still fine, but would they really be able to put up the soldiers for several months now that they had lost Birac, the linchpin of the economy?
So even though ‘time’ had started to move, it was still inevitable for him to be hoping for an early decisive battle.
Maybe –
The people, military, and nobles of Mephius all surreptitiously gossiped about the same thing –
Maybe His Majesty Emperor Guhl will personally take command in this coming battle and head towards Nedain?
The troops in Nedain would soon be increased, at which point the crown prince’s side would also start amassing the troops that it had stationed at Apta and Birac.
In other words –
Nedain, mocked as a rural backwater, would be the stage of the final battle in a civil war which had begun in a way that no one could have imagined.
Immediately after Jairus Abigoal had returned to Nedain with his troop of reinforcements, Emperor Guhl Mephius finalized his decision.
From now on, they would need to launch large-scale military manoeuvres. And for that, it was necessary to first ensure safety at the rear. The ‘rear’ in this case was not their neighbouring countries, Garbera and Ende, but those who should have been Mephius’ trustworthy vassals and generals. In order to prevent any further dissension, Guhl had decided to clamp down on the internal situation.
“Cancel all scheduled gladiator fights at Solon’s central arena tomorrow. The Saian and Lorgo families are to be hauled there and executed,” he ordered.
The arena would be opened free of charge and all the nobles and soldiers currently in Solon, and did not have urgent military matters to see to, would be obliged to attend.
It would serve as an example to others.
Even though they had expected this to come sooner or later, everyone was shaken.
Rogue was, needless to say, a long-serving general while Odyne was widely known as a strict but capable officer. They were loved by many. Moreover, their respective son and daughter had only just gone through the ceremony for coming of age.
“I saw it with my own eyes.”
In a dingy tavern at the end of a tortuous and unpaved road, a plump man sat, his shoulders quivering. The man had a store near an avenue lined with the mansions of nobles and military officers.
What he had seen was how, soon after the army of the Impostor Crown Prince had taken Birac, the families of Rogue Saian and Odyne Lorgo had been dragged from their residences and led away by soldiers.
“General Lorgo’s daughter was so pale it looked like she might collapse at any moment. Because of that, General Saian’s even younger son was shouting encouragements to her. 'It’s alright, the Heavens know that our fathers have done nothing to be ashamed of, so it’s alright, they’ll definitely come and save us', he said…”
Rogue Saian’s son, Romus, and Odyne Lorgo’s second daughter, Lannie, had both taken part in the old ceremony of riding a dragon’s back at that year’s Founding Festival, so the townspeople knew their names and faces.
“I thought they’d only been arrested as a warning.”
“They can’t really be going to execute them…”
“Nah, won’t the crown prince come racing up at the last minute. He’s like the main character in a heroic tale, so I’m sure he’ll create a miracle this time too.”
“Idiot, don’t talk without thinking. Do you want to be executed as well?”
“And in the first place, it’s all because of that scoundrel who calls himself the crown prince that the generals’ fates have veered off course.”
The liquor flowed but the guests’ faces remained gloomy.
That night, the same scene and the same conversation were playing out throughout Mephius. Not only among the people but also among the chief retainers serving the imperial family. Although they avoided gathering or dining together as much as possible. Because if they did, they might receive unwanted enquiries from the emperor about secretly gathering and sneakily plotting.
Not a single noble or officer had appealed to the emperor to halt the executions. There had, however, been an incident in which long-time servants of both families had thronged before the palace gates in tears, but they had quickly been sent away by the guards.
It turned into a long night for many of those living in Solon.
Including for Simon Rodloom.
He was the emperor’s longest-serving retainer and was currently confined to his residence, accused of having remonstrated His Majesty about the crown prince when the latter was ‘still alive’.
The inside of the mansion was as silent as a grave.
Which might seem perfectly natural as it was the dead of night, but there was no hint of human presence.
Simon was alone at his desk in his study, reading quietly. His only light was a candle placed near him.
He continued reading in silence for a long time, before finally giving a single sigh and closing his book. Looking behind him, there was a pile of other books.
They were all the ones that he had been interested in but had never had time to read until now, only instructing his pages to collect them for him.
He had read them all now.
Simon stood up from his chair and stretched. He went to stand near the window and looked up at the night sky. Judging by the stars, he guessed that there was another three hours until dawn.
It was a long night.
Although he appeared to be fully concentrated on chasing the words on the page, intrusive thoughts tended to pop into his head one after another, hindering his reading and difficult to drive away.
I’ve still got a long way to go – every time it happened, he reflected on his own immaturity. Because of that, he had found it surprisingly difficult to finish the last three books.
Simon left the side of the window and returned to the middle of the room.
“Well then,” murmuring absentmindedly, he picked up the candle from the desk.
And tilted it across the top of the pile of books. He brought it closer and closer, without paying any attention to how the melted wax was dripping down.
He did the same with every one of the heaps of books piled throughout the room.
Finally, he returned to the centre of the room and nonchalantly tossed the candlestick to the floor.
He closed his eyes.
Acrid smoke filled his mouth and nostrils.
Even with his eyelids closed, the light of the fire intruded on his retinas.
When this moment came, what would he think, what would he feel? Simon had been wondering about that for a long time. It was an interesting question.
But now that the time had finally arrived, not a single word formed in his mind.
Simon smiled unintentionally. There had been so much turmoil and hesitation, so much reminiscing and dredging up of what seemed like every one of his memories between the time when he had formulated this plan and today. Perhaps he had already used up all of his words somewhere along that way.
Except...
I would have liked to see him.
A thought suddenly came to his mind.
The Gil Mephius of rumours.
The crown prince who now stood at a height, and with power great enough, to cross weapons with the current emperor, Guhl Mephius.
The world called him an impostor. They said that Rogue and Odyne simply craved power and had set up a different person who happened to look like the prince so that they could rebel.
But if he had to say... Gil had started to behave like a different person long ago, when he was ‘still alive’.
One only had to think about how he had saved the princess in Seirin Valley and slain Ryucown at Zaim Fortress, about how he had put down Zaat’s rebellion in Solon before it even happened, or again about the time when he had gone to Apta and repelled a surprise attack from the Taúlian army.
The same Crown Prince who had been mocked as a ‘fool’ not only by his father but also by the retainers.
It was not that Simon had not also found it strange. Compared to the other retainers, he had been somewhat closer to the prince, since he had been acting as his guardian. For that reason alone, Simon should have been having serious misgivings, yet he had solved all of his doubts with only a few words.
He resembles him.
More than the prince changing, it seemed to Simon that day by day, he was becoming more like a certain someone. In which case, he reasoned, it was normal since they were father and son.
When he had heard that Gil, who was supposed to be dead, was actually alive and was fighting against the emperor, he had simply thought that – You would probably have done the same thing.
In other words, when he was young and still the crown prince, and if his father had behaved like the current emperor was now, wouldn’t Guhl Mephius also have led the warhorses to fight against him? Simon Rodloom believed he would have.
And because of that, right now, he felt a strong desire to see Gil Mephius one more time.
And if that wish were to be granted, he thought that he would want to serve and support that Crown Prince Gil. It would feel as though the ideal nation, the ideal future, that he and his friend used to talk of together throughout the night were there before him.
But –
Simon did not have that right. Or at least, he himself did not believe that he did.
He had not been able to support his friend.
As time had passed and they had aged, had it not perhaps been he himself who had first abandoned the ideals of their youth?
If and when Gil Mephius brought about a new future for Mephius, there would be no role for him in that future. If the old was going to be defeated, better to leave by oneself.
And a new future will start to be spun, rising from the corpses of the defeated and the ashes of burned down palaces.
Simon remembered how just the other day, the Garberan princess had come to visit this room which was now filled with smoke and heat.
Gil and Vileena.
From the budding signs, both might be in love with the one before them.
In which case, there’s nothing more.
There was nothing more that he needed to think about, hope for, or worry about.
Simon’s shoulders relaxed.
In that moment, it was as though he could feel the wind in the wilderness.
Oh!
Although he had believed that there was no longer anything left for him to look back on again, right now, Simon was being buffeted by a strong wind as he galloped his cherished horse through a barren ravine.
Mephius had very few wild horses. There were only narrow strips of land in which emaciated horses could graze, so Simon was proud of his mount which he had only just bought from Garbera.
He remembered that that childhood acquaintance of his, who was likewise riding beside him, had been envious of it.
“Sell it to me, Simon.”
“Hmm, what to do…”
“Not just for money. For the daughter of the Evee House that you’re so infatuated with. Shall I write a letter on your behalf, since you’re so incompetent with a pen? No, wait, I can just use the imperial family’s authority to order your marriage.”
“They’re already rumours of how you’re extending your evil influence.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Oh, look over there. Do you see that rocky mountain like the horn of a dragon on this side of the ravine? If you can get there faster than me, I’ll think about it.”
“I want your horse for its speed. So aren’t you getting the order wrong?”
“You never know till you try. Well then, let’s go!”
“Wait, you insolent cur. You’d better prepare yourself because when I become emperor, I’ll have you locked up somewhere where the light doesn’t shine. Dammit, wait.”
The two of them galloped on, laughing.
In the present, his eyes shut, Simon Rodloom was also laughing. He opened his mouth a little too wide and smoke got in, making him cough violently.
But even so, Simon continued to laugh.
Early the following morning, Guhl Mephius suddenly sat bolt upright in his bed.
These past few days, the emperor had been sleeping lightly. He had barely gone to sleep when he was already getting up and heading for his study or his office. Because of that, those who served him closely all tended to be sleep-deprived.
Recently, he had not allowed Empress Melissa to enter his room either.
All alone, Guhl wiped away his night’s sweat with a somewhat dazed look on his face. Perhaps he had a premonition.
The emperor had soon changed his clothes and left the room, whereupon he noticed that the attendant who was already there waiting for him looked pale.
“What?” Guhl asked without any preliminary. “What’s happened?”
“Y-Your Majesty. We have been contacted by the soldiers from the capital’s guards. T-There has been a fire at the Rodloom mansion.”
“What?”
The emperor’s always glaring eyes became even more ferocious than usual, just as though the attendant he was staring at was a messenger from the underworld come to bring him notice of his own death.
“And Simon?”
“Although the soldiers on lookout raced to the rescue as soon as they noticed… They only found him after the fire had been extinguished.” He paused and visibly gulped, then continued with his head lowered. “He... He had already p-passed away.”
Guhl stayed silent for a while.
The attendant continued to talk tearfully. Recently, Simon had frequently made merry with the servants at his residence until late into the night. When a soldier on guard, alerted by the noise, had peered suspiciously through the window, he had met Simon’s eye. “It’s only at this age that I’m learning to appreciate alcohol,” he had said, laughing while a little shame-faced.
For as long as Guhl had known him, Simon had practically been a teetotaller. Yet last night, Simon had gotten thoroughly drunk and had flown into a rage against his servants. “Get out. Don’t let me see you again!” He had screamed and evicted them from the house.
Although they were confused by the change in their master, the servants thought that he was simply not used to indulging in alcohol and that he would be back to the usual Lord Simon by tomorrow morning, so they had left for the time being.
And then came the fire.
Simon had probably mishandled fire while drunk.
“Idiot.” After a long silence, the emperor shook his head. His lips twisted into an eerie, scornful smile. “No matter how old he’s gotten, that’s not like Simon. Is he trying to imitate that pesky fake crown prince? Pretending to be dead so that you can appear before me later? Search for him. He should be nearby.”
Considering the order just given, it was hard to tell whether or not the emperor had lost his mind.
Thereupon, a new report arrived. One of the pages who had served Simon was at the gate and was requesting an audience with His Majesty.
The imperial court was already abuzz with news of what had happened.
“Show him in,” the emperor gave his permission.
The page who had been granted an audience was a young boy with an honest-looking face. A single glance was enough to conclude that he had a lot in common with Simon. He was probably of good pedigree and, immediately upon learning of Simon’s death, he had set out to accomplish his duty to the best of his ability; even though it meant appearing before the emperor himself and even though he was currently as white as a sheet.
“The day before yesterday, Lord Rodloom called for me in the evening and handed me this. ‘Deliver it to the emperor the day after tomorrow’, he said.”
It was a wooden box of a size that could be carried under one arm. At first the page had been hesitant to take it since it was impossible for someone in his position to meet with the emperor. Moreover, those who were close to Simon were being kept away from the palace.
But Simon had simply smiled enigmatically. “What? There’s a small trick to it. You’ll understand the day after tomorrow. His Majesty will certainly agree to meet you,” he had said.
Because when he was saying it, he had looked as though he were looking forward to that time, the page had thought that he was probably preparing some kind of joke and so, in the end, he had taken the box. Not for a second had he thought that the ‘trick’ Simon spoke of would be related to his own death.
“Of course,” the emperor almost bellowed, “damn you Simon, of course you set fire to your own house. Show me.”
Normally, the emperor would never take something directly from the hands of someone from the lower classes. It would always pass through the hands of a third person who check it for safety reasons, but now the emperor practically snatched the box with his own hands.
He lifted the lid.
His expression turned completely unreadable.
His previous scornful smile had already vanished, but it was replaced with neither anger nor sadness. the emperor ordered everyone to clear out then returned to his bedroom with the box in his hands. Guhl Mephius took out what was in the box and lifted it up.
An old-style handgun that gleamed dark in the morning sun, which was pouring through a gap in the curtains.
It was in mint condition. Simon being Simon, even if he had kept it for self-defence, he probably had not fired it once, even to try it out.
There was nothing else inside the box. Not even a letter. It had only contained that handgun.
When he checked, there was a single round loaded.
Guhl spun the cylinder then pulled the trigger.
The response was an empty click. He continued to pull again and again. Spinning the cylinder each time.
“Well then,” Guhl muttered in a low voice, as if he did not want anyone else to hear, even though there was no one else in the room, “wouldn’t it be easy to blow my brains out with this?”
He could read Simon’s mind. His motive had probably been something close to what Guhl had just mentioned.
To use this to cut my life short or to aim at yours – you know which would, by rights, have been the best thing to do – was what Simon wanted to say.
And the emperor, of course, understood why. It was because of the families of the two generals who had joined the crown prince’s side. He had expected some kind of a reaction from Simon immediately after he had decreed the executions, and had in fact found it strange when there had been nothing but silence.
“And for that very reason…”
For that very reason, Simon should have picked up the gun and carried out a heroic suicide. It would have been far more effective if he had done so. And there should have been at least one letter. Simon should have left words of reproof against the emperor before shooting himself in the head, words which would have resonated with the many nobles and commanders who admired Simon. He would thus have earned fame for his chivalry and his name would have remained for a long time in Mephius.
Instead of which, Simon deliberately chose not to leave any words behind and to act out the shameful role of one who had caused a fire after getting drunk.
There again, the emperor could read his intentions.
Even in exchange for his own life, he had been worried about his old friend. Since it was fine as long as the emperor alone received his message, he had set fire to his own house.
“Damned imbecile!” This time, the emperor roared out loud. He paced up and down in long strides, acting as though he were trying to seize Simon, who could no longer be there. “Astounding. Does even a man like you not understand? Don’t you understand?”
Guhl’s eyes were flaring and his cheeks were quivering furiously. Drool flying from his open mouth, he spat out one angry roar after another.
“That damned imbecile. Fool. Unrivalled idiot. Are you happy now? Using your life however you want, without my permission. Are you happy now that you’re looking down at me from far above?”
Then, the emperor the handgun that he was still holding and held it level with his heart.
He pulled the trigger.
A gunshot resounded and a hole was drilled into the room’s expensive furniture.
“Your Majesty!”
He could hear his attendant soldiers yelling from the other side of the door. “Leave it!” He yelled as he contemplated the gunpowder smoke rising from the muzzle.
“A funeral gun salute for you, you bastard. Watch it well, Simon!” He flung those words in a shout.
– Later, the emperor had Simon’s remains carried to the Dragon Gods’ temple.
Since the funeral of the former chairman of the Council, Simon Rodloom, took precedence, the execution of Rogue and Odyne’s families was temporarily suspended.
Simon’s death however was not without effect.
For example, the footsteps of the soldiers who were assembling in Solon from all over grew sluggish along the way. Because lords like those of Kilro and Idoro came up with reasons to delay dispatching their troops, the reinforcements which should have been sent to Nedain still had yet to be organised.
More than ever before, there were voices openly whispering their support for Crown Prince Gil Mephius and the retainers, sensing the way the wind was blowing, found opportunities to meet in secret and seriously discuss their future course of action.
The wind, yes.
It was certainly blowing in favour of Gil Mephius.
Soon after Simon lost his life, Garbera and Ende started to move.
Zenon Owell, the second prince of Garbera, was at the bridge of an air carrier that was flying from the capital, Phozon, to Zaim Fortress which protected the northern border. They were going on military duties.
Or at least, that was what Zenon himself was expecting.
Terrified of internal strife, his father, King Ainn, and his older brother, Razetta, had adopted indecisive attitudes; but Zenon was convinced that whatever Salamand was planning would bring about a disaster that Garbera would not be able to recover from.
Salamand Fogel. The vice-captain of the Order of the Badger had won no little amount of fame, but, as a fervent admirer of Ryucown’s, he was also a man who wished to resume the war with Mephius.
According to him, it was ‘to protect the pride of chivalry’.
Once upon a time, Prince Zenon had thought the same thing. But not anymore. Which was not to say that he had lost his ‘pride in chivalry’. Each person had different beliefs and loyalties.
Salamand had advocated to the King that they should take back Princess Vileena, whom Mephius had branded a dishonourable traitor. It was to the point that her whereabouts in Mephius were unknown. If the people of Garbera were to learn of that, their feelings towards Mephius would inevitably and instantly deteriorate. Sometimes, the feelings of the people gave rise to situations that exceeded both their leaders’ predictions and their ability to contain them, and there was a risk that this might turn into just such a situation.
King Ainn Owell had allowed himself to be persuaded by the other retainers and had agreed to send a letter to Mephius. Salamand was given the task of taking it to Solon and, in the name of “showing them that we are serious,” he had gotten the King to consent to him leading several units of knights to Zaim as well. The movement of troops was a military manoeuvre in itself that would incite Mephius to remember their alliance, he reasoned.
However, according to information from Miss Rinoa Kotjun and from Zenon’s friend Noue, those in sympathy with Salamand had already carried a large number of weapons to Zaim and there was a high chance that they had even captured the fortress itself.
Salamand, you bastard.
Could it be that he intended to trespass into Mephius without waiting for the king’s authorisation? Thinking that, Zenon had immediately, and while in full armour, sought an audience with the king. He had requested permission to subjugate Salamand but his sovereign and his older brother, still unable to perceive Salamand’s real intentions, had been cautious.
Zenon had therefore carefully chosen his words. “I will start by heading towards Zaim with only a few men.” Following that, he had been granted to proceed to Zaim for the time being. From there, he had immediately hopped onto an air carrier that Rinoa had gotten ready. Along with twenty knights, he had ridden north, above the grass-covered plains of Garbera. Even though he had said that he would “start” that way, the truth was that at that point his men from the Order of the Tiger had already set off from their various locations. The one who had arranged for their ships was once again Rinoa.
While on the way, one of the ships had stopped at a supply base. Noue Salzantes had been waiting there.
On board the ship, in a cabin reserved for Zenon’s exclusive use, the two of them met up.
“There’s some unfortunate news,” after hurriedly giving his greetings, Noue cut straight to the point.
“What is it? Has Salamand reached Zaim?”
“Well there is that too.”
“If my father would just have made his decision a little faster – well, there’s no help for it now. And? What is this other bad news?”
He signalled with his eyes to the page who was laying out tea to leave the room. Once there was no one else there, Noue twiddled with the black hair that fell over his shoulders and said something strange.
“In Mephius, a man claiming to be Crown Prince Gil has appeared. And our Garbera’s Princess Vileena is by his side.”
“Huh?”
Zenon looked bewildered for a second.
“Huh!”
But then immediately changed the inflection of his words. His expression however showed mixed feelings.
“Wait, how is this bad? My little sister is alive, how could that be anything but good? No, but, a man claiming to be the prince? Wasn’t he supposed to have died after being betrayed by a retainer? Which means, he’s an impostor? Then, then is my sister by his side also an impostor? I don’t understand! Talk in a way that I can understand!”
He spoke in one go, not pausing once for breath. Noue nodded and gave a summary of the information he had obtained concerning Mephius. Zenon listened in silence then said,
“Interesting. It feels like something which couldn’t possibly be happening within one of our neighbouring countries but rather somewhere completely different. Noue, what do you think? the prince, and also Vileena, are they the real ones?”
“I have not yet been able to obtain any certain evidence. However, I believe that there is a strong possibility that they are. Rogue and Odyne, who rose in rebellion in Apta, are both known as upright commanders. So it would be perfectly plausible for them to stand up against the emperor’s tyranny; but they are not the sort of people who would then deliberately set up an impostor as the crown prince to validate their cause. Moreover, it makes no sense to bring out an impostor of the princess. On the contrary, claiming that while in Apta, she had gotten caught up in the war with the west and died would have been a far better way of highlighting the emperor’s viciousness. It would also have been easier for them to rebuild the relationship with our Garbera if they claimed that they were fighting in revenge for the princess.”
“I see.”
Even while he nodded, Zenon maintained a complicated expression. As her older brother, he was, of course, nothing but delighted that Vileena was alive. Moreover, he was acquainted with Mephius’ Crown Prince Gil. They had only met once, but he was a memorable man.
I’d heard he was a fool but he seems like a cunning devil – he had thought.
And then, very soon after that, when Zenon had been at the royal court, he had heard that Gil Mephius and been shot and killed by a Mephian retainer.
And that same Gil was alive.
If that turned out to be true, then Gil had probably faked his own death. That it was not a nation-wide conspiracy was clear from the fact that he was now colliding with the emperor head-on. It must be a plan that had been hatched either by Gil alone or with some people who were close to him. Was his little sister, Vileena, one of those people?
At any rate, with this, Mephius was at risk of being divided. No, from what he had heard, the hostilities had already opened and a civil war had started.
“And,” Zenon looked at Noue searchingly, “not to repeat myself, but how is this bad?”
“Salamand might also hear about it. On top of which, I would expect it to try and unsettle the court even further.”
A great many commanders would certainly be eager to seize the golden opportunity presented by a civil war in Mephius. Moreover, a Garberan princess was at the side of the crown prince who was fighting against the current regime.
Which meant that there was plenty of room to intervene in that civil war.
“And that also means seizing Mephius’ land and assets like looters at a fire.”
“We can assume so,” even though nobody was present, Noue spoke in a whisper, “and not only that, those who would get in the way of devouring Mephius once the disturbance is settled could be quietly made to disappear – that possibility also exists.”
“You mean Crown Prince Gil?”
“I mean Princess Vileena.”
At Noue’s words, Zenon pursed his lips and bit back his voice which had almost cried out in surprise.
“Whether the emperor or the crown prince wins, Mephius will unavoidably be weakened. Those who wanted to fight Mephius to the end during the war will only be able to gain political influence if Princess Vileena, the embodiment of the peace between us, disappears. Pardon my discourtesy, but I do not think that the king would have any arguments convincing enough to stop them, and I expect that he would let them persuade him into going for full-scale military manoeuvres.”
“…”
If that were to happen, Garbera would certainly profit from it. However, those who wanted to fight Mephius were at odds with Zenon’s current way of thinking. One could even call them political opponents. After pondering for a while, he said –
“Those who would destroy other countries, even at the cost of silencing their own royal family, cannot build a future that embodies Garbera’s chivalrous ideals.”
“Truly,” Noue nodded his slender chin.
His attitude was for all the world like that of a young man worried about his country’s future, but if anyone who knew about his recent past were present, they might well look at him and think – you sly bastard. Since, after all, Noue had most certainly schemed to have Princess Vileena killed.
“Setting the question of Vileena aside,” Zenon raised his fist to his chest, “there’s no doubt that Salamand is a man who looks down on the royal family and who will stop at nothing. We need to stop him at all cost before he manages to beguile my father with his smooth-tongued wiles.”
And if they pulled through this fight then –
Gil Mephius. I look forward to checking with my own eyes whether you are real or fake.
From there on, Zenon’s flight did not encounter any obstacles along the way and arrived at the point where Zaim Fortress was right before them.
They purposely let themselves be seen and landed within sight of the sentries. Even though they were flying the banner that proved that a member of the royal family was on board, no one from the fortress came to greet them. In place of that, soldiers were waiting for them, spears in hand.
Zenon Owell alighted from the ship and, accompanied by several attendants, he walked up to the gates.
“We were waiting for you, Prince Zenon.”
From the other side of the soldiers’ spears, Zenon looked at them as though contemplating something curious.
“It seems you know who you’re pointing those spears at.”
There was no reply.
Every one of the soldiers had pale faces, but the eyes within those faces seemed to blaze with fire.
So Zaim has fallen into the hands of rebels again? The thought flitted through the prince’s mind.
This was the land of Ryucown’s uprising and of Ryucown’s downfall.
“Is Salamand not coming out?”
“If he came out, he would kill Your Highness.”
“Oh really, are you worried about my safety? Well then, see you next time.”
Zenon did not enjoy drawn-out chatter. His cloak flapping, he once more boarded the ship.
The soldiers watched as the ship disappeared from sight in the sky and, although their expressions were becoming increasingly tight at having defied the royal family, they were relieved at having, for now, achieved their aim.
With this, we’ll have bought some time.
But –
“Enemy attack, enemy attack!”
It was less than an hour later that the airships sent out in reconnaissance literally came flying back, shouting that as they did so.
The soldiers standing guard at the gates soon saw it for themselves. A group on horseback was riding up amidst a cloud of dust. The flag of Zenon Owell’s Knights of the Order of the Tiger fluttered gallantly in the evening shadows.
When he was turned away at the gates, Zenon had accomplished his promise to the King to “start by calling with only a few soldiers.” Neither the King nor Salamand could have predicted that his second move would come so soon, but that was not currently Zenon’s problem.
He had more than a thousand soldiers ride in five of the ships that Rinoa had prepared. The remaining ship had been equipped with weapons and was at the rear, serving as the flagship.
Naturally, the fortress was thrown into confusion both inside and out.
“It’s the Order of the Tiger!”
“Impossible. It’s too soon. Was His Highness planning on attacking us from the start?”
“We can worry about that later. Enemy attack, enemy attack!”
For the second time since Ryucown’s uprising, the signs of war were looming over Zaim fortress.
“Prince Zenon is attacking?”
Salamand Fogel received the report just as the preparations for weapons and provisions had been finished and he was about to set off on horseback.
But they were still at the fortress’ west gate. He had not been expecting Zenon to attack so quickly.
Salamand was to lead eight hundred of his men west of the fortress during the night. After which, the troops remaining in Zaim would use a single air carrier to fly towards the Mephian border garrison. And bombard them. Once the garrison had fallen into chaos, the plan had been for them to cross over the Bruno Hills. In other words, he had not, from the start, had the slightest intention of officially conveying the King’s letter to the emperor.
But Zenon had been far faster than anticipated.
Within the royal family, which had grown craven since the war with Mephius, Zenon was the only one the Salamand recognised as a true leader and commander.
“What should we do, Lord Salamand?”
His subordinates from the Order of the Badger asked, their faces filled with tension.
“If it turns into a battle here, Mephius will notice what is happening in Zaim and the border garrison will be on alert. Shall we put the plan forward and have our ship attack them at once?”
“No, then the fortress will be insufficiently manned. If Prince Zenon takes Zaim too quickly, we’ll be at risk from the rear.”
In front of his men who were raising their voices fretfully, Salamand let go of the horse whose back he had just been about to jump onto and instead sat down on the spot with a thump. As a commander, he had learned from Ryucown that in times like these, he needed to demonstrate an attitude as firm as a rock. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them wide and sharp.
“First, strengthen the fortress’ defence,” he shouted. “Zaim isn’t a fortress that will fold under one or two attacks, even if the enemy strength is twice or three times ours.”
If they learned that there was internal disturbance within Garbera, the border garrison was more likely to spring into action instead. Until reinforcements arrived, that might, in fact, make it easier for them to find a chance than it would have under normal circumstances.
Dressed in the heavy, multi-layered armour that was traditional to Garbera, Salamand vigorously stood up.
“Battle stations!”
As a signal that he was declaring war, Zenon Owell had his warship perform a long-distance bombardment.
Nonetheless, Zaim was a fortress that protected Garbera from Ende in the north and Mephius in the west. They could not afford to destroy it. So he left things at the level of a threat.
The ground heaved with each roar of the guns and sprays of earth went flying.
Once it had started, Zenon gave the Knights of the Order of the Tiger the command to charge.
As previously stated, however, Zaim was Garbera’s sturdiest fortress. Because practically the only roads leading to it stretched out towards the south, the level ground there was studded with towers and gun batteries from where shooting and shelling spewed forth. Because of that, the infantry and cavalry troops could not get close to it and, since the line of fire also covered the skies, the airship units could not approach either.
“Zaim lives up to its reputation. Was it a little too reckless to attempt a ground war with only a thousand soldiers?” Noue Salzantes murmured from the sky. Riding at the rear of an airship, he was gazing at the battlefield through a pair of binoculars.
Without even sallying from the gates, the enemy was completely sweeping back the knights’ assault.
“Send up a beacon.” Once he had grasped the situation, Noue alighted back onto land and gave his instructions to a messenger. “Retreat. We’re retreating.”
The battle had not lasted even two hours.
The Knights of the Order of the Tiger started to pull back. From the fortress, they could hear the bellows of the soldiers, who were in high spirits.
While all the knights drew back to where the flagship was, Noue continued to gaze at the fortress.
“Is there no way to get them to pursue us?” He muttered.
He too returned to the ship and reported to Prince Zenon, who was on the bridge.
“Damn you, Salamand. Is he planning on a siege war?” Zenon practically spat out the name of the man who was now a traitor.
“We can assume that too,” Noue put a slender finger to his chin. “If he has chosen to oppose the royal family, then instead of drawing Your Highness to the fortress, he should be looking for a way to capture you or to take advantage of any opening. Having already turned his sword against the royal family, he should no longer have the leisure of being able to choose his methods. And yet, on top of deliberately placing himself on the receiving end of an attack, he didn’t even give chase when we withdrew.”
“Meaning?”
“Zaim is a sacrificial pawn. No doubt meant to buy time for Salamand to cross over the border.”
When he heard ‘cross over the border’, Zenon’s expression changed. According to Noue’s earlier predictions, and also to Rinoa Kotjun’s apprehensions, Salamand intended to drive a wedge between Garbera and Mephius, even at the cost of his own life, so as to rouse Garbera to war.
“Then we no longer have the leisure of choosing our means either,” Zenon said with a determined look. “The enemy shouldn’t have many ships. Shall we use our own to bombard the gates into oblivion and then charge immediately after?”
“No…” Noue’s long hair swayed as he shook his head. “We will wait, Your Highness.”
“Wait?”
“Yes. Since you arrived faster than expected, Prince Zenon, Salamand’s situation has changed. Let’s keep an eye on them and take our time waiting until the enemy gets impatient and launches their own attack.”
Noue’s expression was perfectly cool. He said to ‘wait’ even though he himself had pointed out that the enemy was stalling for time. Zenon was dumbfounded, but as Noue explained his plan, he was gradually won over to it.
As a matter of fact, Salamand Fogel was getting impatient at that very moment. The defence had been solidified in the expectation of a second and third round of assault; but after the first attack, Zenon had not made any other move. Mephius’ border garrison also seemed to have adopted a wait-and-see attitude, and there had been no signs of any particular activity. Of course, in terms of internal strife, Mephius had been there first. If they were to request reinforcements, there was a good chance that the response would be slow; so they were not going to make any reckless moves.
Even though that’s why this was such a good chance – Salamand ground his teeth, looking for all the world like the bear which had given its name to his Order.
The original plan had been to bring out their ship to attract the garrison’s attention.
But if they took the ship out now, the fort would be under-manned. It would make no sense to cross the border only to have Zenon pounce on them from behind.
“Damn you, Zenon.”
After two days had passed, Salamand realised that they were wasting too much time. The more time went by, the more they were the ones at a disadvantage. Unlike Ryucown, who had been promised supplies from Ende in the north, Salamand was alone and unaided. Once the provisions and water had been used up, it would no longer be question of the path of chivalry.
In that case…
Salamand had no ordinary amount of determination. Late that night, he removed all the wine casks from the ship and treated the soldiers to the contents.
“Drink, drink,” he encouraged them. “The braves who want to be the first to rush to General Ryucown’s side, raise your swords and I will grant you a speedy death!”
Salamand chose three hundred of his men to cross the border with him and assembled them into a suicide corps.
On the third day, after Zenon had established his troops’ position, and in the same way that they had when he had visited Zaim, the fortress’ gates were thrown open. Most of the troops within poured out like an avalanche. Salamand’s forces intended to stun the enemy with this onslaught.
However, at that very moment, the prince’s formation split left and right. From their centre, looking as though it were gliding along the slope of a small hill, Zenon’s flagship came into sight. It was obvious from the ship’s timing that they had been expecting the attack, and beneath their helmets, Salamand’s men wore shocked expressions.
The ship flew over the clash between the Order of the Tiger’s cavalry and Salamand’s infantry soldiers, and headed for the skies over Zaim Fortress. The fortress’ cannons and guns, which had been providing covering fire to the ground charge, did not have time to adjust their aim.
The flagship’s lower gun turrets rotated and fired rounds in quick succession. Beneath the booming guns, the ground shook as though in an earthquake. Even the air seemed to be trembling. Once the bombardment was over, and the ship had flown away from the fortress for fear of its anti-aircraft fire, Zaim’s southern gate and bulwark lay smashed into tiny pieces.
Having made sure of that, the ship quickly released a unit of small airships. Contrary to expectations, the ships did not swoop around the fortress to encircle it, but instead guarded the carrier as it descended towards the ground. Having landed, this time it discharged a huge number of cavalry soldiers.
The new arrival of knights caught Salamand’s troops in a pincer movement. Meanwhile, the airship unit finally began bombing the fortress, aiming to suppress its gunfire.
Destroying the fortress that protected their own borders was an unimaginably reckless and violent method, but according to Zenon, it was – fine as long as the north-facing walls remain sturdy. He had decided that, even if the southern side was wrecked, it would be an acceptable loss.
Seeing Salamand’s army abruptly collapse, Prince Zenon spurred his own warhorse on.
“Charge!”
Leading three hundred of his elite troops, he closed in on the fortress from its front.
“Dammit,” Salamand cursed, realising that his troops had so easily been lured out. But even so, “it’s fine, we ride. Even if we only kick up this much dust, the Mephian garrison won’t be able to ignore it. Be prepared for sacrifices and cut through!”
Such a prompt decision was perhaps something to be expected from an officer that even Zenon recognised. And this drastic step brought about some good luck for Salamand who had been continuously plagued with misfortune.
Had the decision been delayed, the Mephian border garrison would have been set up in position along the way leading from Zaim, and would have been able to repelled Salamand’s troop of five hundred. But the Mephian response was slower than Zenon and Noue had anticipated. Seeing dust rising from Zaim, they were, for a short moment, thrown into confusion. And Salamand’s unit was able to make use of that gap to charge at them from the flank.
Salamand did not need to annihilate the garrison. And in any case, Zenon’s troops were right behind them. It was doubtful whether they would continue chasing them over the border, and as long as they could outdistance their enemies, there was a good chance that both Zenon’s troops and Mephius’ side would be left in chaos.
“Hurry, all of you!” at the head of the unit, Salamand shouted fit to tear his own throat, kicking his horse’s flanks. He dodged the spears that flashed towards him from the ground and with an easy strike of his sword sent the head of a Mephian soldier flying.
For General Ryucown. And for Garbera’s future.
As blood sprayed, Salamand plunged forward without looking back and inwardly recited that like an incantation. He would get as close as he could to the imperial capital, and if possible, clash with the main body of Mephius’ army, and die. That was Salamand’s only wish.
Once word spread of how they had desperately tried to rescue Princess Vileena, their cause would be vindicated and public opinion within Garbera would instantly swing in favour of war against Mephius.
Meanwhile, Zenon Owell was exterminating Salamand’s ground troops. He was however experiencing greater difficulty than expected because of how desperately the enemy fought. It felt as though in each soldier, he could see Ryucown’s ghost.
You’re willing to go that far.
His armour drenched in blood, Zenon entered Zaim. As they had feared, Salamand had led a unit across the border. Sending a messenger to Mephius’ border garrison, it turned out that they had taken damage from Salamand’s charge. It did not seem that they would be at all inclined to trust his suggestion that half of them be sent in pursuit while the other half remained there on alert.
He had no choice but to circumvent the border and send messengers directly to the capital. Zenon chose several courageous men and had them head towards Mephius’ capital, Solon, each taking different routes.
It was only after he had finished giving orders that Zenon realised that he was still grasping his blood-covered sword and returned it to his waist. If Salamand managed to successfully carry out his plan, his own country might be split right in half.
If it’s Father…
He was afraid that, rather than letting the country be torn apart, his father might take advantage of the civil war in Mephius to send soldiers. Although he could see how that would be the correct decision for a statesman to make, giving in to agitators out of fear of a temporary disturbance would be fatal to the royal family’s prestige.
Ryucown.
Zaim Fortress was still filled with dust and the smoke of gunpowder. And amidst that dense fog, it seemed to Zenon that he had seen that young warrior’s imposing figure, all clad in armour.
