Rakuin no Monshou

Volume 11, Chapter 4: Torrent

Part 1

Two days after the Eve of the festival, Prince Zenon showed the king the letter he had received from Gil Mephius. It said that the troops he was preparing to dispatch in reinforcement to Garbera did not belong to Mephius. The ships the soldiers were riding on were already anchored at Apta and, if permission was granted, they could be in Garberan territory within a few days.

King Ainn Owell gave his permission.

At about the same time that a thousand two hundred knights from the Order of the Tiger returned to the royal capital, a great many ships bearing the emblem of the Haman Firm on their hull swooped down into Phozon’s port. Riding in the separate crafts were seven hundred soldiers, horses and dragons, and a number of weapons.

Zenon had gone to greet them in person, and what burst into his sight was a group of burly, muscular warriors with a wild air and equipment in shapes that he had never seen before. They brought with them the feel of the west in which Zenon had never set foot.

The man in their lead descended the gangway and held out a massive arm to shake Zenon’s hand. When the Garberan prince responded, his hand was grasped so tightly that he grimaced.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir Zenon Owell. I’m Moldorf of Kadyne, from the allied nations of Tauran.”

He seemed to be in his fifties, but the massive muscles in his large body spoke of how he lived for battle.

“Brother, this is Garbera?” A man who looked a lot like Moldorf alighted and came to stand beside him. “I never thought that I’d set foot in lands further east than Mephius in all my life. Later, we’ll have to buy souvenirs for Princess Lima. I wonder if we can load enough in the ships?”

“Oi, Nilgif. Aren’t you first going to greet the prince?”

Oh! Nilgif nodded and also shook his hand. He too did not seem to know his own strength. And on top of that, while on board, he had been drinking to his heart’s content, so he reeked of alcohol.

These are warriors from the west?

As he shrank back while greeting him, something like grievance flashed through Zenon’s mind.

The reinforcements that Gil Mephius had dispatched were soldiers from the western lands of Tauran.

Several days earlier, Lord Ax of Taúlia had received a messenger from Gil. “Please gather five hundred soldiers and send them to Garbera. I will provide the ships, provisions, and funds for all of them,” he had requested.

At first, Ax Bazgan was going to comply by sending soldiers only from his own country. Previously, he had, also at Gil’s request, arranged for a thousand soldiers to take up position near the border with Mephius. They had flown the many flags of Tauran, but half of them had been from Taúlia. So he was simply going to move them as is, when the strategist, Ravan Dol, had made a suggestion.

“My liege, should you not issue a command to all the other countries? Even if only few in number, each should send some soldiers. It would also be best if the commander were not from Taúlia.”

After a long history of war, the west was finally starting to unite as one. However, a land in which skirmishes had been common occurrences could not simply change overnight.

Ravan believed that we should take every opportunity to work together and deepen our solidarity. Since Mephius would shoulder the entire cost of this campaign, it should be seen not as a burden, but as a boon.

As a result, soldiers had come from each of the countries.

From Taúlia, a hundred cavalrymen led by Natokk, the commander of the Sixth Army Corps.

From Helio, three hundred foot soldiers led by Bisham, a company commander of infantry.

A combined artillery force made up of fifty riflemen each from Lakekish, Fugrum and the Pinepey tribe.

And finally, from Kadyne, the Red and the Blue Dragons with two hundred cavalrymen and dragoons.

Coming together to form a single army, they departed from Apta on board of three separate cruisers. They had then travelled to Phozon, stopping on the way to resupply at the port of Mavant.

Zenon once again contemplated the appearance of these people from the west. And indeed, although the colour of their skin and their facial features were all quite similar, there were differences in the weapons and armour of each country. But for all that it was a mish-mashed assembly of troops, they showed no trace of any mutual wariness as, one after another, they alighted chatting together in Garbera’s port. Taúlians laughed when those from Helio told a joke, and when those from Lakekish showed off their new model of guns, those from Fugrum boasted that the improvements that their own country had made to the old models were much more convenient.

They say that for a long time, the small nations in the west repeatedly fought against one another. Zenon Owell was conscious of a being deeply moved in a different way. Yet at a single call from Gil Mephius, they rise to action together like this?

He learned that Crown Prince Gil had become a bridge to the west. And also, that Ax Bazgan had destroyed the sorcerer who had been laying waste to the west and had created an alliance between all the countries there.

Part of the reason for that was because the people were tired of the never-ending strife. Zenon, however, knew little about the west, and seeing such a huge change right before his eyes, he could not help but feel deeply moved.

Meanwhile – Maybe this is what they call the torrent of history. Standing behind Zenon, Noue Salzantes was pondering over the same thing. As history streams along and reaches a large bend, all of a sudden, a new current crashes into it, with enough force to crush boulders and tear away part of the shore. The swells turn into wider ripples than what could have been imagined from either, and produce massive changes. The people who are caught up in it sometimes fight it, but the end result is that they adapt to the flow with almost terrifying speed.

Was it because people were resilient, or because they were inconstant? Even if the shape of good and evil changed daily, or the gods they believed in or the name of their liege changed every month; as long as the sun rose the next day, the people of the land would till their fields, happily drink together at night, grieve over the death of a neighbour, and smile when they heard that a relative’s daughter was getting married.

Perhaps this too is a great swell. Great changes will occur, to which people will have to adapt. Not only in the west, but also in Mephius, in Ende – and of course, Garbera will be no exception.

The direction that Noue looked towards then was that of the ship departure point that stood on the opposite side of the royal palace from the port in which they currently were. The Kotjuns’ ship on which Rinoa had ridden was still docked there.

And Vileena Owell was still on board.

She would be leaving this afternoon and, after returning to Zaim, she would wait for a suitable time to “go home” to Mephius.

In the end, since arriving in Phozon, the princess had not once stepped off the ship. You are splendid, Princess – even the sarcastic, sharp-tongued Noue was unstinting in his mental praise for her.

For all that she had been born and raised in the royal family, she was still a girl in her mid-teens. She must have wanted to meet her parents whom she had not seen for so long, to hear the voices of her acquaintances, to talk face-to-face with her brothers. However, even when she had received an offer to do so from her father the king, the princess had not disembarked from the ship.

Noue surmised that it was a demonstration of her resolve as one who had already pledged herself to be separated from Garbera for all eternity, but she had probably also calculated that by not showing herself in person, she would actually be increasing the weight of her presence and the impact of her words.

Noue was not a man with a heart as hard as ice. He was conscious of a heat in his breast. That heat was urging him to confess to the princess that he had once been going to kill her, and to apologise for his own foolishness.

Humph – Noue’s lips curved as he played with his long hair. At the time, there is no denying that I believed that doing that was for Garbera’s sake. Besides, there’s no point to even me becoming infected with the royal family’s almost idiotic honesty.

Noue glanced at Zenon Owell, who still seemed to be in the grip of some deep emotion before the western warriors.

Great swells are all very good, but when things change, they inevitably also distort. For light to continue shining on the land, there also needs to be those who shoulder the darkness. If I’m also an idiot, then I won’t be the same kind of idiot as His Highness Zenon or Princess Vileena, nor, obviously, can I allow myself to be like Ryucown, an idiot whose judgement is clouded. I will be the idiot who deliberately looks at what should not be seen, and who pretends not to see what is clearly visible.

There was naturally no way for Noue to realise it, but at the same time as he was gazing from the opposite direction, there was someone who was gazing right back towards him.

Vileena Owell.

Did His Highness Gil take action?

Vileena could, of course, well imagine that the reinforcements from the west were connected to Crown Prince Gil. It was definitely something that only he could have done. Definitely. But still, there was a question that she could not shake off.

Why did he deliberately send them to Garbera?

It was directly tied to a strong anxiety which had first gripped her right after Gil had seized Nedain. Rumour had reached Garbera that the emperor had sent him a direct messenger. Recognising that the enemy commander, whom he had labelled an ‘impostor,’ was ‘the crown prince’, in other words his own son, Emperor Guhl had invited him to Solon.

What does the prince intend to do? The same questions which had been debated in Nedain swirled around in Vileena’s mind.

If he went to Solon, he might fall into the emperor’s trap and be executed. If he did not go, he would inevitably be branded a rebel who was needlessly prolonging the civil war.

Perhaps...

Sending reinforcements from the west to Garbera might have been a way to ensure that relief reached Ende in a situation in which he himself was unable to personally move.

Vileena’s heart throbbed.

The prince intends to go to Solon.

They had not known each other all that long, but Vileena was convinced of it. That, it being the prince, he would surely choose a direct confrontation with the emperor.

In that case, there was nothing that the third princess of Garbera could do to stop him. She could not even curb the desire which was swelling within her to return at once to Mephius. However, could she go back to the imperial capital as things were now? She was worried that her presence might instead become a hindrance for the crown prince.

Immediately returning to Solon might simply cause needless confusion. Should I travel south from Mavant and go through Apta or Birac?

She worried alone, on board the ship.

As dusk drew near, the world steadily continued to move. Just as Noue had, Vileena felt great swells within it. It was depressing to think that oneself alone was so powerless before the huge, black waves that would determine the course that history would take in the coming era.

No, since we’re in the middle of a huge whirlpool, I have to grasp the oars tight and pierce through the waves, or else my existence will be swallowed up in no time flat.

That enthusiasm was certainly like her, but, for a moment, her expression clouded over as she thought not of how the world was moving, or of the crown prince of Mephius, but of herself. “What is my ‘real face’?” An unconscious murmur spilled from her lips.

In the past, she had talked about it with her grandfather, Jeorg.

Just as though they were performing parts in a play, people put on the masks of the roles and positions that they are given. There are those whose faces of flesh gradually disappear. There are those become one with the mask.

You’re also my granddaughter, Ainn’s daughter, and Garbera’s princess. You might be someone’s best friend, and someone’s enemy. Before long, you’ll become someone’s lover, someone’s wife, and someone’s mother.

Each time they add onto your face, you mustn’t turn away. It’s fine to think, it’s fine to be lost, but you must never run.

Vileena was not going to disembark and go to the royal palace. The reason was exactly as Noue had guessed. It was in order to demonstrate her resolve, and also because she had calculated that people’s hearts would be more greatly touched if she deliberately avoided appearing in person. And, just as Zenon had felt, this was not an action that would have been like her in the past.

Is this my ‘mask’ as the princess of Garbera and a future Mephian?

One could not forever act as one’s heart dictated. Theresia had surely also said it. That this was what it meant to become an adult.

As one born into royalty, Vileena intended to always endeavour to be upright and honest. Because that was how her grandfather appeared to her. However, and precisely because she was royalty, she believed that she had to be able to make use of her ‘real face’ and of her ‘mask’.

Those chosen cannot live only for themselves. For her grandfather, her father, her brothers and, of course, for Vileena herself, this was the fate that they had been born with. And of course, it must be the same for Gil Mephius. Wasn’t that why he went around looking lost and floundering?

Have I ever seen his ‘real face’? The thought suddenly occurred to her. Gil Mephius’ figure, arms crossed and alone in the dark, flickered faintly through Vileena’s mind.

Part 2

Back in Solon, the lords and retainers were looking at each in bewilderment. Which was perfectly understandable given that, just as the war of words between the emperor and Crown Prince had seemed as though it were finally about to draw to a close, the emperor had ordered the prince to “Undress and show me your back.” It was utterly out of the blue, and utterly bizarre.

Perhaps Gil Mephius was feeling the same way, as still kneeling, he remained unmoving for a while.

“...Why that order?” He finally asked.

Guhl Mephius alone was behaving as though this was all completely normal.

“Although you are not dead, there are those who will claim that you are not the living Gil Mephius, but an impostor.”

“That...”

“I am a parent. I need only see my son with my own eyes to know whether he is the child of my own blood, or some impostor of unknown birth masquerading as the crown prince. But that, in turn, means that there are many who cannot understand it.”

Guhl continued, “Gil’s back bears a particular birthmark. Show it to those here. Clear all suspicions, and then no one will voice any objections to you once again occupying the empty seat belonging to the crown prince.”

What Gil Mephius – what Orba heard even louder than Guhl’s resonant voice was the beating of his own heart. It was perfectly clear that the order to show his back was nothing less than an order to show your slave brand.

At some point, Guhl Mephius had learned of his real identity.

Orba could feel the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end. He was aware of a cold sweat covering his entire body. It was as though innumerable blades had been thrust at his throat, his heart, his back and at the nape of his neck.

Meanwhile, nobody present at court, except perhaps Orba, had received a greater shock than Princess Ineli Mephius. She too understood her step-father’s true intentions. It was obvious that the emperor knew that this “Gil” was an impostor. And furthermore, he had already grasped that he was of slave origin.

This is...

This was outside of her calculations. It was fine if in all Mephius, only she knew of his real identity. Because if that were the case then, through him, she might be able to obtain the power to move not only Mephius but also the rest of the world.

“Y-Your Majesty...”

Ineli tried repeatedly to speak, but her lips trembled in the tense atmosphere; and the emperor, who only a short while ago had seemed so small, now once again seemed to stand in the way as an insurmountable obstacle, so that her voice could not seem to reach open air.

“What’s wrong?” Guhl asked. On the other hand –

“Pathetic.”

“What?” He turned back towards Orba, his face livid.

“Even though you just said that you only needed to see my face, are you now saying that in reality, you are not absolutely certain? To not be able to recognise your own son and to harbour such doubts – it is pathetic. If that is the case, then your keen eyes that can see through the hearts of people must surely have become clouded.”

The cold he felt now was not only sweat; it was as if the blood running through his veins had turned to ice. His limbs had gone stiff, and he was frozen to his fingertips. And on top of that, he could not make a sound. He did not have so much as a single arrow or a dagger at hand, so he could not fight. If his voice ran out, it meant that his life would be cut short.

And yet –

“Don’t play with words,” Guhl slapped down his resolve. “You must be aware of the rumours going around in Solon that you are an impostor. Why did you come here? Was it not to clear away all doubts and prove your innocence? I’ve told you that everything will be settled once you show your back. What is there to hesitate about?”

Guhl spoke in a relaxed tone of voice. His attitude was every bit that of the ruler of a country, and it was impossible to see Orba, still unmoving and with his head bent, as anything but a slave who could only yield in front of such absolute power, and whose life was entirely in the emperor’s grasp.

Compared to earlier, when he had displayed the momentum to blow the emperor’s words away, the difference was remarkable. Guhl had deliberately lured the Impostor Crown Prince close. Because his plan had simply been to undermine the enemy’s strength this way. Because he had all the ingredients to overturn the person before him and, in front of the retainers, to transform him into a pitiful loser with not a single accomplishment to his name.

“What’s wrong?” Guhl asked again.

Orba, his head turned down, unconsciously bit strongly on his lip. One would think that things having come to this was entirely due to his lack of foresight... such was not the case.

He had come in full awareness that his life would be in danger. He had intended it as one final gamble. The boy who had been born and raised in a poor rural village, and who had survived a life of fighting as a slave, had been going to shoulder the burden of an entire country on his back. There was one last obstacle that needed to be overcome in order to pull off something so outrageous. And that was Guhl Mephius.

He had believed that he could fight. He had judged that he could overcome it.

Pathetic – Orba thought to himself, even as he almost trembled in humiliation. Could it be something this pathetic? Of all the secrets that he kept hidden, as far as Orba was concerned, it was for the most basic, the most pathetic reason that the mountain of corpses that he had built was going to effortlessly be torn down.

Somebody.

Orba was suddenly with the impulse to lift his head and look around at the nobles and generals gathered there.

Isn’t there anybody? Somebody who would speak up. Somebody who would protest against the emperor and take my side?

It had to be said that when facing Mephius’ army in battle, he had avoided calling on western help and fought alone, even when he was at a disadvantage. Orba had forced time to move back then all for the purpose of acquiring allies here. That was the intention. Yet even so, the audience hall had fallen so silent that he could hear his own heartbeat.

Rather than being people unable to make a sound, they seemed to have killed their very breathing and did not give a single proof of even being alive. They were like a group of dolls that the emperor might have collected as a hobby.

No use? It wasn’t enough? All those lives that were sacrificed, all that blood which was shed, and it still wasn’t enough to move Mephius’ time?

Orba was not aware of the veins standing out from his fist against the floor. He was also unconscious of the fact that he had closed his eyes. As though to escape from reality, to reject the words of truth, he blocked his own field of vision. In the darkness that descended, Shique’s face suddenly surfaced in his mind.

It was followed by those of the generals who held the same identical determination, even though their families were being held hostage and might have their heads cut off or be sent to be eaten by dragons at any moment. The faces of countless young soldiers passed by.

And then –

“So that means you can’t,” said Guhl.

He stood up from the throne. The shadow he cast in that moment covered Orba’s entire body.

“Then you, who cannot give proof of bring the crown prince, who are you? You who falsely took my son’s name, who plunged Mephius into chaos, who are you?”

Who are you?

You...

You...

Who are you?

It ran endlessly in Orba’s ears.

And also, his own voice, with which he had often asked himself –

I...

Who am I?

He, the gladiator, the ordinary boy, the crown prince. Those ‘faces’ which should have blended into one as they were gathered along the way sometimes, for some reason, seemed to oppose one another; sometimes seemed to insist on being separate existences, confusing and disturbing the personality that was ‘Orba’.

You, who are you?

In Orba’s world, which was bound in darkness, the colour of platinum shimmered and shone. The girl who had asked him that question straight out. While holding a gun that did not match at all with her soft white hands, while aiming it straight at Orba’s chest, she had asked the same question as Guhl Mephius.

You, who are you?

Her words themselves seemed to turn into bullets that pierced through his heart.

Ah...

In that instant, a change appeared within Orba. The invisible blades thrust at his throat, back, and heart disappeared; the chill that paralysed his limbs was washed away. In its place, a fierce heat arose.

The heat, which was so different from the previous cold that it almost made him want to writhe in agony, was released from a single point in his chest and coursed to every extremity of his body.

“You won’t answer?”

Amidst the ringing echo of Guhl’s harsh voice, Orba opened his eyes.

His entire body was so hot that it was burning up. It needed some form of release. He felt as though if it didn’t receive one, it would burn him to cinders.

“You...” Guhl Mephius, who had been about to probe him further noticed the change in his opponent in that moment. “You’re crying?”

The audience hall was shaking before his eyes.

It was just as the emperor had said.

Orba was crying.

His head still lowered, his tears were falling one after another. His rounded back was quivering incessantly, his shoulders were heaving repeatedly. His eyebrows, which had been slanted at an angle that made him look as though he would mercilessly cut down any enemy, were twisted painfully. While even the crease between his brows shook, Orba wept soundlessly.

“This...”

For a second, Guhl looked astounded, then immediately sneered.

Truly childish –

So said the expression on his face.

The dignitaries of Mephius were gaping open-mouthed as they gazed at the sobbing Crown Prince.

So was Ineli Mephius. The young hero who had temporarily driven the emperor into a corner and who had looked as though he might kick him from the throne at any moment was now crying like a child that had been harshly scolded by his father.

In the end, Gil had simply been dancing in the palm of his father’s hand, he had only been able to selfishly act as he had until now because his father had generously allowed it, and now that his father was coming down hard on him, he could not even protest against it. Such was the scene reflected in people’s eyes.

I get it.

Meanwhile however, Orba was immersed in feelings that the other people had absolutely no inkling of.

I finally get it.

Was that man’s name Alnakk? He had originally been one of the Imperial Guards directly serving the emperor. And he had gone all the way to Birac, carrying the golden medallion which had been left in his care by Vileena Owell.

After having captured Salamand and conveyed that information to Garbera, while she was on the way back, Vileena had herself been shot at by one of the Imperial Guards. The bullet had missed the princess and had hit her horse, which had resulted in her being violently thrown to the ground. While her consciousness had been fading, her brother, Zenon, had carried her and declared that, for now, he was taking her back to Garbera. Vileena had nodded her consent, and, as though to leave it in Mephius in her place, had held the medallion out to Alnakk.

“Please take it... to His Highness Gil...” She had said.

When he had heard about it from Alnakk and received the medallion in his own hands, emotions that he could not understand had filled his heart.

It was the same thing now. The corners of his eyes had grown hot and his emotions were worked up to the point that he was shaking.

Why – he had wondered at the time. When Shique, the comrade-in-arms with whom he had faced death so many times, had died, he had been able to repress his feelings in public. It had been close. If Pashir and Alnakk had been even a little slower in leaving the room, they might have caught sight of his boyish, unconcealed face.

That much? Had the Garberan princess’ existence become that important to him? To the point that he feared more than anything that her warmth would disappear far from him, just as Shique and his family had done.

There had been that, of course. There had been that, but it was not something that could be summarised in so few words. Back then, Orba had not yet realised the true nature of the fiery feelings that drove him on.

Now, however. In Solon, which was far from Birac. In this moment, when he was kneeling before the emperor, on the verge of defeat...

I finally get it. He thought. And also – what a pathetic reason.

When he had heard that Vileena had risked her life to intercept the invading Salamand, that she handed over her medallion for Prince Gil even as her consciousness was fading. When fighting the emperor face-to-face and finding himself at a loss for words. All that Orba could think was –

If only I was the real Gil Mephius.

Part 3

Perhaps anyone would have thought so at this point. That he had faced a great many hardships because he was a fake crown prince, and that it was because he had overcome them that he was who he was now. Up until now, he had fought constant battles, met a multitude of people, schemed, won, encountered setbacks, given shape to his intentions, and gone through all sorts of things; and yet, as though none of those mattered, here and now, what came to him was only that – the most meaningless, the most foolish, and the most worthless of words.

Yet Orba – swept away by the fiery torrent of his feelings and unable to do anything but weep – was unable to see things that way.

When Alnakk had handed him the medallion in Birac Fortress, he had felt as though he could hear Vileena’s voice – I am with you.

Although I have left Mephius for a while, I am definitely not running away from your fight and mine. So...

So please, go at it with all you’ve got.

Wasn’t it with that kind of meaning that Vileena had entrusted the medallion? It truly was becoming of the valiant princess.

Again and again, Orba had seen the princess before him like that and heard her voice, but the truth that I am not Gil Mephius was thrust at him anew.

That princess who had pushed on without looking back, and regardless of the danger to herself, would, of course, not suspect that this Prince Gil was an impostor. If she had suspected anything like that, she would surely never of risked her own life.

Generals Rogue and Odyne had chosen to fight even if it meant sacrificing their own families because they believed in Gil.

Likewise, the Mephian soldiers had taken the lives of their former friends and colleagues, had fought with swords grasped and guns held, because they believed in Gil.

Of course Orba was going to meet their expectations. He had to meet them. But... the loyalty they offered, the friendship, and perhaps even the care –

Orba could only reward that sincerity with lies.

Always.

For all eternity.

He would give his name as ‘Gil Mephius’.

He had known that. Yet, in this moment of impulse, he had been made to realise all that he had not understood.

Why was I born a village boy in the middle of nowhere? Why couldn’t I have been born the crown prince? If I had that birth and lineage, I wouldn’t be tormented by these feelings.

Although those feelings that could perhaps be called regret were genuine, at the same time –

There is definitely meaning to my being here, simply because I wasn’t born to royalty or the imperial family.

– Those feelings, which flared up within him were also true.

Right. That’s right.

When he once again became conscious of that worthless, pathetic thought, and while heat was coursing through his entire body.

I’d forgotten.

There were times when I thought exactly like the real Gil Mephius would.

And every time, it’s that princess who reminds me. That I’m not the real thing.

And that’s why. That’s why I’m here.

Although he was prepared for both defeat and death, there was no reason for him to so easily give up victory and his own life to his enemies.

Orba’s surroundings were light up by a blazing fire. The acrid smoke assailed his nostrils, the intense heat scorched his skin. As the houses on either side of him burned down and changed shape, a lone boy walked in the middle of them. Each of the tears that rolled down his cheeks dissolved in the heat.

If Rogue or Mephius’ soldiers, or some subordinate somewhere, discover my brand...

You’re an impostor!

How dare you deceive us!

You sent soldiers to their death for a lie, you influenced the course of our country with lies!

Even if they scream that at me – melted by the flames, the boy’s face crumbled away and soon, it had transformed into that of Gil Mephius. There were no tears anymore. As though in exchange for the fury, for the anger, the hatred, and the flames that blazed brightly around him –

I’ll laugh.

Orba – Gil Mephius’ expression was serene.

I’ll laugh as I insult them. You didn’t notice. You didn’t know. Even though an impostor was giving you orders, even though an impostor was trampling over your heads that you prostrated before him, didn’t you still call me the crown prince? Didn’t you tear the country apart on my orders? Then after it was over, didn’t you receive medals from my own hand? The imperial family, royalty, that’s all it’s worth. Anyone would do. As long as they shoulder the weight in your place, as long as they look to the future in your place, anyone will do.

So I’ll laugh.

I’ll laugh even if countless hands grab me and drag me to the guillotine. Even in the middle of all that, I’ll laugh.

I won’t have any regrets. Who knows if after my death I’ll be remembered in infamy as the false crown prince. But – But until then...

Until the moment when a blade slices through my neck or a bullet pierces my heart...

I’ll resist.

I’ll fight.

I’ll give my all to survive.

“Enough.”

As though bored of it all, Guhl Mephius gave a clap of his hands.

“If your tongue can no longer come up with an excuse, you’d do best to vanish from my sight at once.” He looked around at the crowd of people in the hall. “Even though I had you gather here expressly, it turned into a farce. I had intended to offer you all souvenirs but, well, there have not been so many assembled here since the Founding Festival. The public finances can’t cover it. What a headache,” he joked.

Sitting beside him, Empress Melissa bit back a yawn. Ever since she had been informed that the crown prince had been summoned to Solon, she had seemed to consider that the matter was already settled. The exchange between the emperor and crown prince was, so to speak, no more than a scripted play that she had grown bored of, and she had been wondering for a while now when this tiresome show would be over.

“Your Majesty.”

– A voice was heard.

Gil Mephius.

His head was still lowered, his back was still shaking.

“What?” the emperor asked, sounding fed up. “Have you brought yourself to comply with my order?”

“No.”

At Gil’s reply, even the retainers showed irritation and boredom in their expressions. Nothing would change, there would be no development. So why was this prince opening his mouth?

“I will not comply with it.”

“Why?” Guhl, who had at some point sat back down on the throne, curled his lips into a sneer. “Is it because you don’t carry the proof on your body? That, in turn, is the best possible proof that you are an impostor.”

“Pathetic.” Orba said once again. “Truly a pathetic story. Do you intend to strip me naked and shame me before all of the retainers?”

The emperor harrumphed and shrugged. “This talk is tedious. I believe I told you not to play with words.”

“No, this is no wordplay,” so saying... Orba stood up.

He stretched out his knees which had been on the floor, lifted his bowed head straight, threw out his chest and faced Guhl.

Gil seemed to have shaken off the heavy black pall that hung from his shoulders and back, leaving it to roll at his feet, and the people there held their breath, unable to turn their eyes away from him; or better said, unable to turn away from the sight of the emperor and crown prince their gazes almost at equal height, facing off against one another.

Faster than Guhl could speak –

“In terms of words, I have said all I have to say. Why I was so late coming here, why I fought Mephian soldiers, as well as my determination. Since with that, I cannot gain Your Majesty’s acceptance, then that means that from the start, Your Majesty had no use for my existence.”

As Orba spoke, how did the people now see the single trail of tears that ran down his cheek? Orba himself, driven by fervent fire, could probably not tell whether the tears that fell were real or fake.

“While that may be true, even if you unjustly spurn me, I will not be trampled underfoot and defeated. Doing so would be betraying those who believe in me.”

“What?”

“Rogue Saian, Odyne Lorgo, Folker Baran, Yuriah Mattah. All of them are retainers that you, Your Majesty, raised. All of them are retainers who fought for you, Your Majesty, and consecrated their lives to you. Then why did they follow me and risk their lives fighting for me? Can you not believe in them, either? Do you doubt even the loyal hearts that they gave to their country and to you, Your Majesty? Seeing that attitude from you, how can the other retainers gathered here continue to believe in you, Your Majesty? Can you continue to guide this country?”

While he talked, Orba’s eyes dried and his eyebrows once again slanted as sharply as swords.

“By putting me to shame, you also shame their lives, their names, and their families. That is not something that I can allow. If such is your intention, I will return that shame to you, Guhl, you bastard, by not ‘complying with your orders’.”

“Shame me, you say?” Guhl’s beard shook imperceptibly.

This time, it was Orba who sneered.

“You can’t have forgotten, Father. I have Birac behind me. I have Nedain and Apta. And in them, I have the capable generals Rogue, Odyne, Folker and Yuriah, as well as a great many soldiers. I could have chosen the path of war. I could have turned Solon into a sea of flames and driven a blood-smeared sword through Your Majesty’s throat. The question of real or fake is meaningless on the battlefield. If the real Emperor were defeated by the impostor Crown Prince, in that very moment, the lie would become the truth, and the old truth would be cast away in history as a lie.”

The entire Court was left speechless as he spoke those terrible words with a smile. They felt as though they could see Gil Mephius’ face, stained red with the blood of his opponents. Was he not licking his lips because at any moment now, he would lick off that still steaming blood?

Right, the Gil Mephius who was here – the Gil Mephius whose gaze was at a height that matched the emperor’s – had without any doubt come through countless difficult battles, had bathed in the blood of his fellow countrymen, and now, to defend his own justice, he had clearly come to contend on this battlefield, not for the blood of his brethren, but for that of his own father.

“This late in the game you resort to threats?”

“Oh my, are you angry, Father? Then you should issue your commands. Retainers loyal to His Majesty, capture that fool and drag him to the dungeons – something like that.”

“What did you say?”

“But what if, at that time, I, Gil Mephius, gave an order?”

Orba spread his hands out towards the retainers who were arrayed on either side of him. They staggered and shrank back, exactly as though drops of fresh blood were raining incessantly from his fingertips.

“Don’t move,” wiping away his smile, Orba sent looks as sharp as the tip of a blade to the right and left of him. “If you move, you’ll be disobeying the orders of the next emperor of Mephius, and he’ll send you to the arena.”

Mephius’ vassals hurriedly straightened their posture and stood to attention. The smile returned to Orba’s lips.

“...Like so.”

“You bastard.”

Orba took a step forward.

Transparent ripples seemed to spread out from the tip of his foot trod. Those who were touched by those ripples did not move, could not speak, and could only gaze fixedly at the young man who was approaching the throne.

Guhl’s expression was finally torn apart with fury. His eyes, deeply carved wrinkles on either side, were riveted on Orba who came closer a second, then a third, step.

“This is no more than the desperation of a fool who cannot prove that he is the crown prince.”

“Are you afraid, Your Majesty?”

“What?”

“You should give your orders quickly. Capture the impostor, drag away the fool, kill the rebel. Why can you not do so? Right, Father, are you afraid? Because if nobody moves despite the order from their ruler, you would only be proving to all the dignitaries here that you no longer have the attributes of the emperor of Mephius. Then, Father, how would it feel to be defeated at your own hands? If nobody stops me, if nobody listens to Your Majesty’s words.”

Orba pressed forward by another step.

Ineli Mephius watched him, her gaze gleaming with perhaps even more fire than the emperor’s. Beside her, Empress Melissa had lost her composure and her eyes were darting about in confusion.

“Y-Your Majesty...”

Just as she unconsciously uttered those words, Gil Mephius arrived right in front of the steep steps to the throne.

People watched, holding their breath. Hoping that it might provide some kind of answer. It felt as though within the calm, caused by the weariness and fear that had swirled around the Court in exchange for a stable reign, a new wind was blowing, bringing with it who knew who and who knew what.

Then, Guhl Mephius once more stood up from the throne. The staff he held in one hand clattered as it fell onto the marble and, in exchange for it, Guhl’s hand went to his breast pocket. When he pulled it out immediately afterwards, he held a gleaming black gun.

“Your Majesty!”

That appeal was not made by Melissa, but by several of the retainers, their voices overlapping. Holding the gun in both hand, Guhl had it aimed squarely at Orba’s head. For a moment, Orba halted his steps.

“Fools, damn fools!” Guhl roared, opening wide the mouth that was buried beneath his beard. “I know your schemes perfectly well. You’ll continue to be silent with those mouths that swore loyalty to me, and you won’t run those swords that you dedicated to me through this rebel’s back. In that case, I’ll settle things myself. I’ll use my own hands to defile this audience hall with blood. But! Know it well. What kind of fate do you think will befall you loyal bastards?”

The Court suddenly erupted into noise. Screams, roars, and strangely childish wails filled the hall.

And amidst it all – The final gamble, thought Orba. In that moment, he joined Guhl in sharing his sentiments.

There was one other...

Amidst it all, there was one other who decided to seize the situation to greatly affect their future. That person leapt from their seat, tumbled down the stairs, and arrived right before Orba.

Princess Ineli Mephius.

Ah – while people gasped, Ineli’s slender body clung to Gil Mephius’ chest.

Flinging herself between the emperor and the crown prince, in the empty space between where their swords seemed about to collide, as though she were Gil’s shield, Ineli turned only her head around and shouted in a tremulous voice –

“Your Majesty. Your Majesty, please stop. For a father to kill his own child... Ineli can’t bear it. Please, please stop!”

“Move from there, Ineli,” the emperor roared his order from above her.

“Move, Ineli,” the crown prince shouted the same thing.

Ineli however shook her head like a child throwing a tantrum, and clung to Gil more tightly than ever.

“How could Ineli not recognise Brother? How could Ineli just watch while you two fight like this? The two of you both worry about Mephius, about its retainers, its people, and its future, and that’s why you are colliding like this. Enough, enough. You can’t need to spill each other’s blood and take each other’s life!”

“Move, Ineli,” the emperor shouted again. The muzzle of his gun was still aimed true. “That is not the crown prince. That’s an usurper aiming for the throne. If you’re going to defend that kind of man, then...”

“Please, enough!” Ineli interrupted the emperor with a high-pitched shriek. “This person is the real Crown prince Gil Mephius. Ineli will prove it. Even if you reject my words and doubt my intentions, it’s all right. Please, please shoot me instead!”

For Ineli Mephius, this was a once-in-a-lifetime struggle. Up until then, she had been fixedly observing as the heated exchange between Guhl and Gil shook the Court and tilted it in favour of one or the other. When Gil attacked, the retainers’ expressions showed them wavering in favour of supporting this new hero; when Guhl shot him down through sheer overwhelming coercion, their expressions seemed to indicate that, after all, they had no choice but to dedicate their loyalty to the emperor.

And then, the moment when Gil once more gained the upper hand and struck down Guhl’s might.

Finally, when Guhl Mephius had proffered his threats. The emperor had previously thrown retainers who tried to advise him to the dragons and had been intending to execute the families of the veteran generals who had joined the crown prince. This had cast a black shadow in the hearts of the retainers who had served Mephius for so long.

For that reason, they were frightened. If I do not obey the emperor, perhaps tomorrow I will become a dragon’s meal.

And so, they were lost and hesitant. Should they continue to obey an emperor whose every word seemed to plunge Mephius’ future into darkness, their backs half-turned away from the fight with the crown prince?

But then, Ineli took action. Their hearts, which had been split between two equal parts, only needed the resolute actions of one person to guide them towards one side or the other. And with it being not a hardened warrior who had many times overcome death, but a young girl whose pure soul lay concealed behind her snow-white cheeks, the effect was all the greater.

Guhl Mephius’ face was twisted with hatred. Yet the aim of his muzzle did not waver.

“Your Majesty!” A voice reverberated – Indolph York.

He was a man who played a part in the anti-Emperor faction along with Fedom Aulin. He too had finally come to a decision. His voice quivering, he continued –

“I-I, Indolph York, beg of you. This person is clearly the true Crown Prince. Please lower your gun.”

Ineli’s actions and his words turned into the impetus for others.

“Your Majesty”

“Your Majesty!”

“Please, we beg of you.”

“To attack even Her Highness the princess, it would be much too... too cruel.”

The retainers all started shouting together.

The ‘wind’ now started gathering in one direction only, the ‘waves’ and their swells were pulsing with intense energy.

More creases appeared as Emperor Guhl Mephius brought his brows together.

And as he did so, he pulled the trigger.

“Hiiii!”

Screams surged all around. Orba forcibly peeled Ineli from off of him. As he raced up the staircase, he heard the sound of the trigger being pulled again.

There had been no gunshot either time. Only the sound of the gun chamber revolving.

The third time was the same.

Realising this, Orba stopped halfway up the stairs and the voices of the retainers gradually faded. Guhl was about to pull the trigger one more time –

Or so it seemed, but he languidly let his hand drop. The gun, now near his waist, shook.

“I see,” muttered the emperor of Mephius. He snorted suddenly, his white moustache swaying, then he bent backwards and burst into loud laughter.

As though they were held spellbound, or as if they had just woken up after that mayhem, not Orba, not Ineli – who had been thrown to the ground, Melissa, or the retainers could move.

Having laughed his full, Guhl sat back down on the throne with a thump.

“It was splendid, the way you were ready to stake your own life,” those unexpected words reached Orba’s ears.

What was Guhl – the man who had governed the country for so long – thinking in that moment? At that time, Orba did not know. He had no way of knowing.

However, his forehead free of perspiration, his breathing even, his voice so calm that his and Orba’s ferocious clashing of words seemed like a lie, Guhl said, “Very well.” He then continued –

“You are clearly my child and Mephius’ crown prince, Gil. You, and also Ineli and the retainers, have given proof of that... Let’s say that I accept your request. You can organise troops immediately and head to Ende in reinforcement. I will also allow Rogue, Odyne, Folker, Yuriah and their forces to pass through Solon.”

So declared the emperor.

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