Vol 1 Chapter 2 (1/2)

Chapter 2: Two Boys

Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is what separates adults and children.

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

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

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

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

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

It was about four years after coming to Birac.

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

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

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

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

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

b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.

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

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

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

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

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

“…Indeed, they’re alike.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am Gowen. I’d like to form a long-standing relations.h.i.+p. You’ll be made to kill each other after ten days at the earliest. Let’s hope it won’t come to that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try to strike me any way you want.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you trying to kill me, Orba?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I won’t die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gowen said so clearly. And Orba followed those instructions.

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

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

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

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

“Die!” Orba yelled as he looked up at the spectators. “f.u.c.kin’ die !!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mephius has various etiquette concerning marriages of the imperial household. The marital vows have to be performed at Seirin Valley[1], for example, and there are also gladiatorial fights in the repertoire to be hosted. It looks like we from Tarkas Gladiatorial Group are the only ones recruited.”

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

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

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

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

Part 2

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

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

“Your hobby of ambus.h.i.+ng people is awful too.”

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

“I do not want to mimic a father impatiently waiting for his daughter’s return either. However, your highness is also in the offing for the wedding with the Garberan princess. Things like this will not do. Please show some understanding.”

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

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

“That’s why I told you – I know!”

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

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

“Father is?”

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

“Well, see ya.”

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

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

But that’s only their responsibility, Simon thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Father, have you called for me?”

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

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

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

“No, father, I…”

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

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