Vol 2 Chapter 2 (1/2)

Chapter 2: Days at the Imperial Capital

Part 1

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

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

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

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

It had been modelled after one of Mephius’ most popular historical figures, the Dragon-slaying hero, Clovis, who, together with the support of Felipe, fought to the very end. Despite being gladiators, they had been bestowed the same t.i.tle, and released from their status as sword-slave. Furthermore, they had been officially employed as Mephian soldiers. In this day and age, the sword-slaves trained even harder than usual at this time of year in hopes they would be able to partic.i.p.ate in the tournament.

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

At times like this, he would usually be in a sour mood. The Tarkas Gladiatorial Group was comparatively fairly large and certainly well known, but the company, having been brought up in a single generation, held weak relations with the n.o.bles and nearly no say within the guild..

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

Orba recalled him speaking those words. Put in Tarkas’ words, Orba was a gladiator that didn’t give him his money’s worth. His forte was the longsword; he never lost a one-on-one match. But it was a fact that his fighting style was ‘plain’.

It had been Tarkas’ dream to partic.i.p.ate in the festival and get first place, but Orba held no interest in it. He wanted the festival in Solon to quickly start and receive it, and it was because Orba thought this way, that he didn’t understand the way the world ran.

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

The evening before the start of the festival, the Mephius royalty and chief va.s.sals took the lead in the celebration of founding day, holding a ritual to pray for a good harvest in the coming year. In the centre of Solon stood the Black Tower, also known as the “Sword forged from the remains of a s.p.a.ce Immigrant s.h.i.+p’s bow”. The tower was a symbol of the capital, and situated below was the Dragon G.o.d Shrine. It was a naturally formed cave, and they were quickly enveloped in a freezing chill upon entering.

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

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

All preparations for the Dragon G.o.d ritual were handled by the group of elders. This was an old custom dating back to the days when people all throughout Mephius wors.h.i.+pped the Dragon G.o.d. Soon, they arrived at the inner sanctum. Their feet stopped, and they waited patiently as the group of elders offered a prayer in ancient words.

Engraved on the towering wall before them was the Mephius Dragon G.o.d bestowing wisdom and power to the founding emperor.

It was a vast, dimly lit s.p.a.ce. The lamp kindled and the deep, profound voices of the elders chanting could be heard as their shadows projected onto the wall. The sanct.i.ty of the ritual sent s.h.i.+vers down Orba’s spine.

So this is also something I must get used to.

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

Once the prayer had concluded its end, the elders moved down a pa.s.sage leading to a considerably narrow room, and they alone exchanged drinks. It wasn’t a part of their banquet, but another form of paying their respect. The party on the eve of the founding festival would take place come nightfall in the central hall within the inner palace, where the remaining n.o.bles and countries’ envoys awaited them.

As they headed towards the room, Simon Rodloom called out, “Prince.”

Fedom looked at Orba during this sudden predicament, but to his relief, Orba did not turn to meet his gaze. Simon was a leader amidst all the others. Who knew how long he could have been lurking behind Fedom.

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

“It’s not bad. Everyone’s fussing too much over it, so it got blown up a bit.”

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

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

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

“Yes, pardon my discreetness.”

“Everyone’s surprised after seeing my real abilities. It’s because of the way I’ve been up to now that everyone is probably feeling uneasy. Hmph, like I’d care if they started minding me now.”

Rodloom smiled at his bitter expression.

Not bad at all.

Orba impressed with his own acting. After all, he only had to play the part of a simpleton.

Afterwards, Orba continued his act as 'the prince elated with his activities in his first campaign.'

“Did you meet Princess Vileena after that?”

The unexpected jab had momentarily left him short of a response.

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

“Me, scolded by that princess? Madness!”

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

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

“Help her?”

“She was the princess of our enemy until not too long ago, she herself must hold some misgivings and conflicted feelings of her surroundings. But, with this, everyone wil watch over the relations.h.i.+p between the charming prince and princess, and soon enough the people will follow suit.”

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

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

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

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

“...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Mephius emperor.

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

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

Did I blunder?

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

“Your majesty, please wait.”

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

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

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

“...What are they talking about?”

“F-Fool! Don’t speak to me here.”

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

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

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

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

“Your majesty!”

“Silence, Zaat Quark.”

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

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

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

“Zaat, stop it.”

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

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

“Your majesty.”

“Your majesty!”

Orba watched as the situation once again escalated into an uproar. The emperor’s face seethed a bright red and he never removed his gaze from Zaat Quark, whose face showed a ghastly blue.

Internal discord amongst the n.o.bles, huh.

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

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

Part 2

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

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

Hmph.

Vileena was angry exactly because the prince adopted such an att.i.tude.

The Imperial Guard delegates who had come along, s.h.i.+que and Gowen, had no choice but to smile wryly.

“His highness accomplished his first campaign in stride,” s.h.i.+que said shrugging his shoulders. “But when it comes to love, he is like that naïve boy before his first campaign.”

“Even those old-timers would lose face when conducting themselves as such. Just what I’d expect of our prince.”

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

“What do you mean?”

“In a Solon bar, I met War.”

War was originally one of the sword-slaves from the Tarkas group and had partic.i.p.ated in the battle at Zaim Fortress. Of the eighty remaining sword-slaves, sixty-two had offered their service into the Imperial Guards. The rest, including the giant gladiator Gilliam, were more than adequately rewarded by being set free. War was also one of those who should have been set free.

“That’s rea.s.suring. Is he doing fine?”

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

“What order?”

“It seems to have been to become a Mephius mercenary. One under the commander during your first campaign—the one called General Oubary.”

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

Naturally, Ineli and the others wanted to hear about the situation with Zaat Quark, but Orba couldn’t say that everything said by the rumours was all there was to it.

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

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

“You sure are being realistic, Princess Ineli.”

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

Afterwards, Orba conversed here and there with those who came to greet him. As the only one of the senior statesmen present, Fedom was just as busy as the prince. So it fell on Dinn the page to constantly whispering the names of those who greeted the prince into Orba's ear in his stead. It was by all means, an endless task.

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

“Gil. You appear to have improved considerably.”

“I have.”

That was everything to the father-son exchange.

“Has your face not thinned?”

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

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

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

The emperor only slightly raised his brows.

Once the party had started and the countries’ envoys were invited to join in the ceremonies commemorating the founding of Mephius, they began to offer their greetings. Naturally, there were envoys visiting as guests from Ende and Garbera, Arion from the east, and to the north—the group of city-states along the gulf coasts making up Zonga, and the lone islands such as Balor found further to the south.

And to each, their own specialities, forming large piles of clothes, spices, condiments, bizarre musical instruments, designed furniture of varying sizes, armours decorated with jewels; amongst them, what caught Orba’s eye was a Garberan envoy.

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

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

“On behalf of the king, Ainn Owell, I offer his apologies for the hards.h.i.+ps the subjugation of Ryucown may have caused your Highness. We would like to express our heartfelt grat.i.tude for Mephius’ a.s.sistance. The people of Garbera will never forget the kind deed and camaraderie you have shown us.”

Orba stared fixedly at Noue’s eyes. He was truly fit to be a civil servant, and did not look to be one who would personally wield a sword. With these thoughts, Orba’s interest in him faded.

More noteworthy was the gift Garbera presented to the prince, consisting of three of Garbera’s airs.h.i.+ps, that caught his interest. He was already in the middle of organizing an airs.h.i.+p squadron from the few capable in the Imperial Guards. The airs.h.i.+p itself had fighting potential, but above all, held great value in being used as a messenger in a battlefield. He gratefully welcomed the gift, which he had hoped to get his hands on as soon as possible.

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

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

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

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

Vileena turned red. According to Noue, her father, in a strained laugh mixed with grief had said,

“From the start, she was never a person to sit down quietly and do nothing regardless of place.”

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

Vileena covered her eyes.

“Is that so…”

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

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

“Look, that is the Clovis contender, Pas.h.i.+r.”

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

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

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

Pas.h.i.+r was also a name Orba had heard of. His eyes followed the n.o.bles’ pointing fingers, and instantly,

Ooh.

He let out a gasp of surprise when Pas.h.i.+r the gladiator looked directly at him. With a ma.s.sive body, he was certainly an unyielding gladiator. With deep black hair and a moustache, his whole body teemed with energy. He immediately looked away. Was it by chance that he had looked his way? At the very least, the gaze he held was not one that held respect towards the n.o.bles.

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

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

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

Before long, the aforementioned Pas.h.i.+r had separated from his dancing circle. Roaming the s.p.a.cious hall, he began his search for people to provoke.

“Come to me, oh respected swordsman.”

“No, come to me!”

The soldiers who took pride in their skill and the young n.o.bles shouted out. In an air of arrogance, Pas.h.i.+r pa.s.sed by each of the men in turn, and then stopped his feet.

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

Oh?

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

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

“Your highness, leave this to me.”

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