BXBX NOVEL Volume 12, 3: Dairan in Flames
Volume 12, Chapter 3: Dairan in Flames
Part 1
Although isolated within the enemy’s formation, Eric naturally did not just stand by with his arms crossed. While sending a messenger to Dairan, he picked the uninjured soldiers and the best out of those who were injured but still sufficiently mobile, and explored ways to descend from the higher ground to the enemy lines.
They were preparing to retaliate against the enemy once reinforcements had arrived from Dairan. As Eric himself had said, if things went well, they would be able to attack the enemy from both sides. If there was a way to climb down behind the besieging enemy soldiers, they would use it to attack from the rear. If that was impossible, then their tactic would be for every platoon to charge down the hill.
It was around then that their camp suddenly erupted with noise.
“Ah!’
“My lord!”
Flames were rising up in the far distance.
From Dairan’s direction.
It was obvious that Allion’s army had launched an assault on it. For a second, Eric and the soldiers accompanying him were stunned. This situation was impossible. Dairan, against whose solid walls the nomadic riders seemed to bounce back off every time they attacked – Dairan was burning.
Because of my incompetence... Eric’s shaking hands clenched into tight fists that trembled even harder.
For the prince, Dairan was far more his home than the capital, Safia. And while his home was being attacked, he found himself in a position where he could no longer hope for reinforcements from Dairan. Since things had come to this, there was only one path open to Eric’s troops.
To prepare to die without surrendering.
Like the tip of a single spear, all they could do was to concentrate their forces on ripping into a single point of the enemy lines. Nothing else.
Naturally, Prince Eric himself had to return alive either to Dairan or to Safia. If the worst happened and Dairan fell, if its people and soldiers were slaughtered to the last, as long as Eric survived, even if he was the only one, there would still be a chance for revenge. If Eric died here, however, that would mean the annihilation of the Grand Duchy of Ende itself.
Therefore, while they would be pouring most of their force into their surprise attack, it could be no more than a decoy. The decoy corps would fight with the all the power of desperation until it was utterly destroyed, during which time, the prince, accompanied by a few guards, would withdraw from the frontlines.
“My lord, please give us your orders.”
“Please allow me to demonstrate my prowess in the vanguard.”
“Ha, ha, ha, what’re you saying, you greenhorn who was living easy in the capital? I’m sure the prince will be kind enough to let this old croak show off my skill as a Dairan warrior one last time.”
Every last one of them volunteered to be part of the decoy unit.
Even Belmor, covered in injuries and unable to walk unaided, stood before the prince, using a spear in place of a cane.
“May the spirits of Heaven and Earth manifest their power and forever protect you, Lord Eric, next Grand Duke of Ende,” he said, his eyes clear and bright.
Eric wept.
There was nothing he could do but shed tears as he accepted their desperate resolve. Things were different from when he had fought in Dairan as an individual warrior. Eric now represented Ende itself, and his life was no longer his alone.
A few dozen minutes after flames had broken out in Dairan, four hundred soldiers descended the hill, calling upon the names of the spirits, spears, swords and guns in hand.
Less than half of them were still fit to wield steel. Some dragged one of their legs behind them, others had to lean on horses, and others still had to advance by crawling along the ground.
They soon collided with those of Allion’s troops that were stationed to the south side. The sound of gunfire immediately filled the surroundings.
Meanwhile, Lord Eric and the fifty soldiers protecting him attempted to break out on the west side.
Lance Mazpotter, who was in command of the encircling troops, reacted swiftly as well.
“It worked.”
Lance had predicted that once Dairan was set ablaze, the enemy would definitely descend from the high ground. And furthermore, that it would be as a decoy to allow Lord Eric to escape alone. Therefore, when he heard battle cries resound overhead, Lance gave the first instructions to shoot even as he promptly sent a signal to the airship unit.
Many of Allion’s airships, and especially those that seated two people, imitated the form of giant birds of prey. The motif was apparently that of the giant birds that appeared in myths from the Ancient Magic Dynasty. The soldiers on the back seats held up lights. While maintaining a distance between each other, several ships revolved in the sky.
Lance’s raised eye watched each of the twinkling lights. Before long, a light flying to the west drew an ‘8’ with its trail.
“There!” Lance cried out, and broke into a run towards it, accompanied by a hundred riders. With a force like the wind, he easily left the bloody battlefield behind.
His target was obvious. Lord Eric’s head.
Meanwhile, eight kilometres east of Dairan and at around midnight, a commotion also broke out all at once at the mountain pass where the allied Garberan and western forces were confronting Allion’s army. The reason was the same as for Eric’s troops: brilliant flames had risen from the direction of Dairan.
Hearing the uproar, Zenon Owell almost came tumbling out his pavilion and, for a moment, he also stared in shock in that direction.
Lord Eric had not notified Prince Zenon of his intention to lead a raid that night. This had been to prevent information from leaking as much as possible, but now that they were caught in an enemy trap, nothing could have been more harmful than that decision.
“Rouse the soldiers! Ready weapons!”
Waking up from his momentary trance, Zenon started yelling so hard that his mouth seemed to take up his entire face. With the help of the squires who accompanied him as knight apprentices, the prince donned his armour.
Just as Zenon had predicted, cries of “Enemy attack, enemy attack!” soon rose as Phard Chryseum drove his warhorses from the east. The assault on Dairan had clearly been his signal. He moved with all the ferocity of a raging bull, with such terrifying force that it was hard to believe he had patiently been sitting still up until now. He rushed madly ahead, looking as though he would smash through anything that stood in his way, be it man, horse, or boulder.
Zenon was forced to make a decision. If they remained idly to one side, Dairan would be caught in a two-pronged attack between the forces currently assaulting it and the troops led by Phard. If the city fell, it would, of course, spell defeat for the allied forces.
“Prince Zenon!”
Gunshots, shouts of encouragement, and simple screams reverberated throughout the mountain pass, so that it was already impossible to hear what the person next to you was saying. Yet among it all, yelling in particularly loud voices, spurring on their huge horses, were the two commanders, Moldorf and Nilgif.
“Leave the rear to us.”
Both displayed their teeth as they laughed, spears in hand. Zenon Owell nodded immediately. The brothers’ smiles broadened.
“Pull back, pull back!” Zenon cried. He swiftly reorganised the first unit, centred around the riflemen. “First unit, take up position at entrance of the pass. Cover the retreat of the following troops.”
He called together each of the platoon commanders that he could see, and ordered them to stay in position until the first unit had completed its escape.
“Afterwards, each captain is to withdraw according to their own judgement. The western heroes are serving as the rear guard. Knights of Garbera, you have to repay their brave actions at all cost!”
The clouds of dust kicked up by the battle were already wafting towards Zenon’s face.
On the opposing Allion side, General Phard Chryseum was part of the vanguard at the centre of those dust clouds. The many and heavy-looking iron balls hanging from his battle staff hummed as he whirled it around. Usually, when that kind of weapon was used from horseback, the grip was shortened to make it easier to use with one hand; but Phard merrily swung what an ordinary man would be hard-pressed to use even two-handed. Around him, the heads of western soldiers were blown away.
In battle, he raged like a storm. As Phard ferociously pressed closer, painting a whirlpool of blood above his head, even the western warriors, renowned for their bravery, and the Garberan soldiers, imbued in the spirit of chivalry, flinched and prepared to flee.
“Boring, Boooring,” Phard laughed, and his breathing wasn’t even uneven.
The woman’s profile on the underside of his cloak flapped in and out of sight. Was there even a single enemy that survived after having seen it?
“So Garberan knights only amount to this much? You’re not worthy of holding a spear. Hurry on back to town to write poetry for the ladies.”
“Huh?” Phard’s narrow eyes, smouldering from the feast of blood and slaughter, opened wide.
An enemy was hurtling his horses right at him. The rider’s figure cut straight through the dust raised by Allion’s army, and with each sweep of his spears, he mowed down several of Allion’s iron-clad cavalry that were galloping in front of Phard.
“Oooh!” he roared in admiration at the enemy’s strength, seeing someone approach right before him without slowing their movements in the slightest.
Phard swept his war staff diagonally upwards. At that same moment, his opponent’s spear cleaved through the air. Spear repelled staff then jabbed a further two, three times to knock back the iron balls that were about to smash directly into the opponent’s face.
Both horses stopped abruptly, their forelegs suspended in the air. For just a second, Phard and the western cavalryman’s faces came close to one another.
“Tell me your name.”
“Moldorf, Kadyne’s commander of the Tauran army.”
“Got iiit!” Phard howled and kicked at his horse’s flank.
He was not trying to escape, but to put some distance between them since he had realised that his own weapon was not suitable for close combat.
Aware of what he was trying to do, Moldorf was of course in hot pursuit. He thrust his spear forward repeatedly. Phard, however, shortened his grip on his staff and the iron balls repelled the spear.
Allion’s army, meanwhile, continued to advance forward, but met with resistance from Nilgif’s elite cavalrymen. They rode freely through the narrow mountain pass, sometimes charging, sometimes scattering left and right, fighting hard and constantly impeding the larger army’s progress.
Nevertheless, the allied Garbera-western forces were compelled to retreat, whereas Allion’s troops simply needed to continuously attack and advance. Inevitably, there was a difference in their energy and momentum.
The clouds of dust sent flying under the feet of the horses and infantrymen gradually moved west, and the position in which the allied forces had established their camp was violently trampled underfoot by Allion’s army, along with all the flags from the various countries.
At the same time, in Dairan, the city’s soldiers were concentrating their gunfire on Kaseria’s forces which were drawing up to the front of the fortified mansion.
Although Kaseria was currently sheltered behind a building, waiting for the onslaught to subside, he had the curious impression that – bullets can’t even graze me when I’m winning. Perhaps holding those kinds of beliefs was a type of strength in this kind of mêlée combat.
While Kaseria was giving his riflemen orders to counterattack, the cannon was successfully set up. Before long, the gun barrel roared and belched out vast quantities of black smoke.
“Guah!”
Dairan soldiers were blown away by the explosion, and the gate to the mansion collapsed.
Kaseria allowed his men to rest for a moment, then gave the order of assault. Naturally, he was running in the vanguard. His horse soared over the rubble that had once been the gate then, for a second, Kaseria tilted his head to the right.
From the other side of the whirling dust, a spear came hurtling, humming through the air. Aiming for the instant when the spear was fully extended towards him, Kaseria stretched out his hand and calmly took hold of it.
The first prince of Allion did not often get to play like this. On the battlefield, where even the tiniest miscalculation could prove fatal, he deliberately placed himself in unnecessary danger to confirm for himself just how much he transcended and overwhelmed his surroundings.
In the case of this spear, if he had not waited for the very instant when it had lost its momentum, his wrist would have been blown flying into the air. He succeeded magnificently, however, smoothly grabbing the spear then swiftly turning its tip around to thrust it through the chest of an enemy on the ground.
The soldier died without uttering a sound, and Kaseria’s horse tramped over the corpse. It was then that, sensing someone’s gaze on him, Kaseria once again turned his neck.
The place was something like the mansion’s front garden. Ever since the era of the Ancient Magic Dynasty, this land was known to have a unique sense of aesthetics; so even though Kaseria was royalty from Allion, which had originated from that same dynasty, the arrangement of the rocks inserted into the landscape of the Ende-style garden looked strange to him.
A small figure stood amidst the light tendrils of smoke that were still drifting about.
Thil.
She had been running indoors searching for her little sister, when it occurred to her that Reen might have gone rushing out of the mansion, and so she had gone to look in the front garden. It was at that moment that gate had been bombarded.
She was almost blown away by the blast, but she somehow managed to not be swept away by crouching down and clinging to a rock. It was as she was standing, coughing violently, that her and Kaseria’s eyes met.
Kaseria Jamil’s lips curved into a smile that could only be called gentle.
He was a man who certainly did not dislike children, perhaps because, at heart, he had a childlike personality. Whenever there was an event at which his youngest relatives gathered, he even took the initiative to organise games like hide-and-seek in the palace.
The little girl who appeared within the clearing smoke looked clever but also, as youthful as she was, her appearance held a promise of one day being able to excite a man’s instincts.
Oh, she’ll grow up to be a beauty – thought Kaseria. Even as he thought so, he pulled the spear out of the Dairan soldier that he had stabbed just a moment ago. The sensation of flesh and gore felt good to the hand.
No, she would have grown up to be a beauty. If she hadn’t met me.
It’s too bad.
But it can’t be helped. Since, unfortunately for her, she met me.
He was curious.
He wanted to see how red this little child’s blood would be.
She had been fated, in the future, to be loved and raised like a princess, but he would be tearing that fate down –
On the battlefield, the shackles that held back desires of every kind fell loose. Thoughts that flashed through his mind as nothing more than mere curiosity instantly connected to instinctive desires that could not be suppressed.
Kaseria Jamil feared that part of himself. At the same time, whenever he stood on the battlefield, he felt a joy that could not be compared to that moment of fear.
Kaseria brandished the spear.
Thil could only stare at the sight in shock. Her thoughts were frozen, and she could neither run nor scream. Her trembling lips emitted a sound that was not quite a voice. She could not form her sister’s name, or call for her mother and father.
In the next second, the spear thrown by the first prince of Allion drew an arc in the air.
Part 2
At the whistling sound it made as it cut through the wind, Thil came back to her senses. Her bare feet struck the ground, but since her muscles had not kept up with her sudden awakening, she toppled backwards.
Which was actually fortunate for her. The spear lost its target and pierced the ground right in front of her. Thil gazed at the fiercely quivering spear handle as though it was something out of a nightmare.
“Gah,” Allion’s prince growled, spittle flying from his lips. “Gah!”
He was annoyed at having missed. It felt as though the self-confidence and pride from having earlier taken the enemy’s spear as he pleased had been almost entirely used up. At the same time, however, there was a certain pleasure to be had in putting off enjoyment.
Kaseria spurred his horse forward. The beautiful sound that his sword made as it slid out of its scabbard was especially pleasing to the prince’s ear.
Thil tried to stand up, but she couldn’t put any strength into her legs and hips. She stared wide-eyed as ‘death’ spread its black wings before her. Unable to protest against this irrational violence, her fate, or even against the person who was visiting them upon her, Thil could only fix her gaze on its approach.
Kaseria chuckled unintentionally.
Don’t worry.
I’m not clumsy, so you won’t suffer. I’ll take your head in one strike.
He raised his sword above his shoulder. As though its tip had reached the night sky, the dark clouds parted at that moment, and the moonlight shone down.
Thil unconsciously closed her eyes.
What should have come next was an arc of pale, reflected light drawing towards her neck. At that moment, a wave a of screams crashed against Kaseria from behind.
To Thil, they sounded like the very embodiment of the land’s – of Dairan’s – fury at being trampled over. For a moment, it was as though the myriad spirits who resided in every last grain of sand, and who had protected Ende for so long, had flung aside the spell that had momentarily bound them and exploded from the earth to the sky.
Kaseria sharply halted his horse as his subordinate came galloping up.
“Your Highness!”
“What?” he asked. His expression was just as annoyed as if he had been interrupted while dallying with a woman.
“E-Enemies.”
At the soldier’s words however, he drew his fine eyebrows together.
“What enemies? Enemies from where? Did Ende still have troops hidden somewhere?”
“N-No,” the soldier vehemently shook his head. “It’s Mephius. Mephius’ army has appeared south of Dairan and is attacking us!”
In fact, at that moment, Dairan’s south gate burst open and the one thousand soldiers led by Gil Mephius plunged into its streets.
“Squadrons, spread out,” Orba shouted from horseback, acting the part of Crown Prince Gil. On top of his leather armour, he was wearing metal covering on his chest, arms and on part of his legs. “Drive Allion’s troops out of Dairan!”
Raising his voice so that it could be heard over the clatter of the horses’ hooves, Orba also swiftly grasped his spear and jabbed it through the neck of an Allion soldier who was staring up at him in blank shock.
This would be Mephius’ first military exploit during this war.
A few hours earlier –
Orba had been approaching Dairan by the air route. The plan had been to spend the night at the relay base, but he could not hide his irritation – Time is precious.
Even though Dairan was just a stone’s throw away, they still knew nothing of what Lord Eric was doing. Even the soldiers at the fort did not seem to have received any detailed information. And more than anything, it was unnatural that not a single messenger had come from Eric to greet the foreign reinforcements who had come from afar.
Orba had a strong sense that something was wrong. Nor was he a man who could peacefully fall asleep when there was something that worried him or he wasn’t satisfied with.
Still, they could not set out at night with the ships, and there was no concrete reason to have the horses gallop through the dark. Orba had just about resigned himself to waiting until dawn, his irritation like a sharp pain within him.
“What are you going to do about the dragons?”
Hou Ran called out to him out of nowhere.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going to have the Houbans go overland in pulley-cages? For the small and medium-sized ones, I can ride a horse alongside them and look out for trouble.”
For a moment, Orba didn’t know what the girl with dark brown skin was talking about. The dragons, whose cages were still in the hold, were simply supposed to be carried to Dairan by ship the next day. The two of them faced each other in silence for a while.
The men from Ende, who were watching from a distance, stared at the unusual sight of a woman from the west. While glancing inadvertently at them, Orba had a sudden realisation. Is she saying to hurry? He turned back towards the young dragon handler.
“Is there something going on in Dairan?”
“Something? Hmm, I don’t know if anything’s going on. I just thought that you wanted to go, Orba.”
In a way, her answer was a complete let-down but, separate from the embarrassment of being seen through and the disappointment that Ran had not received any supernatural premonition, one thought reocurred to him.
No, there is something. There must be.
Even after arriving here, they did not know what Lord Eric was doing, which made it very likely that he had already started covert manoeuvres.
“Right, since you say so, Ran, we’ll go.”
“I don’t say anything.”
“Yes, you did. It’s fine, so choose the dragons to be moved.”
His mind made up, regardless of what anyone had to say, Orba immediately summoned Pashir and the other commanding officers to inform them of their departure. There was a mad rush to get ready to depart within half an hour. Soldiers who had only just untied their armour had to scramble to obey the prince’s whim.
When Dairan finally came into sight, the sky above its high ramparts glowed a brilliant red.
It’s burning – Orba momentarily halted his army corps, which had been thrown into uproar, and quickly had the men form into squadrons.
“We’ll be fighting immediately. Have your weapons ready and put some back into it!”
Just a while earlier, the soldiers had been grumbling about this forced march at night, but at that sharp cry, tired faces instantly gave way to clear eyes.
Since they obviously could not use the dragons inside the city, three hundred soldiers were left in the rear with them. The command of these was given to the former gladiator, Miguel Tes.
At around that same time, distress beacons were belatedly lit on Dairan’s south side and riders on swift horses were sent out to call for reinforcements. They ran into Orba, who asked that they turn back and get the gates opened. The messengers obeyed, almost weeping with emotion at finding these unexpected reinforcements.
Thus, with Prince Gil in the lead, a thousand soldiers charged shouting through the gate.
Allion’s soldiers, who had been deployed throughout the city and who were busy wrecking it, were utterly taken aback by the sudden assault. Until just the moment before, they had been riding a wave of one-sided slaughter, swords and spears finding their prey one after another, then trampling them beneath their horses’ hooves.
Leaving a platoon with Pashir and Kain, who was wearing the iron mask and pretending to be ‘Orba’, the real Orba took a few soldiers and hurried to the Plutos mansion, guided by the messenger from earlier. He had only gone there because he needed to meet the head of the house, Kayness, but this led him to an unexpected encounter.
Kaseria Jamil.
The first prince of Allion was silently and ferociously cursing while turning his horse around.
Gil Mephius.
Orba, the former gladiator who had falsely take that name, had his sword raised from where he had just beheaded an Allion soldier who was near the cannon.
Who would first become aware of the other?
Once Kaseria realised that the enemy was already drawing near, he spurred his horse into a gallop faster than it took him to think about it. His plan was to force his way right through the enemy’s centre. If he struck swiftly, it would be a faster and easier way of escaping than hiding and stealthily sneaking away.
He grabbed his spear and hurled it at an enemy who had just noticed his approach.
Orba struck it down with his bloodied sword.
Startled by the sudden impact, his horse, however, reared upwards, its two forelegs in the air. Just as though he had been expecting that reaction, Kaseria quickly had his own horse lunge in to fill the empty space that it left. He swept forward as though he had turned into the wind itself.
Maintaining the momentum from striking down the spear, Orba’s sword slashed sideways. His horse’s posture was still uneven. Yet from that unexpected angle, he drove a blow into Prince Kaseria’s helmet.
“Guah!”
For a second, Kaseria was almost thrown from the horse’s back. It felt as though dark blood was dripping from the upper edge of his vision, and that darkness was engulfing both the vivid flames and the rows of Dairan’s houses. He hurriedly shook his head and sent his dizziness flying along with the half-smashed steel helmet.
Once he had come back to himself, he bellowed a war cry and once again turned his horse around. Orba had not expected this defeated enemy would come charging at him again.
Obeying his instincts, Kaseria swiftly drew the sword at his waist, galloped in the straight line that was the shortest way to close the distance with his enemy, and thrust fiercely.
Orba intercepted it from horseback.
Once... Twice...
Strong.
The same word flitted through both their minds.
On the third strike, however, Orba’s entire frame staggered.
Kaseria’s fourth jab came at unbelievable speed.
Now that battle had begun, he had simply abandoned his consciousness to the primeval desire for ever more blood and flesh. Honed through innumerable battles and backed by the experience from them, that instinct had grown sharper and surer; and now the ferocity of his attacks could knock back any enemy and leave them grovelling at his feet. Therefore, just as though he had the gift of prophecy, Kaseria could see everything he needed to know about this foolish enemy who stood directly before him a second before he needed it.
He could see the scene in which a straight line would cut right through his enemy’s neck, followed by an eruption of blood and him falling from his horse.
Kaseria’s lips curved into a crescent-shape and parted slightly.
Orba also looked towards him at that moment.
The stars were sparsely scattered across the sky. Against that backdrop, the enemy sword swung over his head.
The wind only rose afterwards.
There was the smell of steel.
Orba, his posture still unsteady, avoided his opponent’s blow by practically sprawling flat across his horse’s back.
“Bastard!” the blood thundered around in Kaseria’s head. He was so angry at having his foresight be off the mark here, on the battlefield, that he did not even feel hatred.
It was at that moment, however, that the soldiers accompanying Gil leapt forward to restrain him from either side with their spears. If he stayed where he was, he would be entirely surrounded. Kaseria ground his teeth.
“Remember this well, you bastard,” he shouted, as he pulled his horse’s reins up to his chest. “You should feel honoured to know that I’ve deigned to remember your face. But it won’t be for long. I immediately forget the faces of those whose heads’ I cut off!”
Orba finally managed to right his riding posture while Kaseria was yelling his provocations and hurrying his horse away. One of the soldiers rode towards him to try and block his path, but in the next second, the head above his neck vanished and spurts of blood gushed up.
He\'s like a bolt of lightning – Orba thought as he gasped for breath. That man’s speed while attacking from horseback and at switching positions was comparable to Moldorf or Pashir. If he had not had experience against those skilled veterans, Orba would have quickly succumbed against that strength and would probably have been a cooling corpse by now.
“You alright?” he called out to the little girl who had collapsed with a thud in the front garden – Thil.
The girl looked up at the foreign young warrior with a dumbfounded expression, but after a moment, she started nodding her head repeatedly. It would probably take a while before she could speak again.
“Ah, would you be the Lord Crown Prince of Mephius?” Kayness Plutos appeared at that point, surrounded by a group armed with spears. It looked like the messenger had been quick to inform him.
Orba realised that the one talking to him must be the current lord of Dairan. He had a spear in hand and was wearing armour, and had probably been resolved to fight the enemy to the death if they had penetrated into the mansion; but his expression showed relief that – We’re saved.
Orba dismounted and answered Kayness’ bow. These were times of war and there was no time for long, elaborate greetings.
“Where is Lord Eric currently?” he asked.
With a bitter expression, Kayness explained the situation. They had been suppose to perform a night attack based on information extracted from spies sent by Allion, but instead, it was Dairan which was attacked and he feared that Lord Eric was isolated and surrounded by enemies. Judging from the fact that a messenger had arrived to request reinforcements, however, the worst had probably not happened.
The sounds of battle were gradually dying down within Dairan.
At about that time, the remnants of Kayness’ troop of reinforcements were also returning. They had gone for a surprise attack on Kaseria, but had ended up taking severe damage, and Thil’s father, Darowkin, barely escaped with his life. Although his shoulder and foot had been pierced with bullets, he apologised in tears to his own father, Kayness, for his lack of foresight.
“The enemy ran rings around us. I was the one who gave orders to send reinforcements. You are not responsible,” Kayness consoled his son, looking as pained as though he too had been seriously wounded.
Thil clung to her father, weeping, then later, when the ladies’ maids who had been looking for her found Reen, the two sisters rejoiced together that each was safe.
Meanwhile, Orba gathered the troops that had been deployed throughout Dairan. Pashir, whose armour was patchily coloured in blood, came hurrying.
“We can leave any time,” he announced. Shortly after, Kain returned, leading the platoon.
Reports indicated that they had taken very few losses. A messenger was sent to the three hundred soldiers who had been left at the rear with instructions for them to assume defensive positions around Dairan. This was to prepare for the unlikely event of another emergency, but airships sent to fly around the surroundings found no evidence of any further ambush.
“Good...” Orba was about to set off once more to bring reinforcements to Lord Eric.
It was just about then that a gunshot resounded.
Part 3
At around that time, a lone Allian soldier had been hiding in the corner of a shed. Up until a moment ago, his breathing had been ragged, but now it was closer to wheezing. He had been shot through the abdomen and the bleeding wouldn’t stop.
He had somehow managed to take refuge here, but he could sense what his fate would be. He could no longer be saved. Even the words of the prayers that he was inwardly reciting to the spirits were losing their meaning, each individual sound scattering as his consciousness was almost swallowed up by a sea of white.
He was only in his twenties. Just before leaving for war, he had exchanged a promise to get married with his sweetheart. One after another, he thought back to the faces of the girl who would have become his wife, of his parents, and of his kid brother. His strong sense of shame and his attachment to life were already fading, and a strange sense of appeasement, like being wrapped up in a warm blanket on a winter’s night, was slowly permeating his body.
He should have peacefully breathed his last.
Get up.
The whisper only barely reached him.
Get up. You have an important task to accomplish with your dying breath.
It sounded like his father scolding him, like his mother gently advising him. Even by mustering all of his strength, he had barely been able to force his eyes open more than a crack, yet now, as if by miracle, they opened wide.
Guided by some inexplicable impulse, he rose unsteadily to his feet. There was a window nearby. The world seemed to have been painted black but he could see a group of flaming points of light.
At their centre was a young man who was about to mount his horse. Or no, perhaps he was still at an age where he could be called a boy.
That’s Gil Mephius.
A whisper.
Crown prince of the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius. Do you know? It’s because he led reinforcements here that Prince Kaseria was forced to withdraw and that you are here, dying from your wounds.
The young man seemed about to say something, but all that escaped from his faintly parted lips were weak gasps. It felt as though the bleeding from his stomach had stopped. That was not, of course, because he was cured, but simply because every last drop of blood seemed to have already spilled out from his body.
Do it.
Someone whispered. In his father’s voice.
You have to do it.
His mother’s voice.
If you don’t, that man will eventually destroy Allion.
His little brother’s voice. And following it –
The places you’ve known since childhood will vanish in flames, the home you yearn to return to will be trampled by dragons. The severed heads of your father and mother will be displayed at the tips of spears, the woman you love will be made a slave in Mephius...
The young man took the gun that had been at his side the whole time. With trembling hands, he placed the barrel on the window sash. Straining his eyes to the utmost, he could just make out Gil Mephius’ form, no larger than a child’s finger. At that distance, he didn’t know if he would be able to hit him.
Do it.
Even so, someone’s voice – the voices of the young man’s loved ones spoke in unison.
Do it for Allion. Before your life burns out, do what only you can do.
His vision was dark and blurry. From time to time, Prince Gil’s form, or rather, the entire visible world, seemed to flicker like a flame in the wind. Even the sensation of his finger on the trigger felt far away.
Now...
He felt arms hugging him from behind. Mischievous fingers crawled over his neck and chest, just like his fiancée’s. When he glanced sideways, it was unmistakably her smile that he could see. Her lips were slightly protruding, and he knew that his friends were divided in their evaluation of them. But as for the young man himself, it was almost painful how much he loved them.
Those lips parted. Her breath, as hot as flames, as sweetly-scented as flowers, brushed softly against his face.
Do it!
The young man pulled the trigger.
Was he able to see for himself if his aim had hit? No, had he even been able to hear the gunshot in the first place?
The young man slumped against the window frame and no longer moved a single muscle. Naturally, there was no one else in the shed.
Yet the voice which had been whispering to the young man the whole time left behind an enigmatic murmur.
Eleven.
A second after the gunshot rang out, blood spurted right in front of Gil Mephius, who had his foot in the stirrup and who had been about to swing himself up.
Not far from the prince, a soldier was crouching, cradling his arm.
A shooting – or so it seemed, and the entire surroundings erupted into instant uproar.
“Enemies!”
The nearby Pashir quickly placed his horse in the direction that the bullet had come from and put himself in position to act as the prince’s shield.
It was not only the Mephian soldiers, but also the ones from Ende, who had been gathering there, who were thrown into confusion, and the place became a jumble of those who threw themselves to the ground with a cry, those who ran off to look for the sniper, and those who positioned themselves to shield the prince.
The soldier who had taken the shot was not fatally injured. Perhaps because of the distance, the bullet had only penetrated as far as the muscles of his arm, from which darkish blood was flowing.
“Prince, please withdraw,” said Pashir, urging Gil to get into the saddle.
Twelve.
When he heard that enigmatic whisper, Orba sensed a fierce presence coming from behind him. He turned around.
The piles of gravel left after the bombardment were as tall as a child’s’ height. Another gravely wounded Allion soldier was lying hidden among them. He was a middle-aged man, and while he had been hovering between life and death, he had heard the same kind of voice as the young soldier hiding in the shed, and now held the same determination. That, of course, was something that Orba had no way of knowing.
The man aimed his longsword at Orba.
The sword was not one issued by the army. He had been raised in poverty, but when he been incorporated into Kaseria’s unit, his wife had used up their meagre savings to buy a good blade. “To protect you,” she had said.
Mustering his remaining strength, he put his all into that one blow.
Orba swung around, simultaneously drawing his sword, and intercepted the strike with the blade he was unsheathing.
He was able to kill the momentum, but despite the sudden hit, he could not alter the longsword’s trajectory. His chest received the same impact as it would from a blow struck with all of an adult man’s strength. Atop his horse, Orba staggered, but with his next swing, he unerringly took the enemy soldier’s head.
“Prince!”
By the time Pashir had noticed the struggle going on behind him and turned around, Orba, unable to recover his balance, was falling from the horse. Pashir leapt down from his own mount to try to catch and support Gil Mephius, but he did not make it in time before the prince was flung to the ground.
“Your Highness.”
“Your Highness Gil!”
The other Imperial Guards had also realised what was happening and rushed over. Pashir ordered them to form a circle around the prince. After this succession of surprise attacks, the soldiers’ faces were, unsurprisingly, tense.
Gil Mephius lay face down on the ground, his shoulders heaving. Pashir grasped hold of his shoulders as though to restrain their movements and turned the prince face upwards, propping him against one of his knees.
Part of his breastplate was badly dented. It was where he had been hit with the sword, however, when Pashir saw it, the grim look vanished from his face. The other Imperial Guards, Kain – wearing the iron mask – included, were all peering over from their nearby positions and also heaved sighs of relief. The armour had stopped the blow. At the very least, there should be no serious injury.
Pashir’s expression, however, changed once more. Orba was sweating profusely and was breathing raggedly through his mouth. Although the sword hadn’t pierced him, perhaps he had bones broken from the impact, or maybe he had hit his head badly when he had fallen from the horse.
“His Highness has been injured,” Pashir cried, reaching a snap conclusion. “Someone, take His Highness to safety and...”
A hand gripped Pashir’s arm. Orba’s. As Pashir stopped talking, he heard Orba’s voice asking, “Who are you?”
He was surrounded by soldiers who were carrying flame torches. As Orba’s eyelids flickered incessantly, the light from the flames was intermittently reflected in his eyes.
His gaze, however, was directed at no one.
“Who are you?” he shouted again.
In the few moments between being caught by a surprise attack and hitting the ground after falling from horseback, Orba had a strange experience. The instant that he was thrown into the air, he had the sensation that someone had caught him by the arm.
At first, Orba thought that Pashir was supporting him to prevent him from falling off his horse. When he looked up, however, the arm that had caught his was pale and lifeless. He did not know whose it was.
Black ripples were running through a point in mid-air, and a single arm was stretching out from it. With terrifying strength, it was pulling Orba upwards. Opposing that strength was the force of gravity, which was pulling Orba downwards, and the agonising pain made it feel as though his body was being torn in two.
That he even had time to scream was because he was, in fact, being separated in two.
One of him bounced against the ground with a thud, while the other him was drawn upwards towards the black ripples. Orba was helpless to resist as his arms and shoulders, head and chest were swallowed in.
Before he even realised it, he was drifting in a black space.
“Welcome to my castle,” a voice seemed to rain relentlessly down on him from all directions. Orba thought he must be having a nightmare. That he had been badly injured, and that between the confusion and the dizziness, he was having a strange dream.
“This is no dream, Crown Prince of Mephius,” as though it had read his thoughts, the voice laughed scornfully at him. “This space was built in exchange for twelve lives. Or saying it otherwise, it is a castle constructed from the resentment, and from the blood and rotting flesh of twelve people. This place neither exists nor does it not exist. Just as I am not present, but neither am I gone. I prepared it as a suitable place in which to meet you.”
“Who are you?” Orba screamed. Within this entirely black space, he could barely feel even his own body, and only voices reverberated clearly. “You, who are you? What are you...”
“There is no point in introducing myself to you.”
A pale point of light lit up in front of Orba. For a second, it seemed about to emit a dazzling light, then it scattered, and something that looked like a starry night sky emerged.
No sooner had it done so than the light from the stars startled to wriggle, as though each had a will of its own, some tracing straight lines, others drawing curves, creating complicated and mysterious patterns. Finally, the patterns all came together as one, forming the image of a human face. The face of an elderly man with an imposing beard.
“However, as your pitiful life is drawing to a close, I will do you the favour of giving you my name. I am Zafar. Mine is an insignificant body, fated to obey the rules of sorcery, themselves born hundreds of years ago, and no more than a single fragment of the diagram of Fate that I would risk my life to form. Nor do I believe that my name has much worth.”
He paused, then his luminous mouth opened wide, revealing the pitch-black expanse stretching behind it as he laughed.
“Ending your life is easy to do in a place like this. Which is why I staged an ‘attack’. But even though you are, in the end, little more than a doll bound to obey the diagram of Fate, there is reason to fear that you might suddenly upset Lord Garda’s plans. Your ‘fate’ should already have run its course, so why have you been getting so much in the way? How can the dead alter the diagram of Fate? Now then, reveal all to me. Are you one of Barbaroi’s flunkies or the emissary of some other power? I will carefully uncover the truth.”
“Uwah!”
When he heard the sound of gigantic footsteps approaching from behind, Miguel Tes, who was leading the unit, pulled his horse to one side in astonishment. No sooner had he done so than a large-sized dragon – a Houban – passed by him, making the ground tremble as it went. It was so close that he could even see how the flesh on its flat flanks was twitching and undulating.
It was pulling a cage containing other dragons. Riding a horse at the Houban’s side and guiding it was the dragon tamer, Hou Ran.
“You cretin, I almost got killed!” Miguel cursed.
The crown prince had left him in charge of three hundred soldiers and the dragons. Since the dragons could not be used to fight inside the city, they had been ordered to wait on standby outside the walls as back-up troops, but just a few moments ago, a messenger had come from Dairan with new instructions to defend the city. Arrangements were currently being made for the beasts to be transported to Dairan’s dragon pens.
Miguel clicked his tongue in open dissatisfaction.
“Even though we’re finally at war, I’ve missed the chance to collect achievements again,” and on top of that, he had been appointed to babysit dragons. Right now, the ambitious young man found even Hou Ran, who was leading the dragons, to be loathsome. Because of that, his attitude was acrimonious.
“Oi, even if you hurry, nothing good’s going to come out of it, you know. It’s totally too late for any chance at glory,” he tossed out, but Hou Ran had her horse pick up more and more speed, urging on the Houban.
Miguel did not know it, but Ran could perceive an unpleasant ‘stench’ coming from the direction ahead. Which was why she was hurrying onwards. However –
“...?”
Just as suddenly as she had urged it to go faster, she abruptly had her horse slow down. The Houban also gradually lost speed until its huge body came to a stop.
Miguel’s horse soon caught up.
“Well aren’t you being awfully obedient?”
Hou Ran did not move. In itself, that was still something within the realm of Miguel’s comprehension, but the atmosphere surrounding the dragons had suddenly changed.
They were making absolutely no noise.
Instead, they were huddling together on one side of the cage, as though something had frightened them. Ran had stopped to find out the reason for their strange behaviour.
“Oi, do your job more...” Miguel started to raise his voice.
Just then, there was another change.
The strange phenomenon had not come to an end, but it was, so to speak, as though the ‘direction that the phenomenon’s wind was blowing’ had changed.
There was a terrific thump. Miguel unintentionally cried out at the sudden, loud noise, and his horse reared upwards.
“What!”
He thought for a moment that there was an enemy attack, but when he checked, it was the nearby cage which was shaking ferociously. But not because of some outside force. The large beasts with their sharp fangs and claws had all at once started rampaging inside of it.
Before Miguel’s eyes, the bars of the cage bent. Through the slightly widened gap, the paw of a medium-sized dragon – a Goll – suddenly stretched outwards.
“O-oi!” Miguel shouted and hurriedly pulled on Ran’s shoulder. The gleaming claws had been about to maul her as the paw stretched out.
Ran slid down from her horse when Miguel pulled her, although thanks to her splendid reflexes, she managed to land on her feet.
Yet she looked utterly stunned. Hou Ran stared at the raging dragons with the same expression she would have had if she had seen the sun rise at midnight.