Rakuin no Monshou

Volume 8, Chapter 4: Submerged

Part 1

Despite being recognised within the kingdom of Garbera as a prominent noble family, malicious whispers often referred to the Kotjun House as the “Moneylending House”. The reason for that was related to their origins.

Just three reigns ago, they were, so to speak, miners whose main occupation was to excavate dragonbone; and although they possessed some wealth, their standing was merely that of a powerful local clan. Their prosperity had improved dramatically after they had discovered and mined a dragonbone lode lying in Garbera’s northern mountains; they and had then immediately tied themselves in a commercial agreement with the Garberan king of three reigns ago, who had been zealous about carrying out the refining of dragonbone into weightless metal.

Although the relationship between the Kotjun House and the royal household remained favourable, they were kept at arm’s length. Later, when the previous king, Jeorg, had wished to strengthen the air force corps even further, he had thought to have them be directly employed as retainers to the king. The condition that they stipulated, at the time, was that the Kotjun House would obtain forty percent of the wealth derived from the dragonbone deposits that they themselves discovered and developed.

Jeorg Owell had agreed to it.

Garbera was a country which had originally been built by gathering together powerful regional families, however, many of these families had died out or been ruined during the conflicts in each area. It was said that the Kotjun House found amongst them a family with the same name and had bought their pedigree for a high price.

Therefore, although the Kotjun House was known by those within Garbera to have been miners in the past, they officially claimed that going even further back in history, they had been a powerful regional family of noble standing.

They had amassed a greater fortune than anyone else in Garbera – possibly greater even than the king himself – and by lending that money to aristocrats and military commanders, they had accrued even more wealth and influence.

There were many, among those who were close to the king, who did not look kindly on their existence. Nevertheless, it was undoubtedly the presence of the Kotjun House that had allowed Jeorg, the previous king, to strike down the noble houses, which had been on the verge of seceding from the royal family, and to take back the lands which had been snatched away by Mephius and Ende.

Furthermore, it was a fact acknowledged by all, that it was thanks to the funds and dragonbone provided by the Kotjun House that Garbera currently boasted a powerful air force which allowed it to remain on equal footing with those two countries.

Rinoa Kotjun, a daughter of the Kotjun family, had just turned seventeen and, like generations of the heads of her house, she was known to love parties. She would come up with some pretext or another, then hold a grand party at their mansion in the capital, Phozon. It was said that Rinoa spent her days doing nothing but writing party invitations to leading aristocrats, military commanders, and merchants.

That evening as well, the mansion’s hall and gardens had been thrown open to host a banquet. Food and drink ordered from all over, rare and expensive items included, were liberally served; while in the hall and far above it, entertainers from both inside and outside of Garbera basked in applause as they demonstrated their first-rate skills.

Just now, a group of boys had played the flute while standing on their hands.

Splendid – thought Zenon Owell, but his heart was unmoved. It was not that he was bad with glamorous surroundings, but a certain piece of news received a few days earlier had thrown that heart into gloom.

He was aware that he had been attracting attention since earlier. This was only the second time that he had attended a party given by the Kotjun family. At the centre of numerous gazes that were questioning what was going on, Zenon smiled faintly and wore an expression that said that he was enjoying himself from the bottom of his heart.

There seemed to be more merchants than nobles present at the party. One of the purposes of Rinoa’s parties was to summon traders from all over Garbera and exchange information. The Kotjun family was quite open about it. And because they were so upfront, they avoided having the image of secretly moving behind the scenes to make money.

They looked like merchants acting like merchants.

“Lord Zenon,” a voice called out from behind him. When he turned around, it was Rinoa Kotjun.

“Why, Miss Rinoa,” his smile deepened.

When invited to a party by the Kotjun family, the first thing that any guest worried about was how they should greet the daughter of the head of the house, Rinoa, when she stood before them.

The clothes she wore were of course gorgeous. Although its base was black, her dress was inlaid with bright colours that prevented it from looking too mature, or from becoming too overpoweringly dark. Violet velvet ribbons decorated her hair and jewels sparkled on two of her fingers.

Well, it’s safest to praise her clothes and accessories – the malicious and sharp-tongued would say.

At Garbera’s royal court, Rinoa Kotjun’s name was all but synonymous for ‘a plain woman’. Those extolled as ‘beauties’ in Garbera had round cheeks brushed with rouge, large eyes, and blond hair. Therefore women typically applied makeup to make their eyes look big, but Rinoa had narrow upturned eyes and a thin face that seemed to taper to the point of her sharp chin.

As a matter of fact, her looks were not as bad as gossip claimed, but as she was a young lady who was far from typical, quite a few things were said, half out of familiarity, half out of jealousy, about her appearance and personality.

“It was good of you to come. Even though I wrote an invitation for you, Lord Zenon, I was quite resigned for it to be a waste of time again.”

Receiving a wine cup held out by the party sponsor herself, Zenon drained the contents in one gulp.

“You see, I realized that I had forgotten to express my gratitude.”

“Your gratitude?”

Zenon explained that when he had previously been stationed at Zaim, the Kotjun House’s engineering team had prepared a state-of-the-art ship for his Order of the Tiger.

“Oh yes, there was that, wasn’t there? But up until now you have frequently done us the honour of receiving such things, so why are you only acting differently this time?”

“Ah, that, I... was thinking that I have not been very obliging towards your House.”

“Lord Zenon, you are esteemed for your chivalrous spirit. The likes of the Moneylending House does not fit the Garbera of your ideals, is that not right?”

Rinoa said such a thing publicly. Zenon gave a sour look but strangely, when it was Rinoa saying it, he didn’t feel any sarcasm or mockery from the words. It was probably because both her expression and her tone were bright. There was not a single gloomy person in the Kotjun family.

“Speaking of acting differently, these days, you seem to be close to Sir Salzantes.”

“Oh, you have heard about that, Miss Rinoa?”

“Even if I have, there was no one more surprised than I was, as I had supposed the relationship between the two of you to be like oil and water.”

“It was not anything that extreme. You could simply say that we had a few misunderstandings up until now.”

At Rinoa’s invitation, Zenon headed towards a chair in a recess of the hall. In the nearby garden, young men and women could be seen dancing in a ring.

“In truth, I had thought that you would also have invited Noue.”

“I have never once sent that gentleman an invitation. Of course, if Your Highness were to say that you wanted him to accompany you, I would not refuse that request,” Rinoa spoke flatly, a smile still on her face. “Simply imagining drinking tea opposite that person whose thoughts I cannot guess makes me shiver. Is there a single enjoyable thing about associating with that gentleman?”

“You are quite unusual,” when facing this woman, Zenon had plenty of opportunities to smile wryly. “Noue is a favourite of the women at Court. Well, because of that he often also earns their antipathy.”

“Oh, in that sense I am fine. Since I am not beautiful enough to meet his standards, right?”

He couldn’t exactly answer “Right”.

Seeing Zenon struggle to keep a neutral expression, Rinoa laughed lightly.

“Be it with Sir Salzantes or with your doing us the honour of coming here, you have certainly changed, Your Highness.”

“Do you think so? Hmm, one’s own self is difficult to understand.”

Zenon pretended to use the palm of his hand as a mirror and to inspect his face from various angles. It was a smooth countermeasure but –

“If I were a gossipmonger, I might say that because you fell into a difficult position in Ende, you lost your chivalrous spirit and became a coward, Lord Zenon.” Rinoa said that with a smile too. Zenon almost had an involuntary coughing fit.

“But this is just nonsense spoken by an upstart miner,” while deprecating herself, Rinoa would calmly talk on dangerous topics. For example, she afterwards changed the subject and commented on his older brother, Razetta, in other words, on the person who was first in line for the throne.

“That gentleman is so easy-going, and moreover he seems to have so much free time every day, that my heart warms at the sight of him.”

Prince Razetta served as the commander of the Knights of the Order of the White Heron, the elite guards to the royal family. It was an important role which doubled as guarding the royal capital, but Rinoa’s evaluation seemed to be that “He is neglecting his work.”

One of the reasons why Zenon was bad at handling Rinoa was because he felt exactly as though his own nature were being tested. The impression she gave was that she enjoyed pushing towards a confrontation.

“My brother is a serious person. Whatever the task, he will put all his energy into accomplishing it.”

“Yes, indeed. Lord Razetta can surely not be a bad person. For example... if he was at the party, after seeing I had dressed up like this, and so as not to wound my feelings, that gentleman would have, by this time, skilfully managed to think of a plausible compliment.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“We were talking about how Lord Razetta is a virtuous person. Were we not?”

The people in the hall were obliquely watching the conversation between the two. Despite knowing that, Rinoa deliberately and openly brought her lips near his ear.

“It seems like everyone here can’t help but be interested in you, Your Highness. Although that may also be because of the rumour about Lady Vileena.”

“That? It’s rubbish.”

Because he had guessed that the topic would come up, Zenon’s expression did not change.

The information had reached Garbera that Mephius had advanced its army to Taúlia. It was apparently in retaliation for them having assassinated the prince. While that was one thing, there was a rumour which the people of Gabera could not ignore.

Princess Vileena had warned Taúlia and since then, she was being kept under restriction within Mephius.

That news had only arrived three days earlier.

If this is true – Noue had said when Zenon invited him to his chambers – Guhl is probably looking to see how Garbera will react by deliberately spreading the rumour, and at the same time he is stressing that it will not be his fault if something unfortunate were to happen to the princess.

Of course, Zenon being Zenon, he was revolted by the way Emperor Guhl had used Prince Gil Mephius’ death as an excuse to invade Taúlia. He had no difficulty imagining that, just like him, his little sister had been fiercely angry; only she was impetuous enough to actually inform Taúlia and thwart a surprise attack.

That’s my little sister, who cannot tell a lie.

If he was still the same Zenon as before, he very well might have marched into Mephius, sword in hand, to take his sister back. No, even now he had the spirit to do so. But at the same time, he believed that– my little sister would not want Garbera and Mephius to cross swords.

If she had carried information to Taúlia, it had been because her own principles could not stand for it, and she had no choice but to try and stop the war, even if it meant opposing her home country.

“Indeed, it is rubbish,” said Rinoa. “However, there are those who do not think so... like that gentleman over there.”

She pointed to a man who was standing more or less in the centre of the hall. Zenon turned his gaze that way and for a moment, a complicated expression seemed to cross his face.

Salamand Fogel, the vice-commander of the Knights of the Order of the Badger. A man with a truly fierce physique.

They had stood several times on the same battlefield. At twenty-eight, his age was virtually the same as Zenon’s. He was a daring and resolute man, whose character did not betray the impression given by his square and prominent jaw. There should have been no denying that they were comrade-in-arms, who had challenged death together, except that the man had been an ardent admirer of Ryucown’s.

When the royal family had been considering bringing the ten-year war to an end by marrying Vileena and Gil – or rather, when rumours of that fact had started to spread throughout Phozon – there had been many officers and soldiers who were unhappy with it. As a matter of fact, Zenon had been too; but as he was also a member of the royal family, and moreover knew the extent of their army’s exhaustion, he had finally agreed to his father’s decision.

At that time, after being wounded by the Mephian army, Salamand Fogel had been undergoing medical treatment at his home. Already feeling despondent because of that, and greatly dissatisfied with the royal family’s decision, he had gotten drunk one evening and sung an improvised song, the meaning of which was that “a true knight like Sir Ryucown deserves the throne of Garbera”. His companions having informed on him, he had even been thrown into jail for a while.

The commander of the Order of the Badger had desperately pleaded in his favour, and Salamand had been released, but in the meanwhile there had been Ryucown’s uprising and its suppression by Mephius’ army.

It was said that despite having only just regained his freedom, Salamand had wept bitterly, not caring that anyone saw him.

“I too wanted to remain true to knighthood with Sir Ryucown. Garbera’s chivalry has perished with him.”

Zenon remembered how he had fiercely ground his teeth when he had heard about those words. He himself strived to be a model of chivalry in all he said and did. Caught between his inability to forgive Ryucown for betraying his country, and his own attempts to live up to those chivalric ideals, Zenon’s heart had been shaken.

Rinoa continued to whisper, “without paying attention to anyone, that gentleman has been spreading the rumour that Lady Vileena’s actions are based on faith in Garbera. And that we should seize this opportunity to rescue the princess from that perfidious Mephius.”

Zenon felt that he could understand now why Rinoa had invited him here. And, just as he had imagined, she beckoned Salamand over so that the two could talk face to face.

“Prince Zenon, you displayed splendid abilities in the war with Ende.”

“No, that was nowhere near as flawless as the rumours have it.”

They shook hands.

In height and breadth, he was a warrior worthy of the name of the Order of the Badger. Even when you looked him straight in the eye, his gaze did not waver. Zenon was not such an expert at mindreading that he could tell what his opponent was planning just from seeing their expression.

I should have brought Noue after all – that futile thought flitted through his brain.

Having come to this, it would be a problem if Ryucown’s admirers became active. If they provoked Mephius, Vileena might be placed in even greater danger than she already was. Which was why Zenon made a light jab.

“As for my having pushed Ende back, it is simply because Mephius sent reinforcements.”

Salamand scratched his square jaw thoughtfully. “Still, that Mephius. Nowadays, it is a country that acts completely contrary to justice.”

“Justice according to whom? Each country and each person has their own justice. You are of course a patriot and a fine knight; but for me, the ideals of chivalry and the needs of the country can differ. Sense of values can be different. You should not label someone as immoral simply because their way of thinking is different from your own.”

“Prince Zenon, are you saying that I am acting against my country?”

“Now look here. Labelling opponents and chasing them down, or having them chase you, is not the way to put ideals into practice. Why, you would be going around every day with a naked blade in hand.” Zenon said laughingly.

Although outwardly Salamand maintained a smile suitable for a banquet,

“Even then, I don’t think I would mind.”

“What are you saying?”

“For the sake of living up to my ideals, I would not mind it if, every day, I had to fight those who would stand in my way and dip my sword in their blood. Is what I was saying.”

This man is relentless. While also preserving the gentle smile that was characteristic of the royal family, Zenon cursed inwardly. Salamand was not a man who was all talk and no action either. Even if that was reassuring in an ally, there was currently nothing more worrisome as far as Zenon was concerned. He was wondering whether to break off the discussion for now but –

“Is it not the same for you, Lord Zenon?” Salamand protested. “Chivalry is not something that one explains to others but something that one embodies. Through constant questioning, exploring for answers, and daily struggles, I hope to succeed in personifying it. That you, Lord Zenon, the model of a knight within the royal family, do not agree with me is truly lamentable,” he declared.

In essence, he was picking a fight. What he was wanting to say was that – Garbera’s current royal family does not embody the ideals of chivalry.

For a moment, Zenon looked straight at the other with a serious expression.

The people who had all around been enjoying the banquet and clasping their friends by the shoulders suddenly started to pay attention to the exchange between the two. They watched with bated breath – or it might perhaps better be said – they had found a different source of entertainment at the party.

Zenon himself was known as a general with a relentless personality. He took a step closer to the man who was openly disagreeing with him.

As they were wondering whether he was about to hit him, Zenon heartily clapped Salamand on the shoulder. A stir that was neither admiration nor disappointment went around.

“You’re like a seeker of truth, Salamand,” Zenon said cheerfully. “If every knight was as strict with themselves as you are, it would be a wonderful thing. However...”

“However?”

“There is also paying attention to what other people say. People become stunted if they bury themselves in nothing but their own way of thinking. I was like that as well. And because of that, I got backed into a corner in the battle against Ende. There is observing well those whom you feel you hate, or even those you consider to be enemies, as they might well be mirrors that reflect your own self.”

Salamand did not say anything but his eyes were clearly filled with disdain for Zenon. No doubt he was thinking that he was just lining up pretty words to temporarily smooth things over and run away from their joust.

Zenon was quick to see through the other’s emotions but, without saying anything more, he turned his back on him and returned to where Rinoa was.

“If you were the way you used to be, Lord Zenon,” she said as she presented him with a new wine cup, “there would have been trouble here by now.”

“It is just as you say. I have become a coward.”

“Indeed. That you, Lord Zenon, would end an argument by turning away from it and would call yourself a ‘coward’ is something I would not have said even in jest.”

Rinoa smiled even more brightly than before while he wondered if this was her way of criticizing him.

Well there it is – she was an unfathomable girl, thought Zenon as he once again drained the contents of the cup. From early childhood, the daughter of the Kotjun House had been brought by her father to attend fierce business transactions.

Her expression then turned somewhat serious. “Do be careful. As a matter of fact, that man Salamand has only recently started showing up at the banquets given by the Kotjun family.”

“Oh?”

Thinking about it, just like Zenon in the past, a man who preached about honourable chivalry to that extent was not likely to have any kind feelings towards the Kotjun House. So that meant that he had only recently started drawing close to them.

War funds... is it?

Zenon’s expression hardened for a moment.

Seeing that, Rinoa put her wine cup down.

“Would you not grant me a dance?” she held out her hand.

Part 2

Elsewhere, in Safia, the capital of the Grand Duchy of Ende, the country which stood on equal footing with Mephius and Garbera at the centre of the continent.

Like a rainbow bridge spanning the surface of the earth, the innumerable pavilions of the glittering white palace, which were also known as ‘the Thousand Wings’, formed a decorative belt that encircled the main shrine.

At almost its very highest point, the flag of the ancient Magic Dynasty was fluttering. It was the flag that proclaimed the legitimacy of the authority of Ende’s court.

Ende had originally been a land governed by a loyal vassal of the legendary King Zodias, the founder of the Magic Dynasty, who was said to have ruled the continent for over a hundred years. After a certain amount of time, Zodias became more engrossed in magical research than in governing; because of this, and driven by the need to strike fear and awe in the west, which remained beyond the king’s control, the Duke of Ende gave the name Grand Duchy of Ende to the lands he administered within Zodias’ dynasty.

One stormy night, Zodias abruptly passed away from a strange illness and the entire continent fell into the chaos of the long struggle for succession. Like hyenas and vultures gathering around fresh carrion, numerous generals and lords each proclaimed that they deserved to be the successor, and continued the bloody conflict, even when there was no longer either a country or a throne left to inherit. Amidst it all, the region of Ende determinedly held its silence.

Without paying any attention to offers of alliances made by other powers, they had simply focused on defending their borders against any invader who tried to cross them. They bided their time for more than ten years until the third Duke of Ende judged that the long war had finally weakened the surrounding lords, and decided to set out with his troops to unify the whole land. After having designated themselves as the legitimate successors, they called themselves the Emperors of Ende. This was the start of the era known in history as ‘the Former Empire of Ende’ but it only lasted a very short time. That was because at the same period, the Kingdom of Allion was rising in the east of the continent.

The one who ruled as the founding king of Allion was the one who had once been appointed to defend the Dynasty’s capital, General Arma Jamil. When insurrection had turned the capital into a sea of flames, Arma – who was said to have set the fire himself – used the opportunity to plunder the capital’s treasures and then fled east. Backed by his considerable wealth, he had then taken former military units and vagrant warriors into his service; and, just like Ende, he had bided his time and saved his strength.

Arma took as many as a hundred women as wives, and claimed that one of them was King Zodias’ bastard child. This made him, as her husband, the legitimate ruler of the Dynasty.

A confrontation between Ende and Allion was of course inevitable.

However, while a vanguard from Allion was clashing with Ende’s border defence troops, everywhere else the conflicts were gradually dying down; and countries and powers, with forms of government very different from that of the Dynasty, were being established one by one.

This situation marked the end of the millennial era of the hundred-years dynasty[1] and the world had already plunged into simpler and more savage times; where conflicts were far more about struggling for land with swords and guns than about fighting for the lost sovereign’s seal.

With things as they were, Ende and Allion temporarily laid down their weapons. In the peace negotiations that followed the Duke of Ende agreed to no longer call himself emperor and, in exchange, Allion promised to not send soldiers towards Ende for ten years.

Since that time, although Ende and Allion kept their distances from one another, they flew the same flag and claimed that their two nations had jointly inherited the traditions and bloodline of the Dynasty. The influence of the Dynasty had rapidly left a deep impression on Ende’s cultural style. In many of its famous buildings, including the aforementioned ‘Thousand Wings’ palace, as well as in its paintings and music, there were countless masterpieces belonging to the school of antiquity. The people of Ende were contemptuous of things like the art from Garbera, which the neighbouring country Mephius – with a mixture of masochism and envy – appreciated as ‘culture’, but which according to them had only been around for a few decades and which could thus be called no more than a fad, unworthy of their attention.

This was Ende.

All those who lived there bragged that Safia was the most magnificent capital in the world, but currently, that same capital was gripped with apprehension over a family quarrel that, with more accuracy, might be said to display human behaviour at its most savage and primitive.

The confrontation between the two princes was finally coming to a head.

The older of the brothers, First Prince Jeremie, who usually feigned belonging to the moderate faction and acted as though he had absolutely no interest in the struggle for succession, had now begun lashing out at his younger brother.

“Marching on Garbera was an act of arbitrary willfulness on my younger brother’s part. He falsified our father’s, the Grand Duke’s, words to make it look as though he had permitted it; then moved the army because of his own personal feelings and as a way of showing off his power. And in the end, what results did it bring? Having been unable to predict that Mephius would send reinforcements, he scurried home helplessly, without taking a single step towards Garbera’s capital. Ende is the laughingstock. How could such a foolish and uncouth lout shoulder the weight of this historic country?”

Taking things from a different angle, the reason why Jeremie had started talking this way was because he could no longer ignore his brother’s existence. At about the same time that Prince Eric was marching towards Garbera, there had been an incident in which wild dragons had started to rampage through Dairan, a district in Ende’s north. To protect a land that he had been close to since early childhood, Eric had immediately turned the army around and had swiftly and valiantly hunted the dragons.

That exploit had spread not only through Dairan but throughout the whole of Ende and had brought a change in the power relationship in Safia. Although ostensibly Jeremie still had many nobles supporting him, there were not a few voices that wondered whether a man like Eric, who was able to make swift decisions and take action, did not deserve to be the next Grand Duke.

Jeremie was a man who understood the subtleties of the court. Therefore, he was able to sense that the atmosphere was dangerous for him.

If I don’t attack now, other nobles will steadily get dragged into that atmosphere – was another reason for his impatience.

On the other side, there was the younger brother, Second Prince Eric.

Naturally, he had perceived that a wind pushing him from behind had started to blow. And so Eric had made the prompt decision that now was the time to go on the offensive.

“In the first place, there has never been a single record of wild dragons in Dairan. On top of that, it was as if their appearance had been timed for when I was away, exactly as though it had someone’s design behind it. Which reminds me, my brother Jeremie seems to be close with the Bureau of Sorcery for some reason. Retainers saw him sneaking in and out of there not so long ago,” he commented loudly.

Since the disturbance in Dairan, Eric had been monitoring his brother. As a result, he was able to disclose that Jeremie had personal contact with the Bureau of Sorcery, and when that scandal flew around the entire court, what had merely been a shift in the ‘atmosphere’ changed into a rising ‘wind’.

And the leading figures in the duchy were eager to ascertain in which direction that wind would blow. In a sense, that was a fight fiercer than the one between the brothers; which was only natural, given that who they cooperated with now would mean the difference between heaven and earth for their lives in the future.

Tactics for information and psychological warfare were being deployed in all quarters. There were those who pretended to remain with him while storing up information about the older brother Jeremie’s side, those who were spreading false rumours that the younger brother Eric was preparing his troops to attack Safia, those who were desperate to win over the attendants who looked after the ill and bed-ridden Grand Duke...

Inaudible to the ear, the crash of war from invisible swords, spears and arrows resounded throughout Safia.

“Come closer.” A sonorous voice resounded in the circular chamber.

The walls, which should originally have been grey, shone gold. This was because of the light coming from a lofty pillar, which appeared to be modelled on the immigrants’ space ship, that stood towering in the centre of the chamber. The light was emitted from a sphere that was roughly the size of a human head.

From slightly higher than the bottom of the pillar, walkways ran in eight directions and just before they reached the walls of the circular chamber, they each had a space in which highbacked chairs on pedestals had been installed.

On each one of them a man was sitting, so that they were, in essence, surrounding the pillar. All of them wore long robes that reached down to their ankles and their collars were tightly fastened. As they wore their cowls low, their faces could not be seen.

“It appears that this country is entering a new phase in its history.” One of them said then another stood up, “There will be a certain amount of disorder. It is fine to say that Jeremie and Eric are competing for power. But that is all. We are watchmen to the last. To us, battles, political strife, and even the rise and fall of countries are no more than the ripples of a single stone on the surface of the ocean. The roll of the ocean’s waves easily swallow them up and ripples soon vanish.”

He spoke sternly and all the other sorcerers nodded simultaneously. The man who had risen to make that statement was the Director of Ende’s Bureau of Sorcery, Wodan. The long beard at his chin was woven into a braid in the style of the aristocrats from the era of the Ancient Dynasty.

“Is that not so, Hezel?”

At the base of the pillar, where Wodan’s gaze fell, there was a single man. He too had on a robe with a cowl but his clothes were somewhat dirty, his arms were bound behind his back and his knees were to the ground.

The man addressed as Hezel painfully lifted his head and seemed to say something but no voice came out.

Wodan snapped his fingers. “Take it off," he ordered.

Behind Hezel, two soldiers stood to attention, spears in hand. On both sides of their faces something like a pale, lightning-shaped tattoo stretched from their eyelids to their lips. They belonged to a special class of soldiers within Ende, those who guarded the Bureau of Sorcery. They stretched out their hands and removed a metallic collar from around Hezel’s neck.

“Master Wodan,” a voice wheezed out from Hezel’s mouth. He tried to continue further but he was in a terribly weakened state and he broke into a violent coughing fit.

Wodan raised his hand.

“It’s fine. Your five senses were cut off for a month. Your voice will not come out easily even by the third day. But when I see you, who is like a beloved son to me, reduced to this state, I still cannot blame myself for having gone too far. The sin you committed is that grave. Not only did you draw close to Prince Jeremie and request funding assistance on nothing more then your own authority, but you also tempted the prince into removing vessels of sorcery from the underground. It seems you used your subordinates to study them, but this too is deserving of a severe punishment.”

His head lowered, Hezel did not move.

The vessels of sorcery were the many artefacts which had been handed down in Ende from the ancient Dynastic period and could be called the very symbol of the Grand Duchy. Hezel had used them to revive ancient sorcery that manipulated dragons. This was not unrelated to the dragons which had suddenly rampaged through the region of Dairan. In other words, Hezel had been involved with something that would deeply affect Ende's politics. Although the Bureau of Sorcery was one of the country's institutions, it was by nature supposed to maintain a distance from politics and government.

"At the previous meeting, there were those who said that we should banish you forever, just as we did with that fool Reizus. But you are young and show more promise than any other sorcerer of your generation. Therefore, on my name of Wodan, Director of the Bureau of Sorcery, I had you sent to prison for a month. If you have learned from that..."

"B-But," Hezel spoke, interrupting him. His voice was weak and hoarse, but it must have been surprising that he had enough strength left to talk at all as Wodan unintentionally stopped speaking. Hezel gradually lifted his head although his neck and shoulders were trembling as though someone was holding him down hard. "Prince Eric's power and influence have also increased. If the second prince, who has no understanding of sorcery, was to take the throne of the Grand Duchy, we would be at a disadvantage."

When Wodan heard that, he appeared to regain his composure and shook his head.

"You are saying that you acted with the Bureau in mind? Certainly, Prince Jeremie has a greater understanding of sorcery than anyone else in the successive generations of the Grand Ducal House. I would go further and say that he has shown an interest, as that person has studied artefacts to quite an extent. It appears that he would be very interested in using magic to rule. If he were to become Grand Duke, our Bureau of Sorcery would indeed probably obtain greater power than ever before."

"In that case..."

"Power is futile," Wodan callously shot him down. "Power that can only be demonstrated within a country has no meaning. Say, for example, that Ende was on the verge of being destroyed by some calamity. We would cooperate to defend the country, but if in the end it became dangerous, we would just as easily abandon it. The assets for our preservation are knowledge and sorcery; we cannot trade them in for any one country. If afterwards we need to look for a new place to settle in, it will simply be a matter of creating a new organisation."

"..."

"Besides, if you are saying that you acted with the Bureau in mind, how will you explain away the affair with Garbera? When the general called Ryucown rose in rebellion, Prince Jeremie secretly gave him assistance. That was also your suggestion. What were you trying to do by needlessly prolonging Garbera's internal strife?"

"Well," Hezel spoke in a toneless voice from deep within his somewhat dirty cowl, "it was simply that the prince thought it would be a good opportunity to break down the relationship between the three countries."

"Your ulterior motive is as clear as day. Once Garbera was neutralised, you would have directed the prince's attention to the west. You goal is - yes, indeed, it is Barbaroi, is it not?"

When the word 'Barbaroi' was uttered, a voiceless commotion spread throughout the room. The seven sorcerers who, until then, had watched in silence repeatedly glanced towards each other.

"You must not interfere there." Before the disturbance had died down, the Director of the Bureau of Sorcery warned in a tone of voice stronger than any he had used so far. "From the start, we, Ende's Bureau of Sorcery, exist neither for the sake of the country nor for the sake of merely handing down sorcery techniques to posterity. We exist for nothing other than protecting Magic King Zodias' dying wish by watching over the fate - the predictions, the future - that he wove for this land. Repeat it, Hezel. What were the last words that King Zodias once transmitted to the sorcerers who were faithful to him?" "'Above all else, defend Barbaroi to the last.'"

Hezel's breathing was ragged as he spoke. Wodan nodded but Hezel immediately cut through his words.

"In recent years, movement has been observed in Barbaroi. The sorcerer called Garda manifested in the west and, as the ether was greatly disturbed, how could it not help but waking from sleep for a while? In spite of your fears, you, Master Wodan, must surely understand. When King Zodias gave the order to defend Barbaroi to the last, it wasn't because he held that land dear. The king had a king's plan. He even thought to warn us that the plan would be wasted if other people were to go and approach that terrifying existence which granted the king knowledge of magic. It is now, now that Barbaroi is about to start moving again, that we need to take action. What will come of stubbornly defending King Zodias' testament, he who carried away the Dragon God's Claw and disappeared as though fleeing from this world? Director, to have Barbaroi in our hands. Our Bureau of Sorcery could then anew..."

"Silence!" Wodan roared. "You speak of wickedness. In a space where you could neither see nor hear anything, an empty space in which you could not feel the touch of anything, as though you were floating through the cosmos – although you have been locked up in that prison of sorcery for a month, one would not believe it. I have no hesitation in praising your courage. But I repeat, you are young. Too young. Regarding Garda and Barbaroi, of course we must reinforce our monitoring. But it is not yet at a stage where we need to intervene. Naturally, the same goes for Ende’s internal affairs. When it comes to the world of men, we must remain as ‘eyes’ to the end. We cannot be the ‘mouth’ that disturbs Fate. It is impossible that you do not understand the meaning of this.”

“...”

“Master Wodan,” one of the sorcerers who had, until then, been watching silently opened his mouth, “this man is more dangerous than Reizus. For now, will you imprison him temporarily and urge him to reform? Or will you deal with him as things are?”

Wodan thought about it for a moment.

“Hezel. I will grant you a one week deferment. Rest your body. After that, you will be summoned here once more. If, at that time, your intentions have not changed, I will have to think about locking you in that prison forever. Do you understand?”

“... Aye.” Hezel answered weakly. It was not that he had been overwhelmed by Wodan’s words, but rather that his body’s weakened state had finally taken its toll. And in the first place, this was not a situation in which he could say anything.

Supported on either side by the tattooed soldiers, Hezel was led from the chamber as though being dragged away.

Passing through a long corridor, he was then thrown into a small, bare, square-shaped room.

After the soldiers had left, Hezel, lying face up on the floor, looked up at the low ceiling without stirring.

“I’m young, is it?” A hoarse voice escaped from his cracked lips. "Certainly, I am young. Far more so than my father who has experienced the passing of hundreds of years."

The words he uttered were strange but although his eyes were dim, they held neither anger nor fear nor even irritation.

Instead, his lips formed into a fearless smile.

“I’m a little tired of it here. Ende’s treasured vessels of sorcery aren’t particularly noteworthy. As for simply watching over things... I would rather spread the fires of chaos. Will the centre of the continent soon be ablaze? Or will the ripples from that single stone that I threw extinguish the flames?”

Hezel half raised the upper part of his body and the cowl fell back from his head.

Hezel, a member of Ende’s Bureau of Sorcery, should be the same man who had visited the sorcerer who became Garda during the recent upheaval in the west. Yet the burn which Garda's subordinate, the witch Tahī, had inflicted on his face at the time was nowhere to be seen.

In fact, his very features had changed. Back then, he had the youthful, handsome face of a young man, but now his pale countenance was somewhat flat and it was hard to tell his actual age.

It was a face that had, in the past, also been seen at the imperial court of Mephius.

Part 3

Aks, who belonged to the Dawnlight Wings Division, looked down on an area located in the western corner of Apta Fortress with a complicated expression.

It was there, at a section on the ground floor level where the fortress faced the cliff, that the former Imperial Guards, Pashir included, were currently being detained.

Among the winged dragon officers, Aks easily had the most outstanding physique. Yet the other day when he had exchanged blows with Pashir, the runner-up in the Gladiatorial competition, he had been sent sprawling right at the start. He could still feel the throbbing pain from where a fist like a stone had slammed into his jaw. He rubbed at it but in his heart there was anger and resentment.

He loved and respected the grey-haired general Rogue Saian. Because the general had supported the prince, who had opposed the emperor, his position had been downgraded; but Aks thought that action truly was “just like Father”. However, when he heard that the Prince's Imperial Guards were to become their colleagues, he had felt strong antipathy.

Those who belonged to an army corps that is mainly deployed in airborne battles were all on the same "boat" and had a stronger bond than typical land soldiers. They were comrades who shared the same destiny since, in such an environment, if a mistake was made in even just one of the posts they were assigned, they might all fall plummeting from the sky.

And a bunch of outsiders were coming into their midst. They were subordinates of the prince who could be said to be the reason why Rogue Saian was kept away from the capital; and on top of that, Pashir was the heinous criminal who had once tried to rise in rebellion against Mephius. Naturally, he could not welcome them with open arms.

And so, he picked a quarrel with Pashir. As for why he had chosen him, his intention had been to thrash the brawniest of them as a warning.

But the tables had been turned on him. Pashir’s title of runner-up at the gladiatorial tournament, and his history as a former sword slave, were apparently not just for show.

But now, Pashir and the others were being detained on suspicion of being connected to the west.

Aks certainly had not been happy about Pashir, but he found it hard to believe that the newcomer had again been intending to harm Mephius or that he was connected to the west.

Most of the Imperial Guards were people who had been taken out of slavery by Crown Prince Gil. It was unthinkable that they would have been involved in the prince’s assassination. Even if the west had called out to him seductively or approached him with a scheme, it was more natural to suppose that a man like Pashir would reject it outright.

With the war against Taúlia being at a stalemate, Rogue’s mood was not good. Since he knew ‘Father’s’ personality well. Aks realized, of course, that he had no enthusiasm for this war. Quite the opposite, in fact the balance of his emotions were being tipped in an unusual direction, and it was said that he had done everything he could to stop the fighting.

And, infected by his superior officer’s feelings, Aks too was disgusted with it.

This is a stupid war – he sighed and started walking. But before he had taken even a few steps, a woman called to him to stop from a passageway to the side. He recognised her face, she was a servant at Apta. Unbecoming of her youthful and quiet appearance, she gripped Aks’ hand and tried to invite him to her room.

“Oi oi, it’s still broad daylight!” He protested but she looked desperately determined and would not let go of his hand.

Aks figured that fooling about for a change wasn’t so bad, but when the door to the room was opened and he saw that there was another woman waiting on the bed, he was, as could be expected, surprised.

Furthermore, she was a strangely alluring beauty, so pale it was as if all colour had been drained from her.

Aks gulped reflexively. Feelings of anticipation whirled in his chest, but then, the woman spoke.

Half a day later, Aks came running up to General Rogue Saian.

“What’s this, you have something to discuss? That’s rare.”

“Actually, there is something that I really want to ask of you, General.”

With that preface, Aks led the general to the same room that the servant girl had invited him to.

“The airship unit got into some trouble with General Narbal’s men. It would have been fine if it had just been an ordinary fight, but the unit and Nabarl’s men were detained in the same room. The other side pulled out swords and guns, there is going to be a murder the way things are. General, won’t you please come and give the guys from the unit a good talking to?”

As soon as he heard that, Rogue raced down the passageways with a speed that did not match his age. The ruckus between Aks and Pashir was one thing but an uproar like this one was, in a manner of speaking, his own fault for not having been able to pull the men together.

When Rogue opened the door, for a moment, his expression was the same as Aks’ had been half a day earlier.

There were two women on the bed. One was the servant who had invited Aks. The other had a face that was unknown to him. Her features were so beautiful that even Rogue was taken aback. Her complexion was as pale as a dove’s and her lips, which were highlighted with rouge, glistened all the more seductively because of it.

“It has been a long time, General.” Yet when the beauty spoke, it was in the voice of a man.

Rogue’s eyes started, and not because Aks had quietly closed the door behind him. He remembered that voice and looking at it again, he recognised the man before him as someone he knew.

“You’re Shique!?”

“General, please, your voice,” Shique, disguised as a woman, put a finger to his red lips.

Rogue hurriedly shut his mouth and turned around to Aks, who was standing at the ready behind him. The large winged dragon officer wore an embarrassed-looking expression.

When he had been an Imperial Guard, Shique had only spoken with the man a little. Remembering that, Shique had first asked a servant girl that he had previously been familiar with – since Orba had asked him to gather information on the fort, he had no choice but to become close with her – to call Aks over, and had then asked him to fetch the general.

“I-I’m sure I heard that you went missing after the fight with the Black Armoured Division. You were alive? Then what have you been doing up until now? Your companions are currently imprisoned here in Apta. Oh, was it because you learned of that that you deliberately disguised yourself and snuck in here? Don’t tell me you plan to save them. What splendid spirit to have done so without worrying about the danger to your own life, however in the current circumstances...”

“General, General, please calm down,” Shique interrupted Rogue’s words with a smile. Then immediately after, he was wracked by a violent coughing fit. His back and shoulders shook for some time because of it.

“I am of course worried about them, but I have a different reason for coming especially to see you, General.”

“I-I see,” as though embarrassed at having lost his calm, Rogue took a deep breath. An irrepressible emotion was welling up from the depths of his heart. Deliberately preventing himself from thinking about what it was, he stared at Shique once more. “But that is an impressive disguise. No, if I remember rightly, you also masqueraded as a beautiful slave woman at the time of Zaat Quark’s rebellion.”

“You have a good memory.”

Shique was occasionally scrunching up his face and rounding his back as though he was in poor physical shape. Each time he did so, the servant girl rubbed his back anxiously.

Rogue was aware of a throbbing palpitation. “That time... it would have been on the prince’s orders. What about this time? You went missing after the fight with the Black Armoured Division, why did you risk coming back to Apta?”

Shique wordlessly took a letter from his breast and handed it to the general.

Rogue read through it at a stroke.

“Impossible,” he said in a voice like a whisper. Then he read it again from the beginning. Finding it funny how those actions mirrored his own, Shique almost laughed but started coughing again.

Rogue’s breathing gradually grew rough. Finally, after taking another quick look at the entire document, he asked, “is it true?” perhaps because his emotions were struggling from every angle, his face was rather expressionless.

“It is all written there.”

In three days? Rogue murmured in his heart. In three days, the prince would proceed towards the border and reveal himself. Yes... Prince Gil Mephius. If the contents of this letter were true, he had learned of General Oubary’s plan to assassinate him and had deliberately used the timing of that plan to throw himself into the river.

The intention had been to bring Oubary’s plan to light and hopefully catch the unit tasked with carrying it out, but the prince had sensed that there was ‘an even darker shadow’ behind them and hid himself for a time in the west by feigning his own death.

His breathing still rough, Rogue repeatedly shut his eyes then opened them wide.

The prince is alive.

Why was it that simply by thinking that, he felt that it was as though a bright ray of light was shining both on himself, who had felt cast in darkness, and on Mephius’ future? Imperial Prince Gil was a hero who had soared to fame in the space of less than a year, nevertheless it was still unknown whether he had any political resourcefulness.

However, he is the Crown Prince.

Right now, that was the most important thing as far as Rogue was concerned. What was paramount above all else was the fact that a legitimate member of the imperial family was openly criticizing the emperor’s current course.

His face pale, Shique watched Rogue’s conflicted demeanour. After a short while, the veteran general spoke.

“Understood.”

That was all. He did not state whether he believed the contents of the letter or not. Nor did he talk about what he intended to do. On the contrary, he asked, “what are you going to do from here on?”

“I,” Shique interrupted himself to clear his throat, “I will return to the west. Actually, there was a commotion when I left and I’m worried about the situation over there. I should go back for now to check th...”

“You cannot,” Rogue declared.

“General...”

“Whatever the details, we are currently at war with Taúlia. That is undeniable. I cannot simply send back, to the enemy forces, a person who has been inside our own camp.”

“I am not fit to be a spy. I attract too much attention.”

“How dare you say that when you’ve disguised yourself to this extent. Anyway, you’re staying in Apta. I’ll find some reason or another to provide you with a room. Lie low there.”

“General,” Shique shook his pale face. Having fled like a deserter, he did not believe that he would be able to return to Taúlia as things were. But he was afraid that the situation might have become complicated for Orba. He also needed to report that he had been able to safely leave Taúlia with the letter, but – “General, I...”

As Shique tried to get up, Rogue forcefully pulled his arm. As the servant girl screamed, Shique’s body slumped forward. Rogue looked intently at the area of his back and said –

“You’ve been shot.”

The reason why the woman’s clothing he wore only bulged oddly on his back was because the bandages had been repeatedly wrapped around him there, while in the front the added padding was really made to look like the swelling of breasts.

“Have you had a doctor look at it?”

“The bullet seems to have gotten lodged,” Shique smiled, his face ashen.

“In your current situation, you couldn’t have gone to a proper doctor. It will have been an unlicensed doctor practicing illegally in some back alley.”

Rogue’s assertion was correct. When Shique had been leaving Taúlia, he had been shot from behind by one of the soldiers forming part of the net. The steel bullet had pierced through from his back to his lower chest. That he had not fallen from his horse indeed made him worthy of being a renowned former gladiator.

Although he had given himself some rudimentary medical treatment on the way, it had been hard to push down the fever and the pain that had been gnawing at him from within. In all honesty, it would not have surprised him if he had fainted upon coming in sight of Apta. However he had gritted his teeth and had snuck into the town, which had once been well known to him, and using everything that he had been able to carry out of Taúlia as payment, he had called on a back-alley doctor.

But as Rogue had said, he could not go for proper treatment. His festering wound had merely been wrapped in fresh bandages and he had only been given antipyretic medicine.

“That cough comes from your internal organs being damaged. It’s dangerous to leave it. I have seen over and over again people laughing one day only to drop dead the next. At any rate, you won’t make it to Taúlia in that state.”

“...”

“I’ll get you an army surgeon from the Dawnlight Wings Division. He’s a friend of mine so don’t worry.”

As he spoke, Rogue gently pushed Shique back down to the bed. Having used all of his physical strength just to lift himself up that much, Shique collapsed onto it without any resistance.

After that, Shique was moved to a room and received medical treatment from an army surgeon.

Lying alone on the snow-white bed, he found the situation irritating and strange.

There was a window high above him, and that cut-out square was his only point of contact with the outside world. The sun had risen then set, the shadows had deepened, then the day had dawned again Except when he slept, Shique gazed at that view without growing tired of it.

It’s been two days since then... no, has it been three?

It was because of the medicine that his head was fuzzy, he decided. So that meant that Orba should be nearing the border around now. Or maybe, since he would have realised that a net had been laid out and surveillance had been reinforced, he had not yet left Taúlia.

There was nothing more that Shique could do. He could only bet on Orba’s ability and luck for what came next.

There didn’t appear to be any conspicuous movements here in Apta. The army still hadn’t stirred yet either. Rogue, who believed in the letter, must be restraining Nabarl, the commander-in-chief, by every means possible.

But still, on the third day – If Orba was unable to appear as Gil Mephius, the general would not be able to hold Nabarl back any longer.

Remembering Rogue’s reaction upon reading the letter, Shique smiled weakly.

You couldn’t have played the part of a prince for more than half a year.

Even so.

Isn’t it interesting? If it weren’t for the current state of Mephius, the general might not have seen your survival as a ray of light.

Right.

Isn’t it exactly as though everything, even the pain and suffering, was a path laid out for your sake?

I suppose that besides individual ability, above all else, the situations in which they are needed are what create heroes.

Yes, that was what was missing with me.

Shique had grown up in a poor family. Both of his parents had worked by the sweat of their brow, yet even so it had been difficult to earn the day’s food. Still, even while living that life, Shique’s mother tried to ensure by all means that her son wouldn’t lose his pride. She bought books even when it meant going without meals, she gave him an education, and she taught him the basics of etiquette as well as the foreign words that she herself knew.

His mother claimed that, tracing her family line to the distant past, she was descended from an aristocratic lineage of the Magic Dynasty. It seemed that in its heyday it had even held the right to succession to the throne, although its rank in the order of precedence was low.

Whether that was true or not, he didn’t know. But at the very least, his mother believed it. Or maybe, in a life of sipping muddy water, she had found an emotional crutch by believing that mouldy old history.

But for the very young Shique, and also for his father, it became a burden.

His father had vanished as though running away from his mother, who was completely wrapped up in her pride in that very dubious lineage. From then on, his mother had lavished all her love on Shique. Even though she had to sell her own body to earn their daily income, she had made sure that he received an education, had bought him expensive clothes, and had him learn courtly dancing and the art of swordplay.

His mother’s voice as she hugged his shoulders and whispered “The blood of the Aeland family runs in you”, the unsteady gleam in her eyes, the way she touched him, her very existence, so to speak, was oppressive for Shique.

Mother...

Shique mentally called out while still looking out through the high window.

I couldn’t be the son you hoped for me to be. But that cause for pride that you saw in me, I’ve found it somewhere else.

So I...

It was two days after Shique had managed to reach Apta’s fortress.

Of course, Gowen, Pashir and the rest did not know that he was close by. In that narrow and confined space, their impatience and irritation were only growing stronger.

For them, it was another day that saw no improvement from the previous one.

But around dusk, distant screams were heard that would completely change the fate of the former Imperial Guards.

Gowen, once an overseer of sword slaves, had a bad premonition from the start. The screams were coming from the direction of the dragon pen.

That day as well, Hou Ran had spent all her time looking after the dragons. It happened at the time that she was returning them to their cages after having them out for a walk.

As the last dragon was going back to its cage, and before she could properly turn the key, she was seized from behind.

Her mouth was blocked and she was dragged to a patch of grass.

Usually a number of slaves would assist for large-scale tasks like cleaning the dragons’ cages, but when it came to the dragons themselves, because Hou Ran took care of them alone, there was not the shadow of a person in the area.

Hou Ran was pinned down by several men.

She could not make a sound but she stared at them sharply. As for the men, their lustful gazes openly drank up the sight of Ran’s body, on which the red rays of the sun and the shadows of the cages cast a mottled pattern.

They were the same soldiers who were always vulgarly calling out to her and were probably Nabarl’s men.

“Anyway, she’s a woman from the west. No one’s gonna blame us even if we do what we like with her.”

“We’ll take care of you like Zerdian men couldn’t.”

The men’s hands crawled over Ran’s dark skin.

And she could not move to resist against them. Ran’s furious breathing escaped ineffectively from the gap between her mouth and the hands.

Just as the men had begun to strip her of her clothes, a large silhouette suddenly blocked the light from the setting sun.

The big shadow that also engulfed Ran’s limbs belonged to the Baian – a medium-sized dragon – that had just been let into its cage.

Its eyes had become bloodshot. It had burst out of its cage with enough force to break it.

Faster than the men could scream, its mouth gaped open, pulling with it strings of saliva. Fangs like swords pierced through the back of a man’s neck and vivid red blood splashed freely. Screams and angry bellowing erupted, but the dragon’s roars drowned them out.

By the time soldiers who had heard the uproar arrived, swords and guns drawn, the men who had pinned Ran down had all lost their lives.

“I-In position!”

When a man who seemed to be captain issued the order, soldiers fell to one knee and readied their guns. Before he could give the order to fire, a human figure quickly interposed itself between the guns and the flesh-devouring dragon.

Ran was covered in blood and her eyes were watery with tears.

“I’ll calm him down. Put your guns away.”

“Move from there. If you don’t move, we’ll shoot you.”

“This child is waiting for him to come back. I promised I would protect him until then.”

As soon as she had spoken, Ran turned her back to the row of gun muzzles and clung to the Baian’s neck. The dragon roared, a bloody froth spewing from its maw. It shook its neck as though irritated and Ran’s body was flung to the ground. The Baian bared its fangs menacingly. The blood had gotten it excited. When things got to this point, even tamers who had known a dragon for years might end up being eaten.

But Ran did not give up and tackled the Baian again and again. Even when its tail smashed into her and its fangs drew right before her, she desperately hugged its neck, stroked its scales and whispered something to it. Her whole body was already covered in cuts and bruises from being sent flying time after time, and because her skin tore when it scraped against the dragon’s hard scales.

With her cheeks torn to shreds, it was no longer the men’s blood she was covered in but her own.

Watching the way she pressed herself against the dragon even so, the soldiers were utterly dumbfounded. As they stood there stock still, the Baian’s voice gradually grew calmer. As it stopped stamping its feet and waving its tail, head drooping limply, Ran seemed to lean against the dragon and sunk slowly down.

She had lost consciousness.

When Nabarl received the news, for a moment his face held neither surprise nor joy.

That only Hou Ran had been less strictly confined was because he had judged that if even a single disturbance arose around the woman from the west, he would be able to make good use of the situation, but he certainly had not expected it to go as far as having all the soldiers assigned to monitor her being eaten by a dragon.

But anyway –

“That accursed western woman. So she’s revealed her true colours.” Nabarl kicked himself out of his chair as though he were truly enraged. “She must have been aiming to destroy this camp from the inside. Throw those bastards in a cage! As an example, and as retaliation, they’re to be executed by firing squad.”

References and Translation Notes

1. ↑ The kanji used are those for ‘hundred-year dynasty’ (百年王朝) while the furigana read ‘millennium’ (ミレニアム). I’m assuming that the use of ‘millennium’ is there to indicate that this was a utopian Golden Era, rather than being some weird mistake in numbers.

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