Published at 13th of August 2019 1:07 pm

Volume 6, Chapter 7: The Champion of the West

This chapter is updated by NovelFree.ml

Part 1

Moldorf trod cautiously forward. Because he worried that the sound might get him noticed, he didn’t wear any armour. A sword in a thick leather scabbard hung from his waist and he grasped a short spear in his right hand.

Although he had remonstrated with his younger brother, the regret and anger in his heart was no less than Nilgif’s.

He had been prepared to bear eternal dishonour and had fought. Because there was something that he wanted to protect even in exchange of his own reputation. But in the blink of an eye, Garda had turned it into ashes.

When he thought of the people’s anguish, even he felt like letting his cheeks bathe in hot tears, just as his little brother had. In truth, the reason that Moldorf didn’t cry was because his heart had already wept so bitterly that his tears had all run dry.

But they hadn’t been entirely abandoned by the Dragon Gods. What had worried Moldorf the most was that it would take at the very least an entire day to reach Zer Illias. If the battle ended while he was making his way there, there might never be another chance to get close to Garda. But then unexpectedly, that very Garda had left Zer Illias that he had always remained secluded in since appearing in the western lands and had moved to Eimen. Moreover, penetrating the tower was easy since the entire military force was being thrown at Ax’s army.

The spear in Moldorf’s hand was one used for throwing. He had vowed to himself that it would all be decided in a single strike.

If I had done this earlier, he thought. But he purposely decided not to dwell on it. What they had been anticipating up until now, Ax gathering together the west and making a move, had created a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Ten or more women, among them Lima Khadein, were gathered in a circular hall. In the centre was Garda. He was holding his hand up before a woman that Moldorf guessed was Taúlia’s princess. The hand gripping the spear grew hot.

Don’t think. Just do it. Just pierce him through the heart.

With his skill, he only needed to move forward and throw the spear in the same breath. And then it would be over.

But… That was only if his opponent was human and could he really compare Garda to a human being? Wouldn’t it be better to take one more step closer? He needed to consider that there might not be another opportunity. In order to be absolutely certain, shouldn’t he close the distance at least by another half a step? No, he was close enough. If he made a false move now, Garda might sense something.

Then, like this…

“Fool.”

For a second, a sharp pain seemed to pierce Moldorf’s forehead. Garda’s hoarse voice could be heard. Have I been spotted? Moldorf felt his entrails go cold, but Garda’s back was still turned towards him. On the other hand, a strange sight appeared before him.

No, it couldn’t be said that he saw it with his naked eye. The image that flashed through Moldorf’s brain was of something like a mist rising from each of the ten or more women, with Taúlia’s princess at their centre. It formed a spiral and filled the hall. Hanging like clouds from the ceiling, the mist next spiralled counter-clockwise and contracted into a shape that resembled an arrow then suddenly pierced straight through the top of Garda’s head.

Garda roared with laughter. The one he scoffed at for being a “fool” was Ax when he brought out the air carriers.

Assailed by headache and nausea and with his body feeling like it could break, Moldorf tightly grit his teeth and through sheer force of will, succeeded in not making a sound.

Is this sorcery?

It felt like a power that shouldn’t exist in this world. The scene before him seemed somehow to spit on all living creatures like a blasphemy against them.

Gods, Moldorf took a throwing stance. His large biceps bulged, the muscles along his shoulders and back were stretched tight. Dragon Gods, Spirits, every kind of god that anyone anywhere believes in, anything is fine. Gods! Grant me the strength to strike down this sorcerer who twists and distorts the laws of this world. Please let my insignificant self purify this evil at a single blow.

He pulled back the right side of his body with all his strength and took a quick step forward.

In an instant, is body’s taut muscles were released towards a single target.

The spear whistled through the air.

The spear drilled into Garda’s chest and with unabated force, the tip pierced through his back and pinned him to the floor.

So it should certainly have been.

But in practice, Moldorf remained frozen in position as he took a step forward. His spear was still in his hand. As though it were stuck to his palm, the weight of the steel would not leave it.

“Fool.”

This time, the voice was obviously directed towards Moldorf. The face of an elderly man peered out from under the hood. There was something evil about his smile.

“Did you think that I hadn’t noticed your presence? As I am now, no plot, no sword and no spear could find me. I have a clear grasp of every phenomenon that occurs within the surrounding area and can freely manipulate them in actual fact.”

“B-Bas-Bastard.”

Moldorf let out a feeble voice from between his clenched teeth. He was struggling with all his might to break free of this curse but every time he tried to take a step in Garda’s direction, invisible wire ropes seemed to bite into his entire body. The pain was so intense it almost reaped the valiant, long-serving general’s consciousness.

“Y-You knew, so why…”

“You have already served your purpose.” Garda chuckled mysteriously at his own words.

“Purpose?”

“After I have defeated Ax, it will be your turn next. Every last person in the west will consecrate their ether to me. Including of course everyone in Zer Illias. But you, you fought better than anyone and served me, Garda, well. As thanks, I will show you how I will devour the entire battlefield and gather ether. It will be the very moment of birth of the second Magic King Zodias, of the one who will rule the world!”

Moldorf’s eyes became bloodshot and the lines of his sinews bulged. The sorcerer was saying that he would kill everyone. Not only Ax and his troops but also his little brother, Lima Khadein and the people in Zer Illias.

He roared. It was a bellow like a dragon’s, fitting of his nickname, but as he couldn’t break free, it was entirely pointless. Darkness stretched out between Garda and him, and even if he spent his entire life trying to cross that darkness, even if he spent a hundred or a thousand years, it felt like it would not be enough.

Bastard!

Moldorf’s eyeballs that he could just barely move freely rolled left and right. He could feel that the thing like mist was continuing to be released from the ten or more maidens.

Then,

“Hmm?” Garda raised his eyebrows.

Something urgent must have come up because, even as he was still turned to face Moldorf, he looked at the bracelet on his left wrist. Moldorf saw a small shadow pass through the round jewel that was encrusted within it. Although he had absolutely no knowledge of sorcery, the scene that had appeared on its surface was surely the battle that was even now unfolding outside of Eimen. It was as vividly reproduced in this distant place as if a part of it had been cut off and trapped there.

Just as Garda had supposed they would, Ax’s forces were finally fleeing. The troops led by Nilgif continued to press forward without slowing their offensive.

Garda’s eyes were wandering around the battlefield when they suddenly stopped on one point.

As the chariot squadrons and cavalry had cut off their path of retreat, Ax’s army was caught in a pincer movement to their front and rear when, from behind the enemies at their back, a group enveloped in a cloud of dust came galloping. Brandishing spears and swords, they lunged at the chariots with the force of a hurled javelin. Because of the unexpected surprise attack, the archers were flung one after another from the chariots by the Mantos dragons and even the cavalry was reeling.

They were strong.

And fast.

“Survivors from Kadyne?” Garda muttered balefully.

He knew who they were. The sorcerer dispatched to Kadyne to serve as a pathway had not only received ether from Garda but had also sent it to him. Garda had been able to sense that person’s death. Conversely, he did not know what had happened in Kadyne after that.

But he could not have imagined that people who had been hideously tormented by his magical trap would turn to come to Eimen.

Above all else, there was the one horseman who was racing in the lead. Although his build was slight, he galloped fearlessly into the fray, unheeding of the forest of spears or of the dragon’s claws. The man was undoubtedly responsible for fanning that army corps’ vigour. He wore a mask.

The man suddenly grabbed something that was hanging from his horse’s neck in one hand and held it high above his head.

“The sorcerer of Kadyne is dead!”

Amidst the steel blades that were moving to fall on him from all directions, his voice was clear and resonant. What he held to the sky was a man’s severed head.

“Even a sorcerer will die when they’re cut down. Garda is the same. How long will you let a single sorcerer deceive you? The one you should be fighting isn’t us. From here on, I will defeat Garda. Know that anyone who gets in my way is an enemy to the west!”

“What!” Garda’s eyes trembled with hatred.

In that instant, perhaps because his senses were turned elsewhere, the spell that bound Moldorf shattered into tiny pieces.

Moldorf stepped forward.

When Garda noticed it, startled, he once more put himself on guard. But the reason his reaction this time was slow was because Moldorf’s target was incomprehensible. Having switched his position, he seemed about to throw the spear in completely different direction from Garda.

He threw the spear. Not at Garda.

The spear whistled up wind as it flew and its tip pointed towards a single woman.

Lima Khadein.

Part 2

“What did he say?” Nilgif groaned low, his face painted dark in the blood of his opponents.

Of course he remembered that masked swordsman. Both he and his brother had been made to suffer humiliation at his hands. As the man raised a severed head up high, he started to cross the battlefield.

Naturally, Nilgif also remembered the face of the sorcerer who had been stationed in Kadyne. He shivered at the thought that it might match that of the head the man was brandishing aloft. Nor was it just Nilgif. He could clearly see that unrest was circulating around this battlefield where friend and foe were jumbled together, communicating itself to both sides alike.

At the same moment, the allied air carrier which had been navigating shakily seemed to recover itself and stabilised its flight, then lowered its hull behind Nilgif and the others. From inside, five hundred soldiers of Taúlia’s Sixth Army Corps, led by Natokk, were let loose like a pack of wild dogs. Garda’s army found itself attacked from front and back.

“Blue Dragon!”

Hearing a voice call out to him, Nilgif had the impression that it was his brother scolding him. It was probably because he sensed genuine anger in that voice that his heart was overwhelmed.

“Gather your troops and go to Ax Bazgan. If you go over, Garda’s army should lend him their support bit by bit.”

“Wh-What are you…”

To Nilgif’s surprise, even as the masked swordsman said that, he galloped his horse straight towards him and raised his sword overhead. He was barely able to parry with his spear. As their weapons clashed a second then a third time, the swordsman brought his horse ever closer.

“I was in Kadyne,” his voice was almost a whisper. Nilgif stared at him wide-eyed. “Garda’s bombing raid killed many. But even so, many of the people are still alive. Believing that we, and you, the warriors of Kadyne, will bring victory, they remain there and live on.”

What further words could be needed? Nilgif’s bearded face was once more wet with tears. Those tears were unexpectedly warm.

“Where is Garda? In the ruins of the temple at Zer Illias?”

“N-No,” for some reason, Nilgif didn’t find it strange to answer as sword and spear collided between their respective armour. “For now, he’s in Eimen. Should be in the tower’s underground.”

“Then that’s convenient.”

“Wh-What’s convenient?”

Beneath his mask, the swordsman grinned and Nilgif felt shaken to the core.

“If I kill him here, it’s all over for them. Not even Garda can harm the hostages in Zer Illias once he’s dead.”

So saying, the swordsman kicked his horse’s flanks and, without the slightest vigilance against Nilgif, started to race away. He didn’t pay the any attention even when he was shouted at to “Wa-Wait!” Although Nilgif was dumbfounded, he called out once more as there was one thing he had to know.

“Your name. You, what’s your name?”

“Orba.”

That was all the answer he gave.

After that, he simply went onwards and ran and ran and ran. The severed head of the sorcerer was like a talisman that protected Orba from blades and the soldiers of Garda’s army didn’t go near him. No, at least half of them could no longer be called “Garda’s army”.

More than five hundred soldiers led by Bisham rushed to Ax’s side without a moment’s delay. They strengthened his defence and as Natokk’s force was also bearing down from behind, Garda’s soldiers were no longer able to focus solely on attack as they had a short while earlier. The sand-laden wind coiled around the battlefield like smoke, giving it a strangely stagnant appearance.

That stagnation was enough for Orba. With only a few mercenaries, he raced straight towards Eimen. There was no sign of enemies about to catch up with them. And even when some did try, they did so hesitatingly and only to be pushed back by Shique’s double swords or Gilliam’s battle-axe.

Is that it? On the other side of the outer walls, a tower soared into the heavens. The sky was dull and cloudy but Orba could see darker clouds that seemed to swirl around its top.

Having crossed Eimen’s gates, Orba and the others rushed headlong to the tower at the centre. There was not a shadow of the townspeople to be seen. A dry wind blew through the streets.

They jumped from their horses once they were just by the tower but before its door hovered a silent shadow. As they wondered what it was, the shadow formed one-by-one into black-clad soldiers who drew the swords from at their waist.

“Move from there,” Gilliam almost growled, his battle-axe on his shoulder. “If we defeat Garda, he won’t be able to threaten you anymore and your families won’t be in danger anymore. Now move!”

But as though they had no ears to hear with, the soldiers in black simply attacked. Let alone ears, they showed no evidence of having mouths to shout with or even minds of their own to think with.

“Looks like it’s useless,” said Stan. Because of the effects of ether, his complexion was still bad and he was swaying at the waist, but he still pulled out his sword. “They have a strange “colour”. This bunch probably aren’t being threatened. They might be Garda’s personal guards.”

“Then we don’t need to worry, huh.” No sooner had he spoken than Gilliam was the first to throw himself into the fray. As his battle-axe collided with the swords, the silent town was suddenly filled with the sounds of fighting.

The enemy was unquestionably skilled. Since Stan wasn’t in his normal condition, even Talcott who usually preferred to stay safely behind him had no choice but to step forward and wield his sword. While hurling abuse, he showed off his lightning-fast swordplay.

Only Orba seemed to take up a position from which he could watch the struggle but, so smoothly and quietly that his feet didn’t seem to be moving, he swiftly made his way past their backs and sides. Alone, he dived into the tower.

To deal with Garda, every second was precious. No matter how superior their position might be, the terror of sorcery permeated the body. So until he had snatched that life away with his own hands, he couldn’t afford to be careless.

He felt dark killing intent draw up to him from behind but the one who thrust it away from the side was Gilliam.

“This is your chance, Capt'n. Go and seize greater glory than anyone in the west.”

“I’m grateful.”

Leaving those brief words behind, Orba’s figure disappeared into the tower.

Gilliam jumped nimbly to put some distance between himself and the swords that were bearing down on him from front and back.

“Grateful, you say?” He shook his mane-like hair and beard and laughed. Swinging his axe in large, sweeping movements, he added, “It’s just like Lasvius once said. He really does speak like nobility.”

The spear struck vigorously. Lima Kadhein’s eyes opened wide and she went rigid as she stopped breathing.

Right next to where her soft hair swayed, the spearhead had embedded itself entirely and cracks were running in all directions along the stone wall.

Lima’s brown face paled, her eyes trembled and soon, large teardrops started to spill from them.

“Ngh,” Garda groaned.

Needless to say, the role of the maidens he had stolen away was to provide ether for as long as they lived. Yet it was clear that the blow from the spear had allowed Lima to regain her heart and consciousness. That was because a part of the ether supply system had been destroyed.

Moldorf knew nothing of sorcery but, with the intuition almost of a wild animal, he had aimed at what was causing unease to his five senses.

He then immediately pulled the sword from at his waist and rushed at Garda. It would not take him a second to reach a position from which his blade could send that head flying. The sorcerer’s face, which was like that of an unremarkable elderly man, showed anxiety.

But –

“Idiot.”

The sword was repelled by an invisible shield and Moldorf’s large body went staggering backwards. Garda’s arms that were like dead trees, both stretched out towards him. Underneath his hood, his entire face glistened with sweat.

“For a mere human, your judgment was sound. My compliments. But, after all, this is as far as you go. Do you think I, Garda, am so powerless that I could be taken down by you alone?”

Garda had absorbed the ether swirling about in the hall a number of times already. Unable to let out his voice anymore, Moldorf reeled even more violently. It felt as though the air in the chamber had transformed into dozens of arms that were strangling his neck with superhuman strength.

The sword fell from his hand. Large veins stood out at his temples and his face was stained a deep red. But suddenly, it went pale. Froth dribbled from his lips and his countenance had a faint look of death.

“Moldorf!”

At that moment, a shadow ran towards Garda, aiming at his back. Completely focused on Moldorf, the sorcerer had let himself be approached surprisingly easily.

The glimmer of steel drew close. The tip of the blade sank in.

If that person had been a master swordsman, or not even, if it had been a grown man of normal strength, Garda’s life would probably have been cut short right then. But his opponent was Lima Khadein. She had picked up Moldorf’s sword, yes, but the weapon was too heavy for the princess’ arms and she was only able to tear a piece of skin from Garda’s back before stumbling to the ground.

“You!” At the searing pain in his back, Garda savagely turned around, his eyebrows contorted with hatred. Moldorf’s powerful frame fell like a stone. “You accursed Kadynians plague me one after another. Enough, I’ll kill you now for good.”

Garda made his bracelet gleam then suddenly raised a finger. The sword which had fallen to the floor seemed to squirm by itself then soared lightly up into the air. It rose higher while turning its tip around then stopped abruptly. Its point was aimed straight at Lima’s back where she had tumbled down.

Then it immediately cut through the air.

The rapidly accelerating sword had no less force than the spear that Moldorf had thrown earlier and it should have easily impaled Lima’s body.

But just as it was about to do so, the gleam from another blade shone.

Sword and sword clashed in mid-air then clattered to the ground as sparks scattered.

“What!” Garda turned his eyes wildly to the hall’s only entrance.

A shadow raced like a tempest. Faster than his eyes could follow, it rolled forward and picked up one of the swords that had fallen to the floor then without pausing ran to drive it into Garda’s breast.

“Gah!” Garda instantly invoked new magic. The fallen sword once again came to life and thrust itself between him and the shadowy figure.

The shadow suddenly stopped moving. But the hostility blazing in its eyes on the other side of the interposed sword could clearly be felt. A sharp glare pierced the sorcerer from behind the mask.

Garda now stood in Orba’s sight. The sorcerer who had claimed a name that had terrified Zerdians since two hundred years ago, who had taken the lead of a large army to invade the west and who had offered countless lives as sacrifices. He looked like nothing more than an ordinary old man and moreover, unexpectedly did not seem to be Zerdian. Something like a fragment of a jewel was buried in his forehead and glittered before Orba’s eyes.

“You are…” started Orba.

“You’re…” Garda said venomously at the same time. He recognised him as the self-same swordsman that he had seen earlier in his bracelet.

The sword between them again floated in the air, glittering. Orba swept it aside and was about to step towards Garda but he jumped back as lightly as though wings had grown from his feet.

“You’re not Zerdian. Do you think that a brat like you could defeat Garda?”

“You’ve pointed a sword at me, think about what you can do next, sorcerer.”

“Ha. You seem confident in your own skill. Certainly, that you were able to track me down here means that after Moldorf, I now need to praise you.”

“The sorcerer in Kadyne said the same thing. And immediately after lost his life.”

“You’re conceited merely from having destroyed my pathway. I had already accomplished my goal in Kadyne. Thanks to that pathway, Zer Illias will be awash with ether.” Garda laughed arrogantly, displaying his slightly yellowing teeth. “Besides, there will be plenty more ether to be had on this battlefield. And I also have Esmena Bazgan here.”

Just as Garda indicated, there was the figure of a girl whom Orba knew by sight in the hall. He was naturally unable to prevent his surprise but he did not make the mistake of letting his agitation show in the middle of a fight.

“You were a step too slow, Boy. If you had arrived just a little sooner, you might have been able to beat me.”

“Shut up.”

As Orba was about to cut down the distance between them, Garda raised both hands. Black smoke poured out of the bracelets he wore on either arm. Orba was resolved not to stop advancing no matter what happened. That was because he was afraid of being bewitched by the sorcerer but, faster than Orba could predict, in front of his eyes – or no, everything he had been able to see was suddenly shut away in darkness.

“What!”

The sword he had jabbed forward tore through shadows. About to pitch over, he was just barely able to stiffly brace himself. He could only halt his movements and ready his sword once more.

In all directions: darkness.

He couldn’t even see his own hands and feet, nor the gleam of the steel whose weight was in his hand.

Orba took a single deep breath. Then he held it and, like a wild beast, let his five senses work at full throttle to try and detect any sign of the enemy by scent or from the flow of air.

He did not know how long he remained there quietly but at a time when his eyes would have adjusted had it been a normal darkness, a red light suddenly shone to Orba’s side.

Quickly raising his sword, he turned to face it while shielding his eyes. The colour of flames was flickering up there. By the time he felt the heat against his skin, a wall of fire had risen to above his height all around him.

Is it an illusion or…

He couldn’t make a wrong move. Were these flames supposed to burn Orba to nothing or would his blind spot be attacked while his attention was focused on them?

Just then, he noticed that the air was flickering behind him.

There?

Without saying a word, balanced on the tip of his toes, Orba rotated his body at the same time as he swung his sword in a wide motion. The tip suddenly went still. Behind the mask, his eyes wavered. The one who stood there was not the abhorrent sorcerer. Nor was it a swordsman dressed and armed all in black.

“Orba,” said the man.

“Brother.” As his own voice burst out, Orba felt dizzy. How many years had it been since he had called out that word?

The one before him was without doubt his brother Roan.

But his brother’s face was pale and the hand stretched out towards him was wet with blood. Unwittingly, Orba stepped back. Alice was also beside Roan. Her clothes emitted a pale, flickering light. The scene of the village being set ablaze vividly resurged in Orba’s mind.

And behind the two of them was the unmistakable figure of his mother. Of his mother who had somehow lost her spark and whose eyes had grown dim after Roan had left for Apta.

No. This wasn’t real. But even though he knew that, Orba couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. They were the people he had never stopped searching for. The people he had already lost. Every time they took a step closer to him, the colour returned to their faces, their clouded eyes grew brighter and they smiled at Orba with the same appearances they had had when they were alive.

“Orba, Orba. What’s wrong?” Roan’s expression was one of gently chiding his rowdy little brother.

“Really, what’s with the mask?” Alice giggled. “You’re playing at heroes again, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be going back home soon to give your mother a hand?”

“That’s right.” His mother – like she always did whenever she saw that Orba had been in a fight – gave a smile that was half exasperated, half resigned. “I won’t tell you to be more like Roan. But you can’t stay a child forever. Honestly, you get more and more like your reckless father every year.”

Stop.

He was supposed to have said that out loud. He had meant to shout it at the top of his lungs. But his lips were trembling and much less speak, he couldn’t even move a single step away from there, letting the ghosts draw near him.

Roan extended his hand and was about to touch his shoulder. In that instant, a feeling of inexplicable disgust surged throughout his entire body.

“Stop!”

He shook away the hand and leapt two or three steps back. He raised the tip of his sword and put himself on guard. “What is it, Orba?”

But without his having noticed it, Roan’s figure no longer stood before him but was by his right arm and had seized hold of his hand that was grasping the sword.

“That’s right, didn’t I tell you you’ve played enough?” Alice was at his left. She held his arm immobile with surprising strength and laughed softly in his ear. “Or perhaps…”

“Do you want to kill us?”

His mother approached from in front. Her lips slowly curled upwards, forming into a ghastly smile, tearing up higher and higher. And from that mouth a different face emerged, slimy with blood.

“Yeah, are you going to kill? Like you did us?”

At some point, the number of people around Orba had increased. The faces dripping with blood were those of all the gladiators that he had cut down and of all those he fought on the battlefield.

Flames crackled behind him. They always seemed to decorate his fights.

And there was one more –

This time, Orba almost screamed. Breaking away from among the ghosts, walking unsteadily towards him, was Oubary Bilan.

Part 3

“Y-You.”

A broken-sounding voice escaped from Orba’s mouth.

Oubary Bilan.

When his brother Roan had left as a soldier for Apta, he was man who had let him die. He was the man who had then burned the village that Orba and the others had taken refuge in.

He should already be dead. Orba had not landed the death blow when he caught that hated enemy in a trap but had successfully pinned the blame on him or the Crown Prince’s assassination. He had believed that he should already have been executed.

But that man was now approaching him, his whole face covered with soot.

“Impostor.” Oubary opened his burned, festering lips and spoke. “A fraud posing as the crown prince. Why did I have to be killed by the likes of you?”

“Why, why!” Orba screamed. His body was still being restrained by Roan and Alice. As Oubary drew closer, Orba’s eyes were filled with murder. “You should know why. You brought it all on yourself. Isn’t that right!”

“No,” Oubary pointed straight at Orba. As the finger was completely smashed, more than half of it dangled loosely. “You are not a noble lord. And yet you manoeuvred a great many people and killed a great many people. That is a privilege allowed only to those who bear a duty. Even though your existence is not recognised by the populace, you brandished your fake authority merely for the sake of your own goals and of your own desires. And then you killed. And killed. And killed. And killed.”

Killed, and killed, and killed…

The gladiators echoed Oubary’s voice like a chorus. The frightful sound encircled Orba and overwhelmed his ears like the reverberations of a tolling bell inside a narrow bowl.

Perhaps so as not to lose to it, he shouted, “It’s because you killed. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had to kill anyone!”

“No, no, no, no,” the pallid ghosts all shook their heads at the same time. “The one who killed Oubary was you. The one who killed Roan was also you. You were the one who cut down Alice and your mother and cast them into the flames. You who tossed duty aside from the start and wanted nothing but the privileges, you who murdered the innocent populace, who put branded slaves to the sword, who built a pile of corpses in your life.”

Oubary’s hand stretched out in the air. The crowd of hands of the gladiators followed it. And the hands of the soldiers.

Feeling as though his heart would stop, his field of vision filled completely with those hands, Orba watched as they approached towards him.

He was no longer able to tell if they were illusions or not. The voices of the dead had reawakened the pain concealed in the deepest part of his heart, exposed it and twisted it.

A scream like that of a child tore from his mouth.

The hands were approaching. The hands, the hands, the hands…

“Stop!”

He swung his sword wildly. From his haphazard swipes, you wouldn’t have thought that he was a master swordsman but, by chance, one of the approaching hands was sent flying.

At that,

“Will you kill?” Roan’s voice whispered in his ear. “You will kill, won’t you Orba? Those who get in your way, those who are inconvenient, all of them.”

“You’re wrong. You’re wrong, Brother. You’re wrong.”

“Then draw back your sword.” This time, Alice’s voice seemed to be pleading with him. “Don’t kill. We’ve always been waiting for you.”

Right. Behind the mask, tears spilled from Orba’s eyes. He didn’t want to hear anyone’s voice. He didn’t want Roan or Alice or his mother to condemn him. He had only been focused on revenge. Even while knowing that what was lost could never be regained. Even so, he had had no other purpose.

“Come, Orba.”

“It would be good if you were here.”

“You don’t need to be afraid or to hesitate anymore. We will gladly take your heart. And then, we can all be together for ever.”

“Come on, Orba.”

“Come on.”

Half stupefied, half in a sort of ecstasy, Orba looked up at the crowd of hands descending upon him. The strength had left his body and the tip of his sword also hung down.

And then, he was enveloped.

Innumerable fingers stroked his skin. Those fingers that he felt slowly crawl over his arms, legs, torso, back, groin, granted him the same feeling of relief as when he had been an infant, sleeping cradled in his mother’s arms.

Right.

All of his tension melted away into the darkness, his fervent heart was smoothed out under those fingers and seemed to disappear. The swarm of fingers reached the nape of his neck then crawled up towards his lips.

Orba was on the verge of abandoning himself to that soft sensation. In a corner of his mind, a voice echoed incessantly, warning him that if yielded now he would never be able to return to the real world, but now that voice, the voice of instinct, was merely an annoyance.

Behind the mask, his eyelids slowly started to drop. The sensations from his body were now far away.

Almost everything that made Orba, Orba was crushed and scattered under the onslaught from that black wave until finally, even his consciousness grew murky.

Meanwhile, Garda was right under Orba’s nose. He had neither concealed himself nor called forth a shadowy dimension. The darkness that had wrapped around Orba was no more than the shadows within his own heart.

No matter how great or noble a person might be, there was no one whose heart was entirely encased in impenetrable steel armour. Somewhere, there would definitely be a spot that was weak and soft and on the other side of which, everyone harboured shadows to a greater or lesser extent.

When Garda seized hold of someone’s heart, his first step was to amplify those shadows. If his purpose was merely to remove an opponent, there was no need to go beyond that. A person who was swallowed by their own darkness had their heart destroyed.

Garda smiled triumphantly at the swordsman who had dropped his weapon and fallen to his knees.

“Hmm,” he chuckled, “he might be usable.”

He was the man who had killed Kadyne’s sorcerer, who had gathered the routed soldiers together and had brought them to Eimen. And furthermore, he had after all chased Garda down all the way here. So once this battle was over, he intended to brainwash Orba and make him into one of his personal guards – in other words, into one of the black-clad swordsmen. Just as it had with the maidens he had kidnapped, it would take time for Garda to sift through his very memories and alter them himself.

“And so, you’re going to be in agony a little longer. I need to strike another blow against that western lot so that they don’t get carried away.”

When he once again gazed into the jewel within his bracelet, the state of the battle was changing. The soldiers glared at each other on the blood-soaked plain, unable to tell who was a friend and who was a foe.

There was still people engaging in combat but at some point the low moans from the wounded and the sound of the wind had grown greater than that of rough voices and shouts.

Garda focused his mind and closed his eyes.

Those on the battlefield did not notice that at that moment, the air carrier, after having disgorged its many soldiers, was visibly jerking and squirming, like a flying ant putting up its last resistance after having been crushed by a human hand. Garda had hit it with the ether that was swirling around the battlefield and had swatted it towards a group of soldiers who would probably soon make their way to Eimen, with the intention of dropping it on their heads.

Whether they were allies or enemies no longer mattered to him. If he could ultimately weaken the enemy's chase and delay them, then that small bit of time would allow him to leave for Zer Illias by airship..

From that demonic capital, in which far greater stocks of ether were stored than here, he would ambush whatever few opponents remained. Naturally, that wasn’t what he had initially planned but given how things were turning out, he didn’t have any choice.

“It’s fine. Troops can easily be scraped together again. But since you defied Garda to this extent, know that you will never have another peaceful night. I will obliterate the western people and utterly drain your souls of ether.”

With both hands, he traced a complicated pattern in the air. The air carrier’s large frame undulated. A blaze seemed to burn within the ether-emitting engines.

Garda smiled broadly.

“Ah yes, Princess of Taúlia. Send me stronger ether. Open your heart to the point of being as one with me, then consecrate your all to me. Just a little more, just a little more and I will grant your wish.”

Thereupon, the mist rising from Esmena grew denser and the movements of the air carrier grew correspondingly fiercer. The jewel fragment in Garda’s brow turned a colour that was impossible to describe and emitted an ominous radiance. Sensing a strong surge of ether within his body, he laughed out loud.

“Yes, so that your beloved Gil Mephius will be revived!”

At the same moment, like wind blowing from far away, the name “Gil Mephius” brushed past Orba’s ears. Suddenly opening his eyes wide, he became aware of the innumerable hands encircling him and of the innumerable faces surrounding him behind them. The dead who had been raised from his memories drifted in this space outlined by flames and dyed a grotesque colour, neither black nor white, as they smiled at him, cursed at him, spoke to him.

But amongst them, there was one who had its back to him.

Who is that?

Preoccupied by that person, Orba’s vanishing consciousness surfaced as though rising from the muddy depths of an ocean.

Who are you?

Orba called out repeatedly. As he did so, other faces and swarms of hands got in his way and prevented him from seeing, while the figure seemed so ephemeral that it looked like it might disappear in an instant. But –

Ah!

When the person glanced over his shoulder and turned his profile towards him, Orba’s re-surfacing accelerated.

“You’re…”

A pair of eyes looked out from a suntanned face. His build was somewhat on the small side for a fighter but he was extremely nimble and smoothly escaped whenever Orba seemed about to catch hold of him. Somehow, that figure was perfectly identical to the one Orba saw whenever he stood in front of a mirror, and so he called out a name.

“Gil Mephius.”

The man standing opposite him seemed to part his lips slightly. But not into a smile with any warmth. It was an unpleasant smile, one that made the recipient feel as though they had been hit by a wave of utter contempt and disdain.

“You, why are you here?”

For some reason, he felt extremely agitated. “He” should no longer be in this world. Meaning that it couldn’t be the real Gil Mephius. Orba had replaced him and, after struggling through numerous battles, he was supposed to have buried Crown Prince Gil with his own hands.

Are you scorning me? Me, who even used innocent people and killed them? Orba wondered for a moment but then, the ghosts that had been about to bear down on him turned their hostility against Gil Mephius, even though he should be the same kind of phantom as they were.

Each of the dead bore the faces of soldiers from the opposing side of the battles that Orba had been in command of as Gil. There were Garberan knights, Mephian fighters who had risen in rebellion with Zaat Quark, Taúlian soldiers and warriors from Ende.

Faced with that vast number of ghosts, Gil again seemed identical to Orba in body and spirit. His blade flashed before Orba’s eyes, glittering red as it reflected the flames.

“Stop,” he almost said unintentionally. But Gil didn’t display the slightest hesitation as he cut them down one after another. The ghosts were careless and nowhere near good enough, and they seemed to jump up merely for the sake of being killed by Gil once again.

Heads whirled, limbs flew and as each one lost part of their body, they sagged in Orba’s direction.

“Stop, stop, stop.”

But even as he cried out –

What is there to hesitate about?

Orba heard a voice like his own within himself. Or rather, wasn’t it the voice of Gil Mephius’ phantom?

I was the one who killed them. Whether I defeated them directly myself or whether they were killed by someone following my orders. Why should I need to hesitate about killing them again? After all, they can’t rest in peace unless they accept their own death.

To Orba’s stupefaction, the thing that looked like Gil Mephius shook off the ghosts and as he watched, walked towards the flames that surrounded the area. He seemed to have chosen to commit suicide. But, just as Gil was about to step into the fire, the ghosts that he had cut down jerkily staggered up. Gil raised his hand as though giving an order to his subordinates and, looking like puppets hung from strings, they climbed on each other’s shoulders, joined hands and feet, then fell forward, creating an arched bridge that extended over the sea of flames.

Without hesitation, Gil firmly trod on the bridge formed by their backs and started to cross it.

“Wait!”

This time, Orba felt horribly afraid of being left behind by Gil Mephius and unthinkingly chased after him. Just like Gil, he was about to step on the ghosts’ backs when,

“Orba.” Roan’s voice called out once more. It wasn’t chasing him from behind however. It came from in front, from exactly the direction of the “bridge” that Orba was about to place a foot on.

“Hii,” he let out a strange voice. The ashen-skinned ghost whose arms and legs were intertwined in a complex pattern with those of other people was Roan himself.

“Where are you going, Orba?”

“Are you going to leave us and run away?” With Roan’s hand wrapped around her foot, Alice formed part of the bridge. Further beyond, he could see his mother and people that he recognised from the village.

“Orba wouldn’t do something like that. Isn’t that right?”

“Right. You’ll stay with us here forever. Since that’s your wish.”

Roan and Alice’s voices once more drew up from behind him so that Orba felt like he was being attacked from all sides by echoes that seemed layered one on top of the other.

Gil Mephius, who had reached the summit of the bridge’s arch, turned to look back at Orba who stood petrified with horror.

You’re not coming? He asked with his eyes. He sneered. Are you afraid? That you will never meet these people again? What a complete idiot.

“What!” As Orba bellowed reflexively, Gil smiled faintly and suddenly vanished. In his place, a voice was projected from far away.

Lord Gil.

Orba’s eyes widened in surprise. Now that Gil was gone, he could make out the end of the bridge. Something was flickering. At that one, single point, the surrounding darkness lifted slightly and what lay beyond it could just be seen.

Garda was there. And standing as though to block the way between him and Orba was Esmena. Perhaps by some trick of the ether, this time Orba could see the wave of magic power rising from her. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at the sight of what looked like a giant hand tightening around Esmena’s delicate body, as though to squeeze every last drop of lifeblood from her.

Amidst that, she sobbed like a child, incessantly,

Lord Gil, Lord Gil, Lord Gil.

As her heart called the name of a man she had met no more than once or twice, the princess of Taúlia wept. The tears trailing down her cheeks were the colour of blood.

Orba gulped.

I’m…

He felt himself unable to move. It was different from when the ghosts’ hands had been holding him back. It felt as though rather than his arms and legs, something within him, a softer, less tempered part inside of him had been seized hold of.

In front of him, a bridge of corpses. Behind him, a crowd of ghosts drawing ever nearer.

For some reason, at that moment, Esmena’s anguished voice and figure overlapped with those of completely different people that he could perceive on the other side of the rising flames. He could see the figure of the mother who had died protecting her child when Kadyne was set ablaze. And mixed with Esmena’s cries, he could hear those of the young mother who had lost her child and who was clawing at the surface of the road.

The sound of swordfights shook his eardrums. It seemed to him that he was seeing actual images of his comrades and of the western soldiers who were still fighting.

The clammy heat of the flames licked his entire body. The beat in his chest pounded until his ears hurt.

Of course, even if he stretched out his hand, it wouldn’t reach Esmena. The wails and gasps of agony of the people and soldiers filled his ears and echoed directly inside him.

To get to them – he had to step on the dead that now stretched out before him. He would have to shake off those he had lost and had never stopped longing for.

Orba understood. Why Gil Mephius had appeared among the semblances of the dead. His heart overflowed with emotions and desires that he hadn’t been able to grasp hold of since taking revenge on Oubary. And then –

Esmena’s hair now swayed platinum and the figure of a completely different girl was projected before him.

A girl with a strong gaze who steadfastly looked him straight in the eyes. Orba, who wore a mask of falsehood, had always fled from those eyes. Even now, the girl directed them right at him.

Orba lowered his head.

I’m…

But immediately raising his eyes, as though pulled towards that strong gaze, he trampled on the ghosts’ backs. Treading firmly on Roan’s head, stamping on Alice’s back, feeling the heat rising from the flames below, he raced across the bridge.

“Wait.”

The ghosts behind him simultaneously emitted hostility and crossed onto the bridge, stretching a crowd of hands towards him once more.

“Wait.”

“Wait, wait. Are you running away?”

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re leaving us behind. You’re banishing us. Are you planning on running away?”

No, as he looked back, Orba brandished his sword. As it hummed through the air, he cleaved at a single stroke through the swarm of pursuing hands and through the very shadows themselves.

He wasn’t a bystander this time. Orba swung his sword as an expression of his own intent.

I’m not running away. Rather…

Orba did not avert his gaze from the resentful eyes turned towards him, and even though the surrounding darkness had cleared away, he gave his body over to them.

Part 4

Orba’s body suddenly grew very heavy. It was the weight of a body and heart that others had entrusted themselves to.

Noticing Orba’s voice when he coughed violently, Garda’s face showed surprised.

“What!” Seeing Orba starting to stagger to his feet, Garda’s expression then momentarily turned to one of utter amazement. However, “Eei, I don’t have time to deal with you. Sleep a bit longer!”

Genuine animosity finally darted from his eyes as he pointed his staff towards Orba. Just as darkness seemed about to spill from it once more, Orba closed his eyes.

He had encountered many “Roans” on the battlefield. The faces of the phantoms he had just seen flittered across the back of his eyelids. Here in the western lands of Tauran, he had witnessed more than enough people like his mother and Alice who had lost their families and their everyday lives when their towns were burned down.

It’s already… What hesitations did he harbour within himself, what decision had he reached?

He lifted his hand and held the edge of his mask with his fingers.

“Whatever a mere human does, it’s useless,” Garda sneered as he was about to cast magic on Orba a second time. At the same moment, Orba removed his mask.

“It’s me, Princess. Gil Mephius!” He yelled at the top of his lungs.

Of course at that time, Garda could not possibly have guessed. That when the swordsman removed the mask concealing his face, he would still be wearing another “mask”. And that as soon as that “mask” appeared, the flow of ether emanating from Esmena would rapidly dry up.

Life almost instantly returned to her face that had been blank and as that of one who was dreaming. A reddish tinge spread over her cheeks and a steel grey sparkle appeared in her eyes. Orba yelled again,

“Mephius’ Crown Prince Gil Mephius didn’t die or run and hide. I’m here!”

At the same time as Esmena’s expression was struck with surprise and tears spilled from her eyes, Garda looked towards her in confused dismay.

“What is the meaning of this? This…”

At that moment – Orba’s feet kicked the ground.

As sharp as an arrow, he covered the distance between Garda and himself. The startled sorcerer again escaped backwards at a speed that seemed unthinkable for his age. But Orba’s steps did not halt. He leaped up and brought his sword down towards his opponent’s head. Garda held up the staff in his hands.

Orba’s feet landed on the ground. The tip of his sword instantly changed direction and swept towards the sorcerer’s heart.

“Guh!”

Garda staggered, clots of blood smearing his beard, but he still hadn’t lost his tenacious fervour for life and he swung the staff once more, stopping Orba’s sword as it lunged towards him.

The shock ran through his arm. That strength was also unthinkable for an old man. That too was probably the power of sorcery. For a while, both of them fought without speaking.

“Send it!” Garda yelled, blood spraying from his mouth. “Send the ether in Zer Illias to me at once. Do you hear me, Tahī? What are you doing!”

What happened at that moment in that area that only a sorcerer could understand? Garda’s face wore an expression of far greater astonishment than it had when the supply of ether coming from Esmena was severed.

“Why, why? My ether is being sucked up. What’s going on? It’s as though… there isn’t a pathway towards me!”

“Garda.”

“Yes, I’m Garda. Garda himself.”

Pressing on with strength, Orba suddenly sprang several steps forward. He gave a shout that almost sounded mad and, just as Garda raised his staff in defence, Orba’s sword drew a glittering arc.

The wind it raised was still whistling as, this time, steel drove into Garda’s head.

With a dreadful expression, his eyelids peeled back from the whites of his eyes as blood trickled from their outer corners, the old sorcerer collapsed without a word.

Something fell from Garda’s head. The jewel fragment that had been at his forehead. Even though it had seemed deeply embedded, as though the jewel itself had lost its power along with its owner’s life, its ominous glow faded and it looked like any valueless stone as it rolled to the floor.

His breathing ragged, Orba gazed down at the remains of the man who, just a moment earlier, had been on the verge of controlling all of the western lands. It was clear that the heat was rapidly being snatched from the body. It was always the same thing. His heart that had seemed to be set ablaze in the moment he brought the fight to its end was cooling down along with his body and in its place he experienced a sense of futility and lethargy.

“Moldorf, Moldorf!”

He heard a woman shouting. When he looked, he saw that Moldorf, who had collapsed, was starting to regain consciousness. Lima Khadein – although of course Orba knew neither her name nor her identity – was kneeling beside him and had lifted him up in her arms.

“P-Princess,” gasping for breath, Moldorf raised his upper body.

He stared at the sobbing Lima in a daze then looked around the hall in utter amazement. His eyes travelled between Garda’s corpse, the mask that had tumbled to the floor and then towards Orba.

“B-Boy. You. You did it!”

Silently, without so much as smiling, Orba simply gave a slight nod. Moldorf heaved a sigh that seemed to come from the depth of his being. After a moment, he appeared to be concerned over something and separated himself from Lima, who was still holding him.

“Princess. I pointed a spear at you. I am unworthy of being in your presence like this.”

“What are you saying. Moldorf, I am in your debt.”

“If my aim had been off by even a fraction, I would have taken your life, Princess… No, at that moment, I even thought that even if that happened, it didn’t matter. How could someone like that ever face Kadyne’s royal family again.”

“Yes, Moldorf. You were kind enough to kill me.”

“P-Princess.”

Tears glistened in Lima’s eyes and, nestling close to the bearded general as though to the man she longed for, she took his arm.

“I am the one who lead Kadyne to ruin. You killed that person that I was and in doing so saved me. I thank you, Moldorf. You are a true protector of the royal family.”

Having come to that point, Moldorf finally allowed himself to weep. His figure, as his shoulders heaved and he shook with sobs, greatly resembled that of his younger brother.

As Orba was watching that scene, he felt a presence standing before him and turned to face it.

“A-Are you…” It was Esmena Bazgan. Her eyes round, she stretched out a trembling hand. “Are you, Prince Gil? Are you truly His Highness, Gil Mephius?”

Orba didn’t answer. Although his mask had fallen within reach, for some reason, it seemed terribly far away.

“Am I still being tricked by Garda’s magic? Is this another sweet illusion? Please, Your Highness. Please say something. Please say that you are Gil Mephius.”

The tears flowing from those steel grey eyes seemed ceaseless. Orba shook his sword and blood flew off it.

“Princess, I…”

His voice wouldn’t come out to give the name. His eyes also avoided Esmena’s. He knew that he only had to say a single sentence. All he needed to say was “I’m Gil Mephius.” But,

“I’m –”

All he could manage was to repeat that. Then,

“It doesn’t matter.” As soon as Esmena cried out, Orba could feel himself being warmly embraced. “It doesn’t matter. A dream or a phantom, it doesn’t matter. Your Highness Gil! Please, even if it is only a dream, please stay like this a while.”

As she sobbed, Esmena clung to Orba with unexpected strength.

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