novelA New Mask
| ← Ch.003 | Ch.005 → |
Part 1
These past few days, Tarkas had indeed been busier than normal, bustling about all over the place. And the busier the busy man became, the livelier he got too. So light on his feet as if they'd grown wings, he showed them the peak of pride.
Whether it was building a stadium exclusively for the use of the Tarkas Gladiatorial Group, or planning to buy a dozen of a new dragon species, Tarkas had large-scale future plans for his sword-slaves. As usual, Orba wasn't of the same mind.
"If you're able to get appeal in front of the imperial families, I might think of rewarding you, Orba. The opponent will also be exceptionally prepared. Make it a good fight. Look, if you can't get worked up, you'll just have to do like you always do."
Although he smacked his shoulder with an ear-to-ear smile, it honestly had a weird taste to it. Gowen, who heard it all, also gave a wry smile, but it immediately turned into a serious look.
"I have no doubt that the Tarkas Gladiatorial Group is a major company in this industry. Even so, I never heard of Tarkas having connections with the imperial family and other top brass. He's only worked with nobles like Fedom, the Lord of Birac and director of the Gladiator's Guild. Although Tarkas has apparently only met him face to face during meetings. Nevertheless, until now, he had never even received a single direct job from Fedom. But I think it's such an enormous job, this. I constantly told him that it's better to request the cooperation from other places, but Tarkas has refused them all."
"You're prone to worry, old man, " Shique said, shrugging his shoulders."Isn't it fine? Even if we get their disapproval, it won't be our heads that roll. It only means we'll have to find another place to fight as gladiators."
Orba, too, shared the same sentiment. It made little difference where he was. The only way for a gladiator to secure his life was to earn gold. And if it meant his road to freedom got even one step closer, he would continue to fight wherever. That was all there was to it.
Several more days passed after that, and the preparations for their departure to Seirin Valley had finally started. They loaded their weapons and armour onto carts and performed the arduous task of taking the dragons from their cages.
Inside the spacious dragon's abode, Orba was wordlessly watching over Hou Ran guiding the dragons. Although he'd seen several animal trainers here, he didn't know another human being who could handle dragons like this.
There had been one such expert trainer who could 'make three Sozos's dance to music" using a flute, who fed them every day at a fixed time, gently brushed their snouts, and kept doing just that as a daily routine. He was killed easily, eaten by the Sozos' on a whim.
That was primarily a dragon's nature.
A human showing affection and training them, could achieve results to some extent, but there was never something like complete certainty. Even dragons that should have been domesticated for a long time nested feelings within. In reality, they were not so sure about their intelligence, after being tricked by humans who've set up elaborate traps of, for example, pitfalls and collapsing walls.
But as far as he knew, among these dragons, Orba had never seen a time when Ran's orders didn't seem effective. And she didn't use a whip or lure them with bait. Ran only blew them a low whistle and they stood in line like orderly trained soldiers, carrying their huge bodies one by one into the direction of Ran's beckoning hand.
But, there seemed to be individual differences among them.
"Orba. Help me out without just looking."
With slightly irritated words, Ran folded her arms near one medium-sized Baian dragon. Having dropped its waist in the corner of the cage, it didn't seem to try to move at all. Although Orba didn't think it was his place to blame him for ignoring Ran's orders, as he turned to the corner, it looked like it wasn't going to head the other way no matter what happened.
"What should I do? Tie a chain around its neck?"
A tranquilizing gun had hardly any effect on a Baian. However, it took a lot of manpower to pull it by the chains. The medium-sized Baian was quite short compared to a Sozos, but its shoulders were still at about the same height as the head of a grown man. It was about three metres long, and the rugged hide of its body was much like armour to the touch. Small angular comb-like scales sprang up in a line, giving it the appearance of an atrocious lizard.
"You should get on, Orba."
"What do you mean?"
Orba was taken by surprise. It wasn't like there weren't any gladiator games where they rode atop Baians, but it took great pains to put someone who was not familiar with it on a Baian's back. In short, you just didn't know when the dragon was going to shake you off and trample you underneath, and in the meantime you had to try and kill your opponent. It was intended to entertain the audience with the thrill of the situation but, without magic or the efficacy of drugs, it was impossible to handle the heavy tank-like Baians.
"Dragons are different from beasts. Even if they're degenerated, dragons have a dragon's intellect. Humans simply cannot understand it. But you'll be fine, Orba. They've surely opened their hearts."
When the girl's lips started to come apart, she spoke as if she was singing. However, because of the contents, virtually ordering Orba to 'die', it was incomprehensible even for a gladiator. But, as aforementioned, the truth was that he'd never seen someone more skilled in handling dragons than her. Besides, if he saw her characteristic defenseless smile, for some mysterious reason he was willing to believe any outrageous thing she said.
Orba slowly approached the Baian. The dragon started kicking his hind legs onto the floor, raising a single growl and pulling its tongue, which was split in two, in and out restlessly, as he looked down at Orba with eyes similar to glass beads.
Orba instantly gathered his courage. As he moved aside, he transmitted it to his legs and jumped towards its back. In an instant, he landed on the dragon's backside. To avoid being thrown off, Orba swung both his arms around the thick neck. Although unexpectedly, it seemed almost as if the dragon's hot blood got transmitted when he touched it, and Orba naturally didn't know whether or not there was a change to the dragon's mindset. However, the Baian sluggishly came to its feet, and started walking to the place guided by the young woman.
"This child was born only half a year ago, " Hou Ran said as she led the beast."Even after half a year, its body is no longer outsized by an adult's. However, they're still children at heart. Even so, among animal trainers, there are those who can't see the distinction."
The four Baians were put into a new cage with a pulley. That cage could be pulled by either two Sozos's or a single Houban. But, because Sozos's were considered to be unpredictable – although Hou Ran said the Baian dragons were actually the most capricious variety because it was impossible to perfectly suppress one – they would spend the journey in a cage.
So, as everyone was pressed for a hurry on the preparations, when it was only one hour before departure, small-sized dragons suddenly rushed into the parade grounds.
They were three Tengo's in a row. They were even one size smaller than the Baians and, because of their maneuverability in tight turns, often used on the battlefield instead of horses. Their big heads resembled that of a bird's, its long neck nearly bent to the ground, and it bounced about running on two thin legs.
When the dragons suddenly made their stop, the lead dragonrider, nearly sent flying by the force, tumbled off.
"S-Shit, that's why dragons—"
The man, spitting out sand that seemed to have entered his mouth, had his plump body covered with a purple robe. Judging from his appearance, he looked like a wealthy merchant making easy money. The two figures behind him, also sitting on their respective dragons, quickly got down and lent a hand to the man who seemed to be their employer as Hou Ran ran over to their position.
The front Tengo had bent its legs and was crouched down. It had probably been overworked, as white vomit came from its mouth. Ran was about to stroke the back of its neck when,
"Don't come any closer to His Excellency, slave!"
There was the single blow of a whip. Although Ran immediately tried to jump back, she fell and skimmed her ankle. Ran didn't run however, but glared at the armed soldier right in front of her. He was still a young soldier, and when he noticed Ran's hair and skin, he got an even more furious expression.
"The tribe worshipping the Dragon God, huh? Damn impertinent savages..."
The tendency to look down on the nomads, who held no fixed territory, as an uncivilized people was strong in all lands. In that sense, as was the same for Orba's case, Tarkas was thoroughly pragmatic.
The soldier once more brandished his whip.
But soon after, he raised a low groan and became rigid. Orba's hand came from the side, grasped his wrist, and twisted it upwards. As he writhed in pain, bending his spine, he got kicked forward.
"I do not know where your 'Excellency' is, but we have our own ways here. If you say you hate having to mingle with the likes of slaves, you shouldn't purposely set foot in a slave den. Please make your leave."
He snatched away the soldier's whip, and struck it to the ground.
"D-Do you bloody know your place!?"
The soldier was about to stand up and unsheathe the sword at his hip when,
"Wait! Wait, Orba!"
Tarkas was running up to them from behind. It took all his strength to spur on his stout body, which was evenly matched with that of the robed man.
"Y-You, utter moron! Basically, you're not even supposed to speak out of turn. Hurry and get back to your preparations!!... Ohh, Fedom-sama, if there's been any discourtesy, I humbly ask for forgiveness. Especially considering you've directly come to visit such a squalid place like this, I think—"
"Ahh, at ease. You don't have to bow, Tarkas, " the robed man said, as he rubbed his hands and proceeded to shake hands with the slave trader."I have business with this man here. Orba? Yes, it was Orba. You."
He pointed his finger at the mask Orba, who was about to leave supporting Ran's shoulder, was wearing.
Naturally, Tarkas was taken by surprise, but so was Orba himself. In the first place, it was quite rare for a person from the outside world to refer to a sword-slave by name.
Orba stopped in his tracks. When he tried to recall where he'd heard the name Fedom before, the face got bizarrely distorted, as it didn't resemble the face of any person Orba had seen until now. Only much later did he notice that it was a smile, stifling the usual scorn for slaves as if to guess his overall mood.
At that time, he forgot all about that strange expression, for he started speaking unexpected words directed at Orba.
"Do you remember me? No, you may not remember it. At the time, you were hardly even conscious. I'm a council member of the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius, the Lord of Birac. I'm also acting as the head of the Gladiator's Guild, and I'm the one who made you wear that mask."
It was the first time he'd entered Tarkas' office without the owner himself present. But of course, he didn't care about something like that. Above all, Orba's devouring eyes were staring at the man before him – the one who called himself Fedom, a leading Mephian aristocrat.
"What's with those eyes? It looks like you'd immediately draw a sword and cut off my head, if you had one."
I could even strangle you to death barehanded, Orba thought, but of course he didn't say those words out loud. Next to Fedom stood a boy who might be a page, a pallid-faced houseboy-like youth, and a soldier who was the only one armed. It would be really careless.
"Even if you bear a grudge against me, it's like you're barking up the wrong tree. It is not on my behalf that you were imprisoned, but because of your own crimes."
"Then..."
It was the first time Orba opened his mouth since this man had called out his name.
"Why did you make me wear this mask? Is this what you nobles call fun? Doesn't it matter how much I suffer, because I'm just a slave!?"
"Mind your words, you!" the soldier angrily shouted.
But Fedom said, "I don't mind."
"I do not have the liberty to play around with slaves who aren't certain of their tomorrows, " he continued."However... Just because your days were uncertain, yes, how admirable it is that you survived to this day. Back then, you were nothing more than a child. Having survived as a gladiator for two years... can it be called luck? No. Rather than something like luck, this is, as you explained so well – the golden mean of fate[1], that's said to have decided all humans' lives from the instant of the universe's creation, right?"
He turned his head to the youth behind him. The young man gave a thin smile and slightly stroked his chin. Although, in a sense, it was more disrespectful than Orba's attitude among the Mephian nobility, Fedom showed no signs that he was bothered by it.
"Besides, you were practically a child at the time, but your physique has also gotten considerably more adult-like in these two years. You wouldn't be the same person if it weren't for the mask... Hmph, the timing's a bit off, though. Give it another year and your body would've developed more and more, but it could also have ended up badly."
Of course, Orba had absolutely no idea what this man was talking about. Fedom was talking as if he'd met up with an old friend he'd missed, while it had been a curse for Orba, so to speak, due to the mask always separating his face and the outside with iron during those two years, in which it had continued to fiercely smoulder his face for a period of time.
He'd floundered about, stained with blood because he'd tried to pry off the mask with his nails, and broke the ankles where the chain connected his feet because of his struggles. And each time, Orba had cursed everything for the fate he had lost, and the fate he had gotten in return.
Indeed, for two years that mask had been with Orba, who had yet to accept the hardships and deaths, and it had become the very symbol of his determination to take back that what was bereft of him from the same hand that took his mother, brother, and Alice.
And then, suddenly an unfamiliar noble came before him, saying he's the one that made him wear it. It was as Fedom said. If he'd had a sword at hand... No, it could be a sword or a dagger, or just a very heavy vase – anything nearby that could be used to kill. The instant Fedom showed an opening, he would've jumped up and smashed it into the man's face. Of course, even now, it still wasn't too late for that.
But, whether or not Fedom knew about Orba's potential double suicide, the man continued to stall.
"Very well, Orba. I'll take off that mask, right here in this place."
"What?"
"And that's not all. From now on, you will also be released from your status as a slave. There's no longer the need for you to pick up a sword and kill. However, this doesn't mean you'll be a free man. It's simple. These are the conditions. In just a little while from now, Tarkas will leave you in my custody. But it's no more than that."
"Wait."
"And during that time, you don't go against my words and do as I say. There's no need to be afraid. It's much easier than being among slaves and killing each other. You will only obey me like a puppet. However—"
"Wait!"
Orba unintentionally let a shout escape his mouth. He shook his head in irritation before the tongue-tied Fedom in front of him.
"If you are the one who made me wear this mask, why do you now suddenly come to remove it? And why would you free me from slavery if I still have to follow your orders? Just what kind of joke is this!? What's the reason you suddenly want to remove my mask here and now? How come you made me wear it in the first place? You bastards so easily manipulated a person's fate to your own whimsical satisfactions. Just how much more entertainment do you seek!?"
While he was uninterested in the words themselves, probably because he couldn't grasp how much anguish had been included in that two-year period, Fedom shrank away, startled. He changed places with the soldier, who stepped forward to protect his master. Orba was glaring at Fedom's figure over the soldier's shoulder, as a sharp glint lit up in his eyes behind the mask.
"What do you intend to do by taking off the mask, freeing me from being a slave, and buying me over? Are you raising some sort of child assassins!?"
"W-Wait. Wait, I tell you."
This time it was Fedom's turn to take over control. Hidden behind the soldier's back, he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"I understand. However, we do not have enough time and this isn't the place. Would it be better if I tell you that you'll be killed if you don't follow my orders?"
"Then you'd better hurry up and start talking. About what you intend to do with me."
The soldier's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Even though it was just an unarmed person in front of him, it looked like he was facing a carnivorous animal with those glistening, golden eyes glaring at him.
Noble and slave. Basically, the two weren't even supposed to meet eye to eye, but the air of intimidation that reversed these positions between them was gradually occupying the room. Then,
"Fine, just wait a bit."
The student-like youth cut into the conversation. He took one step forward, standing between Orba and Fedom.
"This is not an extremely complicated story. But to explain it from the beginning, surely takes precious time. What should I do in order to try and convince him first? Can I start by taking off the mask?"
"Once it is removed it cannot be used again, " Fedom said unhappily."If this guy says he won't obey afterwards, any leverage but killing him disappears."
"There's any number of ways in doing this. I'd like you to have faith in me."
While he heard the strange exchange between the two, Orba noticed that the man, who looked like a youth, actually carried a considerable age. He had a somewhat hoarse voice, and his hair was mixed with white.
"I understand, Hermann. Go ahead."
Receiving Fedom's permission, the man called Hermann headed over to Orba's side. Orba backed off by reflex and got surprised when he felt the man's fingers fix closely on his mask.
Orba was able to ascertain the distance of his own sword and spear, and also instantly gauge his opponent's attacking range. That was the talent Orba also had two years ago, and what made him live that long.
And yet, Hermann had quietly and easily been able to creep up to his chest.
"Don't be afraid, " Hermann said with a grin. Having applied his fingers to the mask, he came even closer to his face.
"That mask does not come off even with superhuman strength. Also, there's no such thing as a key to take it off. But I guess you know that best yourself after these two years, right?"
Orba doubted whether the one wearing the mask wasn't Hermann instead. Was it because it looked like he'd stuck human skin onto his face and was in fact hiding his true face behind it? The skin was strangely stiff and, depending on the angle of light, he might not look like a young man after all.
But above all, it was those two eyes gazing his way. Unlike his facial expression, only the eyes gave a sharp light similar to that of a sword. The man resembled none of the many formidable opponents Orba had been confronted with, but he was struck with fear that surpassed all of them.
"Don't touch me, " Orba said shivering, he did not want to admit to himself that he'd lost his fangs."Besides, if you don't have a key, how are you going to remove the mask?"
"The key was just something I made up. I told you not to be afraid. Now, after two years, I'm going to release you."
Before Orba could retort, there were signs of fingers wriggling and touching. It seemed to come from within Orba's own body.
A fierce sound rang out. It sounded as if the world itself had started to crack, as Orba's mask began to move. As he realized he felt no lingering feeling for being together these two years, while it slowly moved from the sides, it suddenly dropped down. It fell with a strangely sweet, clattering sound on the floor. Unable to move after that, Orba gently stroked his cheeks.
It was a dazzling feeling, giving no sound and he immediately covered his eyes with his hand. Although it felt like Hermann had used some kind of magical attack, truthfully, he already knew the answer. In some way, this was more shocking to him than someone aiming for his life at short range, which caused his body to shudder.
Orba – widely recognized as a top-class swordsman who, once he picked up a sword, was not afraid of anything, - got irritated with himself that he was now getting frightened like a child, and slowly opened his eyes.
There was the figure of Fedom standing stock still. No, it wasn't only him. The soldier present and the page boy too, were staring blankly with their mouths open. They didn't move a single muscle.
Then, suddenly the young soldier stirred. It looked like he had come back to his senses, when he suddenly kneeled down on the floor.
"C-Crown Prince!?" the young man said in a shivering voice."This... e-excuse me for my rudeness. I didn't know you were the prince at first. Please, I beg you for forgiveness!"
"Impossible, " Fedom said. His fat body was trembling all over."It's impossible! But... but, Hermann. He didn't look nearly as much alike before. Even taking two years into account, I never expected a mirror-image like this..."
"That's why it's called sorcery, " Hermann laughed with a muffled voice."Didn't I tell you? With luck at your side, this man will certainly become of use to the master."
For a while, all sound ceased to come out of anyone's mouth.
Orba had clearly lost awareness of his voice and body. He was timidly touching his flesh-and-blood cheeks. There was no touch of iron. That hard, cold mask was completely absent and replaced by a warm and tender skin. Half in a daze, Orba wondered whether this all might just be a dream.
"Do you want a mirror?"
The only calm one, Hermann, indiscreetly fumbled through Tarkas's desk, took out a hand-mirror and tossed it over at Orba. As he caught it in his hands, Orba looked at it with bated breath.
A pale faced, slim-eyed man was staring back at him. These two years, whenever he looked into a mirror, only that iron mask mimicking a tiger appeared before him. He initially felt that there was no mistaking this as real, but soon, Orba had a certain uncomfortable feeling that obstructed his happiness.
It was definitely his own face. And yet, something was different. While his eyes, nose, and mouth had surely remained the same, he had a suspicion that certain subtle angles had changed.
Two years had passed. Was it possible he'd forgotten about his own face?
No... but he didn't know the reason for this. After all, he had a feeling that his eyes were strangely sharp compared to before, his lips had become a little bit thin, and his nose seemed to have gotten slightly bigger.
"Well then."
Fedom awkwardly and abruptly broke the silence that was flowing so far.
"If it's like this, your intentions will no longer pose a problem. It looks like you were decided on two years ago. By some power of the gods, demons, the Dragon God of old, or maybe even an existence we don't know the name of. Without it, you could never be so much alike."
The moment Orba felt like asking what he was talking about, Fedom immediately made a declaration.
"You are already no longer this Orba. Of course, you're also no longer some sword-slave. From the moment the mask was removed, you were born anew as a different person. What's more, you're not even a common man one might find anywhere, either. Got it? From today on, you've graciously become the one known as the heir to the throne of the Imperial Dynasty of Mephius, Gil Mephius!"
Part 2
Fedom immediately took Orba out of Tarkas's sword-slave training grounds. Because it was carried out so quickly, for a while, it didn't even look like he was released from sword-slavery. It looked like they had come to their agreement without informing Tarkas about it.
Because Orba obviously didn't think that his sword slave hell would suddenly end like this, he didn't actually experience it like that. More than that, he truly didn't know in whose hands he'd ended up and whose intentions for the future he was going to roll into – as had always been the case from his childhood until now.
Fedom held several mansions here and there in Mephian territory. Although he brought Orba to one of them, for some reason he had been instructed to cover his face with a mantle in the meantime.
Fedom led Orba to a room with a carpet spread all over, locked the door, and told him he was finally allowed to take off the mantle. The soldier and the page who'd also come to the training grounds were the only others in the room. That magician named Hermann had vanished.
After he took off the mantle, everyone present was once again closely peering onto his face.
"No matter how many times I see... this. I feel like someone is playing tricks on my mind. As if you're actually Mephius's imperial prince Gil, and testing me out."
"I'm the one who doesn't get this shit! Mephius's imperial prince!? Just what the heck are you saying? Speak so that a gladiator like me will understand!"
Orba was getting considerably irritated. Not taking any offence from his insolent way of speaking, Fedom nodded his head.
"Naturally, " he said, and started from the beginning.
The tale went back to two years ago. From the day Orba got imprisoned.
Fedom, who was the Lord of Birac, originally wouldn't hear anything of the report when Orba was arrested because he was only a petty criminal, but for some reason he received an urgent message from the city guards.
But when he spared the figure of Orba lying down in his cell a single look, he couldn't help but raise a surprised voice.
"You truly looked a lot like the crown prince of Mephius."
Fedom thought on it for a while. Even at the best of times, the crown prince was rumoured for his eccentric mannerism. Although no one would truly believe the prince would appear in the arena as a gladiator, doubts on his bloodline could sully the imperial family's dignity and at most pose a problem in the distant future, which in turn could question Fedom's loyalty.
So he'd decided on concealing Orba's face. Which is why he'd made him wear that particular mask.
Of course, Orba believed that wasn't all there was to it. Although he was surprised to hear he resembled the crown prince, it seemed a little exaggerated to request the assistance of a magician.
The pain that had seemed to completely burn his face with flames. The out-of-place feeling he had of himself when he touched his face after removing the mask. Hadn't they taken all of those things into account from the very start?
His entire body once again seething with anger, Orba pretended to be calm.
"I understand the reason for having to wear the mask. So, what's the reason you took it off?"
"It's as I said earlier."
"Become the prince? Do you mean to make me a body double?"
"Oh? It looks like you're thinking correctly. It's just like that. If you're this similar to the prince, you should be able to serve the nation simply because of that. I think you should be honoured. Moreover, it'll all be in exchange for your release from slavery – and for your freedom. There's certainly nothing more to tell you than that."
"Isn't Mephius supposed to sign peace with Garbera? Is another war about to happen?"
"A body double isn't someone only useful on the battlefield. But if you know of the peace, do you also know about the prince's wedding?"
"It's because I was one of the sword-slaves."
"Well, now you will proceed to Seirin Valley for a different matter."
Fedom explained that there seemed to be many people in and out of the country who weren't at ease with the wedding. By any chance, it might be possible that someone would try to interfere with the wedding by deliberately causing a commotion, and some of them might intend to assassinate the crown prince or the Garberan princess.
"The likelihood that the danger may reach the prince's person is high. Naturally, we intend to carry out a flawless guard unit. However, because we wanted to build a mutual allied relationship as quickly as possible, we settled on this marriage in a hurry. We've decided to use you as an insurance if it turns out to be the worst case scenario."
Orba spent a little time thinking. It seemed he had now been placed in this position on a very short notice. The wedding was in three days. Having only been a gladiator just a while ago, he had to act as a prince within three days' time.
What a bullshit story!
Although he wanted to refuse, for the story didn't seem to hold any grounds, if it was true that most of the currently mentioned circumstances were highly classified state secrets, it could already be a life-threatening matter for Orba. If he refused, it meant death.
Earlier, Orba had already bantered with threatening words, but his opponent had not been deterred. Sweat was vaguely forming on the skin of his face that was exposed to the air for the first time in two years. Up until now, it had been different from a gladiator match. This was not an opponent he could win against by fighting. That was the situation right now.
The prince of Mephius, huh... ?
A fleeting thought popped into his head. His heart was throbbing violently on the other side of his thick chest. Orba sucked in a small breath, and once again kept up a calm outward appearance as he enquired,
"If I have to take up being a double – for how long should I have to act like the prince? And what of the part at the end of the marriage ceremony?"
"Why? Do you wish to skip to that part so fast?" Fedom said, laughing satisfactorily."Needless to say, you can't afford to get sneaked into the princess's bed at the bridal night. You will have to keep it up until we judge it's been enough. It won't be for such a long time."
"Let me ask one more thing."
"What is it? Speak up."
"Where's the guarantee that you won't kill me when this business is over?"
"What?"
"If it turns out that you used a body double for a wedding between members of royalty, we can assume that it'll scar Garbera's pride and war might spread once more. Even the most insignificant person who knows about the body double can compromise the story. But they say dead men tell no tales, right?"
Orba gave a glance to the soldier and the page inside the room. The page-like boy already had a pale face, but the soldier too showed signs of shivering. Fedom clicked his tongue, his good mood taking a full turnaround.
"You're just a slave, and yet you intend to strike a deal with me? There's no need to worry about such unnecessary things. But you're right, one might act as you say. Obviously, it's out of the question to let you go because you share the prince's face. However, and I say this because it does not contradict with what I said earlier, a body double isn't useful only at the time of the wedding ceremony, right? Although there will usually be some inconveniences that may give reason for you to cover your face, I intend to let you spend a decent life as a person of my protégé."
Orba sank into silence for a while again. His face resembled the crown prince so closely that it had surprised even this Fedom. So surely that hadn't been part of his original plan. But of course, that would in no way lead to a perfect guarantee for everything.
"I understand, " Orba said, giving his consent."It's a deal. Those aren't bad conditions. However, I don't have the confidence anyone will be able to make me memorize the gestures appropriate for a crown prince."
"It's a deal then, from what I can tell. The negotiations are complete."
Giving a smile, Fedom left his seat, as if he didn't even come here to stand in place and stare at the fruits of his labour.
"Come over. That's why I brought my page Dinn, who will, for starters, teach you the necessary etiquettes in the meantime."
A hectic period of time passed for Orba in the three days after that. He did not have to clean the lodgings, look after the dragons, practice his sword, or be occupied with other work that wore down his mind and body. At the beginning, he assumed the only correction needed was to simply set his posture straight. To throw out his chest, straighten his back, and pull in his chin. But he also had to familiarize himself with a new manner of walking.
The page, Dinn, did not only sport charming features but also demonstrated his skills as an excellent trainer, as he gave Orba strict step-by-step orders in succession.
Using parts of his mind he usually did not use, he'd honestly gotten so exhausted that he was short for breath, but another type of training was waiting for him immediately after.
Dinn took out a hand-mirror. When Orba asked what was next, the boy handed him the mirror and said,
"How to laugh, " while giving him a smile of his own.
That congested schedule, within three days, didn't seem to spare any time for him to rest his mind. While Orba never expected to suddenly become a crown prince – it felt just like a ridiculous notion, every time he happened to think of how he'd been thrown into this altogether – it reminded Orba of his time as a sword-slave.
I've lived through these two years for what? I've been ordered like a stupid dog to risk my life, have other people killed, and for what?
He continued to throw in the firewood to keep the blue will-of-the-wisp flame burning in the back of his heart.
If I run away from here, I'll be killed immediately, or at best be doubled back as a sword-slave.
It was hard to take notice of, because it had all happened so suddenly, but there was at least one bright side. And if even a single light shone into his life, for Orba had been walking and fumbling through the darkness all this time, it was unmistakably a sign of progress within this current drastic change in environment.
These past two years, he'd nearly lost himself amongst the blood, vomit, spinal fluids, and entrails, knowing that he couldn't reach somewhere quiet. But there was no way he would stop reaching out his hand, even though what he aimed to take hold of was almost equal to trying to reach heaven.
At least, that was what Orba himself believed. And so, he continued to obediently receive the boy's education.
When the sun set, although Dinn also instructed him to, he immersed himself in a tub of hot water and cleansed his body. He could stretch out his body as much as he wanted, and they cut a huge amount of his black unkempt hair that was bound on his back. They also shaved his face with a razor, and when he rose from the tub afterwards, fine linen underwear, a silk tunic, and velvet trousers were prepared for him.
To sleep in, he received a bed with so much space that he had room to spare, even if he excessively spread both his arms and legs. The bed reminded him of the touch of the fair-skinned women he'd spent several times with at night when he'd still been the leader of the boys.
Where am I?
While drowsily wandering between sleep and waking, Orba suddenly heard his own voice within himself.
Brother... I can't sleep.
Take hold of my hand...
Brother...
Seirin Valley – the land where it was said they first set foot on this planet from the Space Immigrant Ship. It was a story from the mythological age, more than five hundred years ago. When you heard the tale, it indeed seemed a sacred, although quite exaggerated, plot of land, but there were virtually dozens of places with similar legends spread all over the world.
The valley lay in a secluded part to the south. Hollowed into the cliffs was a small palace built of wood and marble. There were shallow reliefs displayed on the passage walls that showed the many legendary events that had occurred from the time of the space ship's 'holy descent' up to the founding of Mephius. Because they were decorated with many types of jewels, shadows wriggled to and fro whenever it was lit up by the fire from the iron braziers, making it look like it was alive and breathing.
And, the spacious open hall that lay even deeper inside had gathered a huge crowd of ladies and gentlemen. Although it was inside of the cliff, there was plenty of light, and the sparkling lights of hoisted glass scattered all over the place.
A group of master musicians had taken up place in the corner and played various songs, from old-style up to the currently popular high-tempo music, depending on the request. Several people began to improvise their dancing, and the laughter here and there didn't cease.
"Prince, " someone called out to him.
"Your Highness, congratulations."
"Prince Gil!"
"Congratulations on your wedding."
All the people mingled together, although they called him 'Your Highness' or 'Prince Gil', and greeted him with smiles. Orba did exactly what he was taught when he was faced with them, giving a generous smile and slightly raising his hand in response.
Fedom was walking perfectly close to Orba.
"Listen, Orba, " Fedom had said that morning, when he came to pick up Orba by coach. A tense air of a warrior ready to fight a battle to the death drifted around him.
"Naturally, the people attending the party from the Garberan side, but even those from Mephian side, have not been informed about your true identity. After all, I don't know from where such information might get leaked. But the behaviour and such of the imperial family is not something you can master within three days or so after all. You don't do anything. You don't think anything. You don't look at anything. You move when I tell you to and talk when I tell you to. That's all. Understand?"
Despite all, he felt like his body was in no way accustomed to his manner of walking. It felt to him as if it was hard to walk, even compared to having his feet in chains.
Above all, it was the people – the many people. They were dressed in such fine clothes his eyes were spinning, and not a single one was ignoring Orba. The ones that were nearby bowed, expressed their gratitude, or approached him with raised hands. And they all smiled, mouthing the word 'congratulations'.
The ones in the distance pointed at Orba. Huddling together and chatting amongst each other as they stared at him.
No – it wasn't about Orba. The person they saw in their eyes and greeted with their voice was not Orba. He understood as much. Although he'd known this for no more than three days, he still found it impossible to imagine himself as the crown prince.
Orba suddenly forgot even how to walk and was hardly able to return his greetings to one of his retainers. However, they only passed it off as a charming sight, apparently thinking the tension was caused because he was about to have his first meeting with his bride.
"Throw your chest out a little more, " Fedom obstinately whispered into his ear."Aren't you a gladiator? How can you be scared of a place like this?"
He wanted to call him a shithead, but could not, and the more he became aware of his awkward manner of walking, the more his face continued to cramp up. Far from having prince-like behaviour, Orba hadn't even gotten used to his real face after removing the iron mask.
He quickly turned his look to the table where there was so much food lined up that, no matter how many people were in this hall, they definitely wouldn't be able to eat it all. To make matters worse, not a single plate was left empty, for if even a single empty plate stood out, it immediately got replaced by one fully loaded with cuisine.
If he would reach out to take an armful, it would probably be worth more than a sword-slave's yearly amount of food. When he was a child, he wasn't able to see the shining colourful fruits hanging from the eaves, or have the fragrant aroma of grilled meat stimulating his appetite, unless they'd finished a very big job. But although it was only a small amount, even that was nothing compared to the mountain of high-priced foods piled up before him.
Were the ones who eat these things every day the ones that burned down my village?
Even thinking of it now, he couldn't help but remember, as the Mephian noble families were carved in his heart as the target for his hatred for a long time,
Our people were just able to manage our harvest for the year, but they took away the small amount of provisions we had left in stock, burned it down, and also went ahead and killed people...
Orba tightly clenched his fist underneath the long sleeves of his ceremonial clothes.
With proud faces they claim that something like this wasted amount of eating, drinking, dancing, and laughing is civilization and the noble way of life. They're looking down on my people, laughing at us.
You can all drop dead!
You sons of bitches are man-eating barbarians. I'm going to set this place on fire. You can roast in the flames for all I care! I'll praise you for your noble pride if you can still laugh while your limbs are being devoured!
A wave of anger passed over for a while, but immediately after the fever got to a high, only coldness remained.
Not yet.
Orba struggled to put a smile on his face as he arduously gritted his molars. He would eventually roast and kill them, but right here right now was not the time or place to make his move.
Right now, Orba couldn't do anything. This situation of Fedom using him here as the prince's body double happened so fast, but someday he'd eventually find an opportunity. Until then, in a sense to conserve his strength and as a means to obtain information, he had to do what Fedom told him to...
Then, it got noisier around him, and Orba, understanding from experience that the atmosphere in the hall had changed, also raised his head. Up to now, the wind of their gazes had been blowing only against Orba, but now there was a crack in the lid. *
A single girl made her appearance at the other side of the hall, and naturally she also attracted Orba's eyes. Accompanied by an older woman, she gracefully came walking in with her pale face bent down.
"The third princess of Garbera, " Fedom whispered.
Although Orba had expected this, he still couldn't hide his surprise.
Isn't she still just a kid?
Those were the honest thoughts Orba had. Even the arms coming out of her sleeves were thin, but although it seemed like he was likely to break them off if he only grabbed them, for some reason she didn't give off a frail impression at all. He even felt the breathtaking dignity, with her spine straightened up and her long hair swaying faintly along her figure as she walked.
The dress that she held up at the hem had hardly any exquisite embroidery or decorations, but the lack of articles did not hinder or make it plain. The pure white silk material actually emphasized even more of the purity of her youthful and innocent beauty, and her womanly sensuality.
"Princess Vileena Owell. Indeed, she's currently your fiancée. Go and greet her soon. Don't be coarse, but do not abase yourself either. You're the prince of Mephius after all."
Part 3
Pulling back the hands of time a bit, there was Garbera's Third Princess Vileena Owell on the other side.
As she headed along the passage through the cliffs, the same as with Orba, many different people were directing their gazes at her. There were some among them who gave deep lamenting sighs. Vileena, who was almost girlishly indifferent to them, was lending her ears to the music that the musicians played as she walked the way leading up to the hall.
"Well, I suppose they show at least some signs of civilization, " Theresia, walking next to her, said as she bowed her head in assent.
Feeling the same, Vileena also slightly tucked her jaw and nodded slightly. And then, she added with an afterthought,
"But, princess. Please be discreet with what you say. At most, call them something like 'troglodyte apes bearing wisdom' or 'remnants of ogres that love to kill each other'."
"As long as Theresia's close to me, " Vileena laughed, "If it's Mephius, a remote snowfield, or anywhere, I'll surely never get bored."
Theresia, who had been close to her since she was born, had always acted as her guardian. Although her hair was beginning to get mixed with white, if she was in high spirits, she could also use these kinds of dangerous jokes.
When they entered the hall, Vileena gave a tactful smile as several nobles of the Mephius Empire approached in order to greet her, and Theresia took an obligatory step backward, nestling up behind her mistress.
Although it was of course not the first time for her to exchange words with the Mephian nobility, it had always been of a belligerent nature. So the shallow manner at which they forcibly put on the air of cultured people sickened her. When the nobles took their leave, Vileena lethargically relaxed her shoulders.
"Even so, they seem to want strangely traditional types for their women. When the first delegation that did the marriage proposal mentioned my pleasure in riding airships, their eyes all became, well, big and round. In Mephius, they're not allowed to ride horses or dragons, and it seems women can't wear clothes that don't cover their legs either."
"Well, then I'm sure the princess looks quite manly to them. I feel sorry for your partner, Prince Gil of Mephius. They value 'pride and history' among the imperial family, but they must accept that Garbera's tomboy princess – the person who will stand next to the heir of their imperial throne – must be made an empress of all people."
"It's mutual, we're two of a kind, " Vileena said, giving a laugh that held no joy, as she fixed her hair ornament with her hand."I may be such a manly tomboy, but the partner I have to keep company is the first prince Gil Mephius, of the Mephius Empire. I have never heard a single good word about him. Even though their delegation spoke well of him, trying to glorify their prince with frantic flattery, it was nothing but a pitiable sight. Because whatever they said sounded hypocritical to the ears, and because it looked like they didn't believe any of it themselves."
Gil Mephius. Although now a youth of seventeen, he was the first heir to the imperial throne, slated to take over the Mephius Empire. This person, who she'd only seen on portraits, was to be Vileena's husband.
They would meet face to face for the first time now. And the next day, in accordance to the Mephian customs, the marriage ritual would be held on the altar atop the valley. Then, on the third day, they would head for the imperial capital of Mephius, where a grand reception was going to be held.
It wasn't only the marriage that would be consummated. More importantly, with this, the peace and alliance between Mephius and Garbera would be established. The battles that had been flourishing over the span of ten years would finally come to an end.
Of course, even Vileena longed for that, but there weren't any good rumours at all relating to the imperial prince that would be her partner. They said he was a coward, not even close to his father – the current emperor, Guhl Mephius – that he hung around with his young friends, partying about night after night, and that he exhibited some eccentric habits.
"They say he's a fool, " Vileena had declared in front of her father when he'd told her about the engagement.
Originally, a man named Ryucown was to be her fiancé. He was a general with an air carrier under his command. He had dauntless courage and was given credit for performing a most distinguished service in the war against Mephius. And so, his betrothal with the third princess Vileena had been decided during the times of war.
Vileena had also met the person in question. Although, frankly, their first encounter was something so dramatic that even now it was talked about in the country, she was only nine years old back then. When they met again four years later, when their engagement had been arranged, Vileena did not have a proper impression of what kind of man he was supposed to be.
And so, when they met again, Ryucown was an unbelievably shy person, compared to the fierce success stories from the battlefield. He couldn't think of one story to tell the kingdom's princess, and his smile, as if making a mockery of himself, was awkward. She didn't know whether to like him or to hate him. Only that it seemed a suitable argument that their marriage would be for the sake of the whole nation.
However, for several months the war front had fallen into a stalemate. Mephius and Garbera were secretly making progress on peace negotiations. And only two months ago, they decided on betrothing the Crown Prince Gil and Princess Vileena.
Vileena held mixed feelings about it. For over ten years they'd fought with Mephius, and she knew from experience how much it had exhausted the soldiers and their people. Some citizens and local lords had appealed for a resistance to the bitter end but, although there were also some knights among them, they were a minority.
Vileena's father, Ainn Owell the Second, didn't have Guhl Mephius's bold personality. In front of his daughter, he only said the single word, "Please." Vileena had only replied with, "I accept." But she'd known her mother and Theresia were quietly wiping their tears behind her back.
Then, a few days ago, feeling as though her mind and body were being split apart, she went to her favourite grandfather, Jeorg Owell, to say her goodbyes. The proud, commanding princess, who loved horse-riding and airships, whom he even permitted to handle a gun, and who never compromised, had become like a little child in front of her grandfather. She wanted to be forever lifted onto his lap and lean her body against him, so she could listen to the heroic stories he'd always told her.
However, that had been completely brushed aside, and she had to come to this place.
No, one could say it was good that she could protect the memories of her grandfather like this. It was for her country, for her father, and for her grandfather. For them, she had marched into the enemy territory with the fighting spirit of a knight.
Enemy territory.
Indeed, this was the enemy. Until just recently, this was the country they'd crossed swords with. Vileena was within that enemy's territory.
They had killed many people, some of whom she'd even known by face. And of course the opponent thought much of the same thing, but Vileena was not yet mature enough to let bygones be bygones.
"We've arrived."
When Theresia gently whispered into her ear, Vileena calmed down. There were many people of the Mephian nobility staring in their direction. In the middle, stood a young man, wearing white ceremonial clothes.
"That's Mephius's First Prince, Gil Mephius."
"Yes, " Vileena said.
Her cheeks were womanly pure, but she was still tense.
The other party also seemed to have noticed, and the fat noble at the prince's side whispered something in his ear. After that, he approached them with a nervous look on his face.
At a glance, Prince Gil didn't look like the feeble-minded man the rumours made him out to be. He had a slender face, but it looked like his body figure was unexpectedly sturdy. If he only proudly threw out his chest, he would look like a fearless, handsome man. However,
That attending noble is sticking so close to him, it's almost as if he has to lead him by the hand. Is he still just a kid?
Of course, she didn't have the slightest idea that he just had the same first impression of her. But to make matters worse, the prince didn't seem to be able to calm down. His eyes wandered here, his eyes wandered there, as if he was indeed a lost child looking for his parents.
While Vileena was having her tendency to gaze at the other person as if fully appraising him, she received a stealthy elbow from Theresia, and hurriedly corrected her expression.
The prince halted his feet before Vileena's presence. Vileena lowered her head, as expected of courtesy, and waited for his greeting. However, she clearly heard a single clearing of the throat, and it didn't sound as if it came from the prince. The fat noble from earlier whispered in a low voice again, and it sounded like he instructed him how to greet her.
At such an occasion, it were the lady's manners to pretend not to notice, of course, and at least not to make an embarrassment out of him, when meeting her marriage partner for the first time, and not just with the two of them.
"Pleased to meet you for the first time, Prince, " she said.
Theresia opened her mouth in surprise. Unconcerned, Vileena lightly picked up the hem of her dress with both hands and bowed before him.
"I am the daughter of King Ainn Owell the Second of Garbera, Third Princess Vileena. From here on, I'd love to be better acquainted."
"Ah, yes."
It was the first thing the prince said. And then he hesitantly, and in a small voice, introduced himself, with his words being more faltering than any kind of greeting Vileena had ever heard.
Will this man become my husband?
She had trained her smile, while painstakingly maintaining the slight inclination of her head, extra hard for this day, only to be seen as 'modest'. An anger gushed forth within Vileena's heart.
But on the other hand,
A colour of intense emotions began to flicker in her slightly lowered eyes.
If he's a man like that, I might possibly be able to bend him to my will.
If she was able to manipulate the crown prince, she could eventually be the one pulling the strings in this country.
It's just like grandfather said. This too, is a battle. Without shedding blood, and without taking someone's life.
If it was possible to make him do her will, it might be more profitable to her homeland Garbera than if they'd won the war. Although this was far from a fight with airships or guns, which were her speciality, and she would have to fight in a field that she considered her weak point, Vileena believed that, if she was strongly committed to gain victory, she would certainly find a way.
Although this proved Vileena didn't recognize herself that she would actually be fighting a 'woman's battle', just like she couldn't see the difference between this and a gunfire exchange, at that moment, there was only one emotion burning fiercely within her.
At that time, Theresia, who had been with her since she was a child, was probably the only one who had realized that the meaning behind the smile on Vileena's face had changed. Not knowing the woman who would become his bride hid such frightening ideas within her, Prince Gil of Mephius, still filled with a look of tension, continued talking about irrelevant things.
References and Translation Notes
1. ↑ A made-up term; "mean" as in "ratio" or "percentage"
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