BXBX NOVEL Volume 10, Epilogue
Volume 10, Epilogue
It was ten days since Princess Vileena had flown to Solon by way of Nedain.
Jairus Abigoal had been anticipating a possible shift in the situation, but the Impostor Crown Prince’s troops still maintained their camp in the hills near the city. The first wave of reinforcements from Solon, comprising a thousand soldiers, had recently arrived, but the anticipated additional troop of a thousand five hundred had yet to arrive.
On top of that, Jairus had to maintain a vigilant gaze not only on those outside the city walls, but also on those within. Even he was aware that the massacre at the quarry had stirred up even greater anger and displeasure among the townspeople than usual.
That damn Boyce.
They had only needed to execute one or two of the ringleaders, but his son had struck down every single person who had taken part in the rebellion. To make matters worse, he had forcibly taken a girl of the Badyne faith and had declared that he would make her his wife. Jairus was usually indulgent with his son, but this time, he had been forced to rebuke him.
With these added domestic troubles, Jairus’ patience was just about reaching its limit when, in the early morning, he received a report that the enemy army had started to move.
Jairus and Boyce, father and son, both hurriedly leapt out of bed.
Odyne Lorgo’s troop of a thousand had started advancing while firing their cannon.
“Stupid,” growled Jairus while he got dressed as quickly as he could. “So they’ve finally gotten impatient and made their move.”
It seemed that Odyne wanted to lure them out. They halted and mounted their guns at their furthest possible range. Jairus, however, did not answer the provocation and issued the order to return fire from Nedain’s southwest battery.
The roar of cannon fire resounded from both sides; but the Nedain side, from its hillside position, had the longer range, and the Impostor Crown Prince’s army could not step a single foot forward.
After having fired five or six bombardment rounds, the crown prince’s forces pulled back temporarily, then, less than an hour later, they started again only for things to end in the same way and for them to scatter into small groups.
“The hell, where’s their discipline?” Boyce, clad in full armour, had only just thrown himself onto his horse when he learned of the enemy’s retreat and, wound up as he was, he was baying for blood. “Father, I’ll give chase. I’ll be sure to teach them that they won’t take a step further east than Nedain.”
“No,” Jairus shook his head. “The enemy is baiting us. Once they’ve pulled us in, they’ll spring a trap.”
The Impostor Crown Prince had defeated Folker’s large force. Jairus had no intention of underestimating him. Boyce on the other hand snorted, as though displeased. He could not help but want to repay Odyne in kind for what had happened last time.
However, while on the surface, Odyne’s actions were reckless and foolish, there was of course an underside to them. He was buying time for their detached force, so that the enemy would not get wind of their movements. While Odyne’s troops were hurling cannonballs, a unit of six hundred men was travelling east behind them, along the River Zwimm.
The mountains north of Nedain created a fortification for it. In spite of that, or rather, for that very reason, the troop of six hundred had deliberately chosen to go along the steep mountain trails.
Raymond Peacelow was the one guiding them. He had collected information about every nook and cranny of the mountain’s topography from the villagers who lived there. Well-acquainted with the local terrain and loved by the local people, the task was ideally suited to him.
The troop he was guiding attacked Nedain from the rear in the early afternoon.
They immediately swarmed towards the gates, where, first, they raised their banners; Mephius’ national flags billowed grandly in the clear sky alongside the ones depicting the family crest of their commander. Next, they turned their guns heavenwards and pulled the triggers.
The sound of gunshots overlapped.
When the horrified soldiers in Nedain saw the flags fluttering on the other side of the gates, they were left even more stunned.
“T-That...”
“That’s General Baran’s banner, isn’t it?”
“We’re being attacked by Folker Baran!”
When he received the news, not even Jairus could hide his shock.
“If it’s Folker then...”
Has he changed sides? No, impossible, he’s...
But even if he thought that, the Impostor Crown Prince’s army had, from the start, counted among its ranks the veteran general Rogue, who had served Mephius for many long years, and the straight-laced military man Odyne – people whose betrayal was inconceivable to anyone who knew them.
Maybe that rumour that the false crown prince uses western black magic isn’t a lie after all. The thought flitted through his mind, but anyway, for now they needed to deal with the enemy at their rear.
Meanwhile, the fact that Folker Baran had purposefully revealed himself during the surprise attack was neither out of vanity nor a desire to play fair.
It was a signal.
At the same time as Folker raised his flags, flames also rose throughout the city. Not because of gunfire or shelling from the crown prince’s forces – the ones who had lit those fires were the townspeople of Nedain themselves.
The people had risen in revolt.
This was the living embodiment of all the long preparations that Gil Mephius – or rather, Orba – had made. He had not wasted his time idly remaining in a stand-off. He had gotten some of his subordinates, and men who had been recruited from the villages, to conceal themselves within the city and there, along with gathering information, they had set up the preparations for this uprising. Within the city, anger and distrust against the Abigoal family had naturally been smouldering like live embers. All they had to do was blow on them.
“Down with the Abigoal tyranny!”
“The bastard struts about like an emperor. He acts like Nedain is the whole of Mephius and he’s Emperor Guhl Mephius himself!”
“He thinks that the assets, the harvest, and the lives of the people of this land are all his.”
“If we let him, he’ll squeeze Nedain dry!”
Their voices rose simultaneously, they lifted their weapons overhead and, throughout the city, riots sprung up.
Under their guidance, Nedain’s northern gate was opened from inside. Six hundred cavalrymen, led by Folker Baran, entered through them. Walt, accompanied by a further two hundred infantrymen followed.
The soldiers defending the city hurriedly rushed to intercept them, resulting in a violent clash along the paved streets.
From the houses on either side, the townspeople grabbed bricks, pots, stones, and anything they could catch hold of that could be used as a weapon, and hurled them down from above at the defending soldiers. Trivial as the they were, they were more than effective enough. In no time at all, the Nedain side found itself at a disadvantage.
When Jairus heard about it, he ordered his son Boyce to go and help them. Furthermore, he requested that the soldiers who had come in reinforcement from Solon assist in fending off Folker Baran.
The one leading those soldiers was, aptly enough, a commander of a thousand called Drake, who was the second-in-command to one of the twelve generals.
“We will wait and avoid sending in all of our troops. The enemy intends to attack with its main force as soon as we turn our attention inwards,” he warned Jairus.
In the end, they only sent two hundred soldiers to suppress the riots, while the remainder did not move from their position at the front of Nedain.
Jairus was openly furious, but then one of his retainers, his face turning pale, spoke in a low voice:
“Could it be that that Drake fellow is in league with the Impostor Crown Prince?”
“What! What do you mean?”
According to reports from the soldiers, it seemed that the populace involved in the uprising had been saying that there was some sort of arrangement with the soldiers from Nedain’s side. “Even if soldiers come, don’t be afraid and hold out. Remain patient until that person takes action,” they said.
Hearing that, a thought suddenly occurred to Jairus. For some time now, Drake had been voicing complaints about how his soldiers had been received. According to him, neither the meals nor the alcohol were adequate, and the provisions for weapons and ammunition were insufficient.
Now that the port of Birac had been lost, the number of soldiers gathered in Nedain was more than what that rural town could sustain. Even so, he had several times heard rumours of Drake saying behind his back that the lack of resources was due to Jairus, the fief lord’s, incompetence.
In point of fact, Orba was the one who had arranged for the rumours to be circulated.
However, having witnessed for himself that the ever calm and collected Folker had turned traitor, Jairus could not say for sure that the rumour was merely baseless slander spread by the enemy.
Therefore –
“More enemy troops have arrived from the southwest!”
“The banner is... Crown Prince Gil Mephius!”
– When Odyne’s unit, which was supposed to have been routed, gathered once more with Gil Mephius at its head – in other words, when things developed just as Drake had indicated they would – Jairus did not attribute it to Drake’s penetrating insight, but instead concluded that: the bastard really has double-crossed us.
“Close the gate. The first thing is to concentrate all our forces on Folker and the mob. Hurry and send a call for reinforcements to Solon!”
Jairus’ orders were immediately put into effect. As a result of which, Drake was shut out of Nedain and, unable to oppose the crown prince’s forces head on, this time around, he was the one whose troops dispersed into small groups.
Leading the troops on horseback was Gil Mephius – in other words, Orba. He had broken away from the vanguard and cut down two or three riders from Drake’s unit.
“Don’t be reckless, Your Highness.” Pashir, also on horseback, was sticking close beside him. So close that there was no space even for an arrow to pass between them, and it did not look like he intended to leave the prince’s side for even a moment. “Your health is still...”
“I’m fine. More importantly, move further away. It’s suffocating to have you stick this close to me.”
Despite what Orba said, Pashir was understandably uneasy. After all, it had not even been five days since the assassination attempt in Birac.
Orba had deliberately avoided making any official statement about it. He had allowed the rumour to circulate throughout Birac, but he himself had neither confirmed nor denied it.
It’s obvious that their goal was assassination. But they weren’t intending to use a lethal poison.
And indeed, poisoning left a greater impression than the fear of being attacked head-on, and evoked the image of a powerful personage operating from the shadows. The emperor was afraid that using those kinds of means would further harm the imperial family’s prestige. That he was being careful about such a trivial concern meant that Guhl was aware of how precarious the imperial family’s position – which was to say, his own position – currently was.
Although, with that said, there was a lot about that incident that even Orba did not understand. Even though it was certain that Layla was one of the ringleaders, at the last moment, she had tried to shield the crown prince. After the event, she had been restrained and cross-examined, but what she said never went to the heart of the matter.
Still, this had clearly demonstrated the emperor’s “weakness”.
Orba put off elucidating the truth of the matter and pressed on with the final preparations in Birac. He had received reports that the manoeuvring in Nedain had been completed, which also reinforced his decision to finally move his troops.
Salamand, one of the obstacles that had been preventing Gil from taking action had now been removed.
The ‘wind’ blowing through Mephius had once more grown chaotic. So in order to turn that ‘wind’ in his favour, he needed another military gain.
The princess opened the way. With that thought in his heart, Orba issued a series of orders to Odyne, Folker, and Walt.
And now, when he gauged that not a single one of Drake’s soldiers remained in sight, he yelled –
“Bring out the dragon tank.”
What advanced to the echoing clatter of its wheels was a mechanical dragon. Pulled along by several Baians, the huge construct had towers in which soldiers were riding and rams for battering down gates. Taúlia had used it to attack Apta. From what Orba had later learned, it had been designed by the strategist, Ravan Dol. Once on the receiving end of that weapon, Orba had been given it by Ravan himself when he went to pay a visit to Taúlia.
Sitting astride a small-sized dragon, Hou Ran directed the other dragons and had them ram the huge tank into Nedain’s main gate. The reason they were not using guns to do so was for fear of causing damage within the city.
The gate was smashed through on the second strike. The riflemen riding in the towers then simultaneously opened fire on the area behind the gate. Hearing the succession of gunshots, Orba raised his sword high and shouted,
“Charge!”
As he swung his sword downwards, he felt the firm touch of his chainmail, shaking as though to oppose his movements.
The fighting came to an end before sunset.
With riot after riot occurring throughout the city, Folker’s troops coming from the north, and the crown prince’s attacking from the southwest, even if Nedain’s soldiers had been able to compete in terms of numbers, they still would not have stood a chance.
Although Gil Mephius was at the head of his troops when he ordered the charge, his sword actually barely dipped in blood. In almost a flash, the main force had surrounded the residence of the lord of Nedain, and by the time they met up with Folker’s troops, the Abigoal family had already been captured.
Gil Mephius and his men were greeted with explosive cheers from the townspeople. These were entirely different from the ones they had received in Birac, where the groundwork had been laid in advance and the people had mostly been cheering out of a sense of duty. Here, villagers who had been trampled underfoot by the Abigoal father and son were also mingled among the crowd; and, looking as though they truly believed that things would be better from now on, they wept, embraced one another, and shouted out Prince Gil’s name from the bottom of their lungs.
White smoke was still rising here and there around the city, but the people and Orba’s soldiers were working to extinguish the fires.
Raymond Peacelow was given the honour of riding directly behind Gil Mephius. Showered in acclamations of joy, Raymond was in tears as he rode along.
If only Dolph, the villagers, and all the others could have been here to share this moment – was the thought that would not stop flowing through his mind.
But it was still too soon to allow himself to indulge his sentiments. There was still a mountain of things that Raymond needed to ascertain with his own eyes, hear with his own ears, and set out to accomplish here, within Nedain.
Jairus and Boyce were being held in a room of their residence. They had been discovered by some of Odyne’s soldiers when they had been attempting to escape by the back entrance. In the end, they had been brought back to the mansion surrounded by armed soldiers. However, in a way, that was probably fortunate for them. If even a single one of Nedain’s people had caught sight of them, it would not have been surprising for the two of them to be in the process of being tortured to death right about now.
Louise Peacelow, who had been captured along with them, was also in the room. Her face as white as a sheet of paper, she hung her head and did not speak a single word.
The Abigoal father and son had, for a time, been dispirited by the rapid reversals of their fates. By now however, Boyce Abigoal was lamenting in vain over what could no longer be changed.
“If only you’d given the order to pursue them back then. Because of your indecisiveness, Father, we had to watch ourselves get caught in the enemy’s trap.”
“Shut up, Boyce.” Jairus’ normally well-oiled moustache now clung to the sides of his mouth because of how much he was sweating. “If you say anything more, for all that you’re my own flesh and blood, I won’t let it slide.”
“Let it slide?” Boyce’s sneer was tinged with desperation. “You’re not lord of Nedain anymore. There’s no longer a single soldier for you to give orders to, or a single page to help look after you.”
“You little...”
While the blood-related parent and child were glaring at each other so fiercely that it seemed as though they might come to blows at any moment, Gil Mephius’ arrival was announced.
Taken aback, the two of them stopped moving. The door opened.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” said the young man who entered as he sat down on a chair that a page had gotten ready for him.
Their mouths agape, Jairus and Boyce were unable to decided what attitude to take. They were the commanders of the defeated army, but more importantly, the youth resembled Crown Prince Gil Mephius far more than either of them had been expecting. Even Jairus, who had frequently had the opportunity to meet the real prince at court, was unable to differentiate between the two of them.
Could it be... The thought was apparent on both their faces.
Before either of them could speak, another person entered the room. Without either announcing himself nor greeting the prince, he rudely came barging in, shouting, “Boyce, you bastard!” and suddenly struck Boyce.
Ah! A silent scream rose to Louise’s throat.
Boyce tumbled to the floor. Prince Gil was completely unperturbed by this extremely rude behaviour. Raising his eyebrows slightly, he simply restrained Raymond, who was about to start straddling Boyce, by catching hold of his shoulder.
From above the red-faced and half-astounded Boyce, Raymond, having been stopped, glared. He had stopped by his own mansion on the way and had heard from the servants what Boyce Abigoal had done.
“That was rude,” said Gil, cool and calm to the last, “but it seems my subordinate had good reason to hit you.”
“W-What kind of stupidity is that? If I’m to receive even more shame than that of being taken prisoner, I’d rather fight and die!”
Boyce was not giving in either. As he lifted his large body up, he jabbed a finger towards Raymond’s narrow chest.
The atmosphere surrounding the two gave the impression that they might start trying to kill each other at any moment.
“A duel.” Far from trying to stop anything, Gil came out with something unexpected. “Let’s go with a duel. Apparently they were popular in Garbera in the old days. In a situation in which neither of two people could yield without forfeiting their pride and dignity, they would fight it out with swords in front of witnesses. The winner had the right to give the loser a single order, that could be whatever they wanted. That fine with you, Raymond?”
“I-It’s exactly what I want.”
“Boyce?”
“Fine.”
At that point in time, Boyce was not in a normal frame of mind. He could not come to grips either with the reality of his defeat or with the fact that there was nothing left to hope for from the future.
Thereupon, Gil Mephius drew the sword which was at his own waist.
“Well, standing in for Raymond Peacelow, I, Gil Mephius, will be your opponent. Dinn!”
When he called out, a pageboy brought a sheathed sword to him and was told to hand it to Boyce.
“Y-Your Highness...” Raymond seemed bewildered, but Gil shook his head.
“Just as for a sword dance, there is no shame in having someone stand in for you. I guarantee both your honour and your dignity.”
Boyce wordlessly took the sword. Although at first he had been bewildered, the look in his eyes changed as soon as he had steel in his hand.
Then instead... He burned with the ambition to kill the Impostor Crown Prince.
His father, Jairus, had been thrown into complete confusion and even Louise, not seeming to notice that her brother Raymond was coming to stand beside her, had her astounded gaze glued on the two who were facing off at the centre of the room.
First, they lightly crossed swords.
In that moment, Gil Mephius gave a soundless, scornful laugh.
What’s so funny? His eyes flaring, Boyce suddenly unleashed a killing blow.
Gil soared backwards. He had easily avoided it, but Boyce’s moves did not stop there. He exerted his large build into delivering one heavy-looking blow after another. Gil avoided every one of them, perhaps because his slender body risked being blown away if they crossed swords.
Raymond watched nervously. He could not bear to close his eyes. He was afraid that something that could not be undone would happen to the prince the moment he stopped looking.
“Uwah!”
With a cry, Boyce toppled forward. He had been sidestepped just as he was lunging for his opponent’s chest. He hurriedly turned around, to find the gleaming tip of a sword right at his neck.
“Ten years.” The man who called himself Gil Mephius once again laughed derisively. “Give it ten years, brat. Then come and try again.”
“What!”
Boyce flung back the sword tip at his throat and swiped out with his blade straight in front of him.
Gil again jumped backwards before the sparks had finished flying. Boyce braced his strength in his shoulders, expecting a second attack. At that same moment however, and even though he was supposed to have put distance between them just a moment ago, the gleam of steel drew a straight line from Gil’s right hand.
He had waited for the instant in which Boyce’s sword finished stretching forward.
The blade, broken at its base, pierced through the table. Without giving Boyce the time even to feel surprised, Gil unhesitatingly closed the distance between them and struck Boyce in the torso.
Boyce collapsed, crying out in pain.
Nearby, Jairus, his father, raised his voice in what was almost a shriek, yet Gil’s blade did not glisten with blood.
He had driven the hilt of his sword into the pit of Boyce’s stomach. Just from that, however, Boyce was in a state in which he could not expel a single breath, even though he felt like violently coughing. His back was bent and drool spilled from his open mouth as his body convulsed in spasms.
“My win, I believe.” Gil spoke without a trace of boasting.
He took two or three steps towards Boyce.
“Now then, as the winner of this duel, I have to right to give you an order.”
As he said so, for some reason he stretched out a hand towards Louise, who was standing side-by-side beside her brother.
“Boyce Abigoal, you will take Louise Peacelow, here present, as your wife. On the authority of the imperial family, I order you to get married.”
“Y-Your Highness!”
Gil gave an amused-looking glance towards the horrified Raymond and the startled Louise, whose eyes were open wide.
“Oh? It looks like the winner is the one most displeased with this decision. Well, certainly I was no more than a stand-in for this duel. Having said that, it wouldn’t look good for the imperial family or me to withdraw an order once it’s been given. Now then, what to do, huh...”
Gil pretended to ponder. Be it the Peacelow siblings, Jairus or, naturally, Boyce, who could now only shiver in agony, all of them remained silent, looking as though they had no idea what was going on.
“Right. In that case, my next order is that Boyce Abigoal and Louise get divorced. The two of you will certainly have been tied together in marriage for a time, but that connection will have been severed by order of the imperial family. That way works well.”
Raymond was flabbergasted. He knew perfectly well that Gil Mephius was not someone who simply went around babbling nonsense.
And then, he realised.
As a follower of the Badyne faith, Louise was virtually obliged to marry Boyce, the one who had taken her chastity. Therefore, by having the two of them get married, Gil was allowing her to accomplish that duty before using the power of the imperial family to have them divorce.
Even though it was impossible to so quickly heal the severe injury to Louise Peacelow’s heart, with this at least she would be freed from one predicament.
Before he noticed it, Raymond’s cheeks were once again wet with tears. He embraced his little sister by the shoulders as he hugged her firmly to his chest.
Nedain had fallen.
Two more generals, Folker and Yuriah, had joined the crown prince’s camp.
Just a few days after the news shook Solon, an official messenger from the emperor arrived in Nedain. Unlike previously, in Apta, this messenger met with Gil.
The message he carried from the emperor was enough to astound everyone.
Imperial Crown Prince Gil Mephius was invited to go to Solon.