Chapter 364 |
Argonaut (4)
The one seated there was the Helmeted Knight, yet not the Helmeted Knight Najin knew. Hearing that answer, Najin felt two things at once.
Regret, and relief.
The hope he had nursed, that he might be reunited with his master here, turned to regret. But alongside the regret, relief rose in equal measure.
"It seems."
Najin smiled wryly.
"You were quite satisfied with that ending, Master."
The final duel fought in the Carnival King's domain.
When that duel ended, Aldaran had stepped off the stage called the world. He had accepted his end without leaving behind a single shred of lingering attachment.
A story with its period placed. An epic brought to completion. To append even one sentence to a conclusion the man himself had accepted... that would, indeed, be a graceless thing to do.
"The sword fight that Gerd and I showed you must have been quite satisfying. Satisfying enough that you didn't leave even a small piece of yourself here."
Najin smiled as he said it.
A shame, yes, but right now the relief outweighed the regret, and the pride was bigger still. The fact that nothing remained here meant Aldaran had been that satisfied with his end.
"Yes, the commander was smiling in his final moment. Terrifying men, the lot of you. To go that far... that's what he said."
"Who are they to talk... If I were to pick the most dangerous moments I faced in the Outland, one that would always make the list is the moment I dueled my master. Both the first time and the second, I nearly died."
"He was a harsh man, whether to his students or to whoever came after him."
A strange sense of kinship formed between Crünbell and Najin as both nodded deeply. Both had been marked by Aldaran as the next commander, and because of that, both had endured brutally harsh training.
"You were the next commander, Crünbell?"
"Yes, embarrassingly enough. Though I was defeated by the Carnival King before I could even take over the post."
Najin, who knew how Crünbell had been defeated, said nothing. At that, Crünbell shook his head.
"It's all right. Though I failed... you succeeded, didn't you? If my failure helped you in some way, that alone is enough for me."
Crünbell let his voice trail off.
"...Did my technique prove useful?"
He pointed to the Lance of the Crossed Star that Najin carried on his back. The exact same one Crünbell himself had. Pointing at what had been his symbol and his pride, he asked the question.
"What is there even to say."
Najin answered with a smile.
"Horn Charge. It's probably the technique I used most while traveling the Outland. When I needed to clear a path, when I needed to hold something back, when I needed to knock aside incoming projectiles, nothing beat it."
Crünbell went quiet.
Najin rose from his seat and readjusted his grip on the lance.
"This isn't empty flattery, and I'm not saying it to please you."
He thrust the lance into open air. He showed the perfect form he had learned from Crünbell, let a storm coil around the lance's tip, and then demonstrated the Horn Charge as he had refined it. Crünbell watched all of it in silence.
"When sweeping aside the Jesters, when bursting through the Carnival King's paint blocking my path, when facing the Star of Oblivion, when bringing down Cheon Yuseong, Icarus..."
Najin went through the enemies he had pierced with Horn Charge, one after another. Horn Charge, a technique meaning to ram the prow forward and open a road. True to its meaning, Horn Charge had always been the technique that opened the road ahead of him.
"And most recently, I used it to drive back the Sword Demon of the Abyss."
"The Sword Demon of the Abyss... you mean the wielder of Gramr?"
Crünbell's eyes went wide.
The Sword Demon of the Abyss, there was no Constellation that did not know of that being, the one that made countless stars tremble with fear. Even those who had never encountered it would have heard rumors of its strength.
"Horn Charge worked on that one?"
"I'd refined it a bit, but the root of it was Horn Charge. It was the first technique that landed on him, too. I threw him all the way to the Boundary Line of the Abyss with it."
Crünbell's eyes shone like those of a boy hearing an epic tale. There was something strangely magnetic about Najin's stories, something that could turn even a stern knight into a boy. That was what Jovial Laughter was, heroic narratives told with a laugh, with casual ease.
"Indeed."
Listening to Najin's story, Crünbell smiled.
"That is... something to be proud of."
The technique that had failed to open the road ahead of him was now in the hands of his successor, opening the road ahead of that successor instead. Hearing it, Crünbell drew a hand across his face.
"I'm glad you are the next commander."
"Is that so? Well, an heir who pulled Excalibur isn't exactly common, I suppose."
"No, this has nothing to do with Excalibur."
Crünbell said it plainly.
"It is surprising that you pulled Excalibur and are the heir of Knight King Arthur, but what I am grateful for is not the heir of a great Knight King. It is you, Najin."
He smiled.
"The one who turned the commander, who was becoming a mere shade of the departed, back into a knight. Who raised the battle standard of the Golden Horn Knights, who would have vanished forgotten from history, and made us shine one more time..."
Crünbell's finger pointed at Najin.
"I am grateful for you, Najin. For the person you are."
At those words, Najin was at a loss for what to say and fell quiet for a moment, then smiled.
2.
"So. What do you intend to do now?"
After a brief silence, Crünbell spoke.
"On the floor above is Galahad of the Round Table. You intend to challenge him, I take it? Then I'll step aside."
"I do plan to challenge him."
Najin shook his head.
"Just not right this moment. It seems there's still something I need to do here."
"Oh? Something you need to do...?"
"I am the next commander of the Golden Horn Knights, after all. Next commander in name, but really the youngest of the bunch. I took the post without so much as a proper succession ceremony."
Saying that, Najin rose from his seat.
"I never received recognition from the earlier generations."
He walked forward.
"I never showed them who I am."
The Golden Horn Knights standing at a distance turned to look at him. Under their gazes, Najin stepped before the Helmeted Knight, who still sat perched on his boulder.
"Crünbell."
Najin turned and looked at Crünbell.
"How is a succession ceremony conducted in the Golden Horn Knights? I don't know much about this side of things yet."
"That... nothing was formally set, but the commander used to joke that 'whoever beats me becomes the commander.'"
"Ah."
Najin nodded.
Then he drew the sword at his hip.
"Then let's hold that succession ceremony right now."
Najin took his stance before Aldaran.
"Cornerstone of the Empire."
And then.
"Commander of the Golden Horn Knights."
As if introducing himself before a duel, Najin spoke the names that pointed to himself, one by one, before Aldaran.
"Dawn Horn, Najin."
I request a duel.
The moment that challenge was issued, Aldaran Vasaglia, who had been seated, rose. This Aldaran, composed only of records from that era, had no self, he was simply a being that acted in ways befitting a hero.
Even so, Aldaran Vasaglia was a knight.
Even so, he was the commander of the Golden Horn Knights.
He recognized the challenge his successor was issuing. Without a word, he tapped his helm with a gauntleted fist. Then he drew the sword at his hip. No further introduction was needed.
On his head sat the most brilliant Horned Helm, and in his hand the sword that was the symbol of the First Horn of the Empire.
Did more need to be said? I am Aldaran Vasaglia, the sword of the Empire and the commander of the Golden Horn Knights. The figure before him seemed to say exactly that. At the sight, Najin couldn't help but smile.
"......"
"......"
In silence, the two offered each other a sword salute. Then, in those same stances, neither moved a single inch, as though waiting for something.
Only then did Crünbell understand.
And the Golden Horn Knights watching the two of them understood what they needed to do. Like a round table, they formed a ring around Aldaran and Najin, and drove the lances from their backs into the ground.
Boom.
Then they drew their horn pipes from their hips. Holding the horn pipes to their lips, they looked toward Crünbell. Under their gazes, and in that moment, Crünbell muttered, "Really..." and drew a hand across his face.
Horn Star, Crünbell.
He put the bugle to his lips. The star that sounded the horn blew it with more force than ever before.
Buuuuuuuu...
Starting with him, the Golden Horn Knights blew their horn pipes in earnest. The deep resonance spread through the one hundred twenty-ninth floor.
The duel, commenced.
3.
The twelve knights of the Golden Horn Knights.
They watched the duel between their commander and the next commander who would succeed him. The moment the horn pipes fell silent, they moved almost simultaneously. Taking the exact same stance, the two fighters thrust their swords toward each other.
"That's the Triumph swordsmanship."
One knight clicked his tongue.
Having watched from the closest vantage point all these years, they knew Aldaran's Triumph swordsmanship well. And they knew exactly how difficult that swordsmanship was to learn.
"The form is exact. Footwork, breathing, all of it flawless. The sword paths go without saying."
"It's almost like watching the commander..."
"It's as if someone placed a mirror between the two of them."
Of course they knew Najin had learned Triumph. The commander himself had told them. But naturally, none of them had ever seen Najin execute it, or watched Najin fight at all.
They had only imagined it in their heads.
And what was unfolding before their eyes right now was something beyond whatever they had imagined. The knights stared wide-eyed at the duel.
Claaang!
Blade met blade and sprang apart. One stepped back, then closed the distance immediately and pressed in. At close range, the sword edges tangled and slid against each other again and again.
Clang, clang, clang, clang!
The force distributed precisely across each blade was exact. The arcs the swords drew carried real weight. The trajectories that read the opponent's movement, deflected, or flowed immediately into a counter were, there was simply no other word for it, perfect.
Two perfect sword paths collided and collided again. And neither side gave ground.
That fact drew gasps from the knights.
"That commander over there, that's the commander from back then, isn't it? You know, the time he charged into an army led by a Demon King alone and came back out after wiping it out."
"The commander in his prime."
"The commander in the most brilliant days, before the wear, before the breaking. The days when he had no equal."
What they were watching was Aldaran Vasaglia in his prime. The war hero who had never once accepted defeat and had led every war to victory.
Everyone here remembered that era.
Though they had been forgotten by the world, in their memories that glorious time still breathed. There was no way any of them could forget Aldaran, who had driven that era forward.
"......"
Every soul here had given their life in pursuit of that brilliant figure. Had marched forward crying out the glory of the Empire. Had headed into the Outland hoping those who came after would live in a better world.
Remembering that time.
They looked at Aldaran, the symbol of their past. The commander's blade was still beautiful. The commander still shone. But their gazes soon slipped from the commander to the young man crossing swords with him.
That young man wore a free knight's coat, billowing around him. On his shoulder he wore a pauldron styled after the glorious Horned Helm, and the battle standard of the Golden Horn Knights was tied to it, snapping in the air.
And in his hand was Excalibur.
Beyond the era Aldaran had driven, a hundred and fifty years further on, the young man who had inherited the hero's place was standing there. The star that had risen at his back shone. The young man who refused to yield even a step blazed with light.
"Not giving ground. Not even a step."
"If anything, it looks like he's pushing back."
"Against the commander from that era."
"Did you see that move just now? Good grief."
"Unbelievable. I never thought there'd be someone who could match the commander strength for strength..."
"You'd need to be at least this good to pull Excalibur, wouldn't you?"
Watching Najin, they laughed.
"Didn't the commander say something like that once? That whoever pulled Excalibur, whoever that insolent bastard was, the person who became his teacher would have a real rough time."
"Ha! He got exactly what karma had coming for him. Well, it was about time the commander paid his dues. Apparently his own master had prophesied, 'you'll meet a student just like yourself.'"
Even laughing, even trading jokes, none of them could take their eyes off Najin. At moments their palms grew damp, and they watched the duel with held breath.
At some point they stopped talking.
They forgot even to breathe, absorbed entirely in the duel. The brilliance the two heroes were making stole every eye. And in the flashes of that radiance, they saw it.
Excalibur's blade.
The stars engraved there. The stories.
"Ah."
One knight let out a soft sound. That knight's name was Crünbell. He spotted the engraving on Excalibur shaped after the Lance of the Crossed Star, and he couldn't help but smile. He was not the only one smiling.
Because what was engraved on Excalibur was not only Crünbell's story.
Below it was the commander's image, and below the commander was a crest symbolizing the Golden Horn Knights, engraved right there on Excalibur. The knights who saw it went quiet. One smiled. Another drew a hand across his face. Another let out a breath that had been caught in his chest.
On that Excalibur.
On a sword that was the very symbol of the greatest knight.
Their own stories were engraved there, none other than theirs. However much they had pretended to have no lingering attachment, some had remained. There was no way they could simply accept with open arms the fact that they had never been recorded anywhere. They had only endured it.
Even so, our lives must have had meaning.
Someone will carry on our lives.
The years spent telling themselves that, holding themselves together long enough to endure, flashed past. The feelings they had looking at the face of the successor standing before them at the end of all those years were something beyond words.
"Really."
The knights watched.
"What a magnificent duel."
The most beautiful duel they had ever seen.