Toward the Unreachable Star
High ceilings and long-hanging red drapes. Pillars aligned along the walls. Light filtering through the windows scattered coldly across the marble floor. In the midst of that light sat the Emperor.
He neither leaned deeply into the backrest nor hunched forward. A posture that was comfortable yet utterly undisturbed. He tapped the armrest of his jade throne lightly with his fingertips. Tok. Tok. A slow, steady rhythm.
"Haha! So, he died just like that."
The Emperor's laugh was not loud. No exaggeration, no mockery. It resembled the chuckle of a scholar who had just read an intriguing paper... nodding as he voiced his impressions.
"Yes. He... has been easily forgotten."
Don Quixote. I'd only just started calling you by that name with true sincerity... and you left so pointlessly.
"What were his last words, Philia?"
"Toward the unreachable star."
"Ah. Toward the unreachable star."
He slowly repeated the final words I'd conveyed. His gaze lifted toward the ceiling, as if stars truly floated there.
"Most contractors beg for their lives at the end."
He stated it flatly. "They deny their own choices, curse the devils, resent the world."
A brief silence. His eyes turned back to me.
"But he didn't."
"Yes."
I answered curtly. The Emperor's lips curved subtly upward.
"A star..."
He tilted his head ever so slightly. Sunlight stretched long through the high windows of the throne room, crossing his profile. Golden light grazed his forehead, trailed down the bridge of his nose, and cut off beneath his lips. Light and shadow divided his face in half.
"Humans truly are fascinating creatures."
He tapped the armrest once more with his finger. Tok. Tok.
"They rush toward the unreachable, all while knowing it lies beyond their grasp."
His gaze slowly returned to me.
"He remained a knight to the end."
I hesitated for a moment, unable to reply. Knight. The moment the Emperor uttered the word, a strange sensation brushed over me. Not mockery, not acknowledgment. Merely a confirmation of fact. Yet when the Emperor said it, it somehow felt faintly sardonic...
"Yes. He was."
I answered briefly, lest my own emotions slip out if I said more.
"Faithful to the world he chose, right up to the last."
He interlaced his fingers. The hand that had been tapping the armrest stilled, now quietly overlapping with the other. That small change alone shifted the air.
"Philia."
He called my name softly. This was when the Emperor usually delivered his most unpleasant words. Like placing a reassuring hand on one's shoulder... only to strangle them with those fingertips.
"How did you kill him?"
"..."
The Emperor's vile hobby. He always demanded a detailed account of the execution.
"He had a habit of holding his breath."
"Hm... A mundane reaction born of fear?"
"No. It was the tension of resolve, not fear."
The Emperor chuckled softly. An ordinary smile for a villain who relished such tales. Reading the cue, I elaborated with precision.
"The neck is a tangle of veins, joints, trachea, and layered muscles, each varying by individual angle."
"As he finished his final cry, he ever so slightly relaxed his jaw."
As my words ended, the Emperor's eyelids slowly lowered and rose once. No surprise, no condemnation. Just a sign he was listening. I steadied my breath and continued.
"At that moment, I let the Execution Sword's shaft—which I'd fixed with both hands—sink downward in sync with his breath."
His gaze flicked to my shoulder, as if envisioning me wielding the blade. Fingers still interlaced, he rubbed his thumbnail ever so faintly.
"Matching the oblique angle formed by his shoulder line and jaw, I swung it downward with force, driving it in."
The throne room was silent. The light from the windows slanted, elongating the shadow at the Emperor's lips. His pupils narrowed. Not emotion—analysis.
"One strike severed the cervical vertebrae."
The Emperor's hands paused briefly, then overlapped again as if nothing had happened.
"The veins in his neck sprayed a faint mist of blood from the pressure differential."
His head tilted ever so slightly, as if savoring the phrasing.
"No further vital responses."
A short silence descended. The tapping on the armrest ceased, and the air grew heavy. The Emperor slowly spoke.
"One who hurls himself toward the unreachable."
His gaze drifted beyond the windows to the sky. No stars visible under the daylight. Yet he looked heavenward all the same.
"He wanted to prove himself."
I said nothing.
"That he was not dominated."
The Emperor's eyes returned to me.
"Right up to the final moment."
I added quietly, "He didn't run."
His fingers paused once.
"I know."
A curt reply.
"Those who run don't speak of stars."
His lips curved faintly. This time, genuine interest. Then, lowly, he added, "What an arrogant man."
Light from the window glinted in his eyes.
"If he could reach the stars, he would have surely been bound to this palace."
The most arrogant man of all was undoubtedly the Emperor. But that one... He might actually be capable. Such a thought crossed my mind.
As I walked, I briefly lost myself in idle thoughts. Don Quixote, the Emperor. What was so desirable about stars? They're called humanity's dreams, hopes. Yet in Toward the Unreachable Star, or those near-impossible feats. And if my previous life's common sense applied here too... Physically speaking, stars were immensely distant. Light took centuries, millennia to reach us. Their true form: massive fireballs. Approach too close, and you'd melt away, formless. To rush toward such a thing... Wasn't it ultimately a resolve to burn oneself out?
Thud. Huh. My hem tugged. Looking down, a child no bigger than a handspan gripped the edge of my uniform.
"Sis! Play with us!"
Immediately, another kid hooked onto my arm. "No way! Sis is playing with me first!"
I was momentarily speechless. The village. Far from the Imperial Palace, near a small stream. I'd thought it a light stroll... but I'd walked much farther than intended.
This body's physical prowess, I suppose. The distance from the palace to here. For an ordinary person, half a day's trek. I'd thought myself accustomed... but apparently still underestimating.
"Sis!"
The child clutching my hem tilted their head. "Why're you spacing out?"
"...I'm not spacing out."
"You are!"
"Yeah!"
The kids shouted in unison. I shut my mouth. Arguing would only prolong it.
"Play with us!"
"I said it first today!"
"Liar!"
The two shoved at each other to stand in front. Tiny shoulders bumped, pouty lips quivering on the verge of tears.
...The village adults must've kept them well in check. Believing Don Quixote had simply gone on a long journey, no trace of sorrow in the kids. Only joy at seeing someone to play with. It didn't sit right with me.
"Sis has to catch me first!"
"No! I said it first!"
"Rock-paper-scissors!"
"Cheater!"
The kids' squabble swiftly turned to another game. Hands that had been pushing moments ago now clasped wrists, spinning in circles. I stood amid them. The Empire's Executioner. The Emperor's blade. The hand that severed their hero's neck... now mediating their bickering.
"So, what do you plan to play?"
"Knight game!"
"Dummy! Sir Knight went on his... jour... journey or whatever!"
"...You mean his journey."
I corrected quietly, and the child blinked wide-eyed before nodding. "Yeah! Journey! Jour-ney!"
"What's that?"
"Dunno! Sounds cool!"
In a child's world, words were like that. Resonance before precise meaning. Pronunciation could be off. What mattered was the faith packed inside.
"A journey."
I chose my words carefully, glancing skyward.
"Is the path from leaving home... until returning."
"So he is coming back!"
One kid shot up a hand. "Yeah! Journeys mean coming home!"
...No. I should say otherwise. Not all journeys guarantee return. Like Quixote's. His began in the village, passed through the square... and ended beneath my blade. Some paths lead one way. But I lacked the courage. I merely cleaved as ordered. A sword swung without conviction couldn't deliver justice. That truth stuck in my throat.
I thought I'd pondered long internally. But the kids still chattered before me.
"Have you ever been on a journey, Sis?"
"No. I... well."
Only terms like execution, dispatch, deployment came to mind. Couldn't foist those on a child who didn't yet grasp a sword's weight. Too soon for them.
...Still. Wishing these kids, shaped by his presence, live like fairy-tale heroes forever...
"I mostly travel."
The child's face lit up. "Travel?"
"Where to?"
"Dragon hunting?"
I smiled faintly. "No. Not dragons."
Though I'd felled a few vaguely draconic things.
"Then what do you hunt?"
"Uh... well..."
"Hehe. Uncle Quixote told us!"
The kids shoved and giggled.
"Sis hunts bad guys!"
"Super strong! Whoosh! And done!"
"Sir Knight said so!"
He would have. Don Quixote would've framed my blade as monster-slaying for their world's sake. I drew a slow breath.
"Yes. I hunt bad guys."
"Ooh...!"
Their eyes sparkled in unison. Admiration, anticipation, a strange thrill mingled on their faces. Those gazes looked up at me. I met them squarely.
"So grow up to be the kind who shows consideration to friends first, extending goodwill."
"Then we're knights too!"
Ah. It turned out like that. Unexpected.
"Yes. Knights."
The kids cheered. Hands that shoved now draped over shoulders.
"We're the Knight Order!"
"Justice Knights!"
At those words, something tugged faintly in my chest. The tattered flag. Crooked letters. The man swinging his spear with a laugh. The voice crying of stars to the last. I looked to the sky. Dusk had deepened. And, ever so faintly... a single star emerged.
An utterly unreachable distance. Burning brighter than all else. Yet people look up.
He must have gazed at the stars endlessly too, once.
What were you thinking then?
"Sis! Sis!"
One grabbed my sleeve again.
"You see the star too, Sis?"
"Yes."
I replied curtly.
"Sometimes."
"Whatcha wish for?"
I thought a moment. Before, nothing. Executioners don't pray. They judge, they execute. But now...
"Today..."
I wished some fool of a man might be watching us from beside that star. A foolish, wayward prayer.