Demon Hunting (1)
“Come to think of it, what even is a star?”
-A star is a star. What else would it be?
A star. What, precisely, was a star?
Now that he had obtained two of them, Najin found himself dwelling on the question. He was not musing on their symbolic meaning—he already knew what they stood for.
Proof that a great feat has been accomplished.
A star was the proof that one had broken through a trial that seemed impossible and achieved a feat great enough to touch the heavens. It was also the reward for the life-or-death challenges Najin had undertaken. He gazed at the two stars glittering above his fully opened palm. With enough focus he could summon their light like this.
They were beautiful, true enough. They were also the stars he had longed for so fiercely.
And yet… how should he put it? Staring at them, Najin tilted his head.
“How do I actually use these?”
He simply could not figure out in what manner he was supposed to wield them. In the heroic sagas, King Arthur had used her stars to split the earth and cleave the sky and all manner of things. As that thought crossed his mind, Merlin spoke with clear exasperation.
-If two measly stars were enough to split the sky and the earth, Arthur and I would have chopped off the head of the Dragon of the Abyss and the Witch of the Abyss ages ago.
“I’m just giving an example. Even if it isn’t that extreme, having stars means you can do magic and the like, doesn’t it? In the legends they did everything under the sun.”
-The things you’re imagining require at least four or five stars gathered together. Only when the stars link up and form a constellation do their powers amplify.
Merlin traced her finger through the empty air.
A blue line followed the tip of her finger.
-Besides, I can’t explain how to use a star. That differs for every constellation. I told you before, didn’t I? A star is your life itself—the very path you have walked.
“You did.”
-It’s the same as me not being able to tell you how to use your mindscape. In the end you have to discover it yourself. It’s nothing difficult. You’ll come to understand it naturally.
What the blue line had drawn was Merlin’s own constellation.
Why show him her constellation out of nowhere? Having spent a fair amount of time with her, Najin had begun to grasp the way Merlin’s mind worked.
She’s trying to show off, isn’t she.
Exactly right. Merlin waved her constellation about so it would look impressive to Najin as she spoke. If there was a chance to boast, Merlin never let it pass.
-Every single star is a great feat. Meaning I, who obtained eleven stars, have accomplished eleven great feats.
Merlin stressed the words “eleven.” Najin answered with a polite “Wow, really? That’s amazing,” and nodded at appropriate intervals. After listening to several minutes of Merlin’s self-praise, something constructive finally emerged.
-Of course, stars don’t necessarily measure strength. Having many stars doesn’t guarantee absolute victory either. They’re simply a means of proving yourself.
“A means?”
-Yes. The traces of the life you’ve lived. The path you’ve walked. A means and a proof of the feats you’ve achieved.
Merlin stretched out her hand and pointed beyond the window.
Dawn had not yet broken; the world outside was still dark, and the dark sky was embroidered with countless stars. Once that night sky had felt impossibly distant. Not anymore.
His own stars were up there, after all.
Even among the multitude of stars, Najin could pick out his own. Still weak, yet unmistakably shining—two stars. The stars he himself had hung in the heavens.
-You have carved the existence that is you into a star and nailed it to the sky. Until those stars fall, no matter where you are, if you look up you will be able to find yourself.
Merlin smiled.
-There is an enormous difference between possessing even a single star and possessing none. You are standing at the starting point.
The starting point. He did not need to ask which one.
-You have climbed the first step that leads into the sky.
That was not all, of course.
Merlin narrowed her eyes and regarded Najin. He himself had yet to notice, but changes were already occurring within his body—just as they always did in humans who obtained stars.
She deliberately chose not to mention it. That was not something one could realize simply because another person pointed it out. It was something one had to grasp through one’s own flesh and bone.
-Anyway, congratulations.
With those words Merlin added one more.
-Dawn Star.
The star that announces the end of night.
Hearing his own epithet spoken by someone else’s mouth, Najin found himself smiling without meaning to. Dawn Star. It had a fine ring to it.
“I’ve obtained the qualification, so now all that remains is to prove it.”
And that proof would take place not here, but in a land far beyond.
On the battlefield of the stars themselves.
2.
Najin began preparing in earnest to depart for the Outer Land. Unlike his trip to Cambria, when he had simply thrown himself into the journey, heading to the Outer Land required a measure of preparation.
Above all, the Najin of then and the Najin of now were different people.
When he had first set foot in Cambria he had been a green brat whose name—let alone his existence—was known to no one. Not a soul paid him any attention. But the Najin of today? Countless imperial subjects fixed their eyes on him. Even beyond the Empire’s borders, people watched for any sign of him.
The youngest Sword Seeker in history.
The boy who had claimed two stars.
They said fame itself was a tax. Having shaken the entire continent with his renown, every sort of gaze naturally clung to him. Those gazes took a deep interest in the path he would choose next. It was exactly as the Emperor of the Empire had once feared.
“In Our eyes, you are a wildfire.”
“A wildfire that might one day burn the Empire itself.”
Whatever faction he joined, he would inflate that faction to an excessive degree. Should he fall into the hands of rebels, he would become the blaze that consumed the Empire. To many groups, the existence known as Najin was both a coveted prize and a dangerous one.
Held in one’s own hand, he was an invaluable card.
Held in an enemy’s hand, he was a card that might kill you.
If one could not possess him, one had at least to prevent him from falling into another’s grasp. While so many factions watched his every move, Najin made a public declaration.
“I intend to leave for the Outer Land in the near future.”
He had no intention of belonging to any faction whatsoever.
He would leave the Continent and head for the Outer Land.
Najin’s announcement stirred a considerable reaction. The Outer Land was no ordinary place. It was the land countless heroes had sought in order to become constellations—and the land that had become the tomb of countless heroes.
Harsh, merciless, barren—and filled with trials that danced on the edge of life and death.
It was not a destination one would expect of a rising star whose name already resounded across the entire continent. Why would a promising youth who could enjoy wealth and glory no matter which group he joined choose the Outer Land? It was not as if circumstances forced him to leave, and he was still only eighteen. Why go out of his way?
To that question Najin gave a short answer.
Glory unaccompanied by hardship and trial holds no value.
He was quoting the words of an ancient hero.
It was a famous maxim, spoken by many mouths, yet few had ever put it into practice. Words were easy; living them was hard.
Hard, yes.
-And that is precisely why it has value.
Najin had no intention of becoming a smooth-talking braggart. Immediately after the announcement he set about the formal procedures required to leave for the Outer Land.
Some called him a fool for it; others called him stubborn. Yet even they could not deny that his course was the same path once walked by the heroes of old.
Turning one’s back on wealth and glory to chase true glory.
One might call it stubborn, but one could not call it wrong or wicked. On the contrary, it was a decision worthy of praise. The first to react to Najin’s choice were the Imperial House and Atanga’s Knights.
“We spare no praise for one who turns his back on the comfort immediately before him and leaps into the raging waves. We respect every choice you make.”
The Emperor offered his commendation.
“To leap toward trial is the decision of one who knows pride. To turn one’s back on wealth and glory and pursue true glory is the decision of one who knows honor. You, who know both honor and pride, are a model for all knights.”
Atanga looked as though he was itching to knight Najin on the spot. Yet he, too, knew of the position already promised to the boy, and so he held his tongue.
The position the Emperor had once pledged to Najin.
Previously the Emperor had declared that on the day Najin fulfilled the ambition he had revealed before the three Sword Masters, he himself would bestow upon him the title of Free Knight.
Free Knight.
Atanga understood the weight that title carried.
It was the rank once granted to the Knights of the Round Table who had followed King Arthur in ages long past. Unlike the word “knight,” which had grown endlessly lighter with the passage of time, the weight of that particular title had been carefully preserved for a thousand years.
He had been promised a seat of that magnitude.
All that remained was for Najin to prove himself.
Looking forward to the day that would come—hoping it would come soon—Atanga’s Knights licked their chops. They might soon witness the birth of a Free Knight for the first time in centuries.
And then.
The moment the Imperial House and Atanga’s Knights made their positions known, voices began to rise from every quarter as though they had been waiting for the cue, loudly proclaiming how splendid Najin’s choice was. They were not sincere voices. They were merely riding the prevailing current, and so Najin paid them no heed.
He let them enter one ear and exit the other while he continued preparing for the Outer Land. There were, however, voices he could not simply ignore.
“Na—Najin.”
Someone flung open the door to his room in a rush and burst inside. A girl with pretty brown hair—Dieta.
A few days earlier she had launched a confession assault on him, then spent the following days ducking her head and fleeing whenever he sought her out. And now she had come to him of her own accord? Had she finally freed herself from the shame?
“A letter arrived. For you. I handle most things myself, but this… this I can’t.”
The fact that she still could not meet his eyes told him that was not the case. A matter simply large enough to overcome her embarrassment had arisen. She held out a single letter.
A bramble?
The letter bore the emblem of a blood-red bramble. The symbol of the Holy Blood Church. Yet the mark did not stop there. A single sword was drawn across the bramble.
A sword entwined by a blood-red bramble.
It was a crest only one person in the world was permitted to use.
The one closest to the Holy Blood Church’s principal deity, the Martyr of the Bramble. The Martyr’s Champion. The Executioner of the Holy Blood Church—among the many names by which she was known.
The murderess, Yuel Razian.
The letter had come from her.
3.
Yuel Razian wiped her sword.
She dragged her fingers down the blade, scraping away the sticky blood that clung to it, and let out a long breath. The breath she exhaled was hot. Her eyes, the color of blood, gleamed a vivid red.
…It was not a common thing for a Sword Master’s blade to be stained with blood.
What was a Sword Master? Transcendents who drew forth sword aura as naturally as breathing and who, if they wished, could cut down an enemy from tens or hundreds of meters away. A blade wreathed in sword aura never collected foreign matter; even if something did adhere, the heat of the aura would evaporate it in an instant.
Thus a Sword Master’s sword was almost never bloodied. The phrase “a Sword Master’s sword is stained with blood” was used only as a metaphor for the fact that they had killed someone; it never meant their actual blade was smeared with gore.
But when that Sword Master was Yuel, the sentence was never metaphorical.
Yuel Razian’s sword was always stained with blood. The reason was simple.
Yuel deliberately refrained from drawing out her sword aura.
Even though employing it would let her kill far more easily and cleanly, she refused. When knights once asked her why, she had answered thus:
“That way there is no pleasure in the cut, is there? If you yourselves use a sword, you must understand. The blade that parts flesh, severs bone, tears through entrails and bursts free of the body. The tremor of the steel. The vibration that travels up the hilt. Only in that moment do I truly feel joy.”
There was no pleasure in the cut. That was her entire reason.
Those who could withstand her sword aura could be counted on one hand, so Yuel habitually limited her own power. If the candy was going to melt and vanish anyway, she intended to roll it around on her tongue for as long as possible.
Is that not an insult to one’s opponent?
The knights had wanted to ask as much, yet could not. The things Yuel’s sword cut down were criminals, heretics, and the wicked things connected to demons. From ancient times it had been proper to show no mercy to the wicked.
Of course Yuel herself did not think that way.
To her the concepts of good and evil were vague at best.
She did not particularly regard black mages or heretics as great sinners. She did not kill them because she considered them evil people. She simply killed them because there would be no repercussions for doing so.
“Haa…”
Yuel exhaled a scorching breath.
With every inhalation the scent of blood throbbed through her. Wearing a rapturous smile, she drove her sword deep into the heap of corpses with a wet thunk. Leaving the blade fixed there, she drew a letter from her breast.
What was written in the letter was news of a certain boy.
Information she had ordered her adjutant to gather.
As she read through the boy’s exploits, Yuel’s eyes curved into thin crescents. A smile hooked the corner of her mouth. Reading it a second time did not change a single word of the contents.
“Two stars at once, and at the age of eighteen? Remarkable. Truly astonishing. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Yuel spoke.
It was not a soliloquy. Beside her a black mage whose legs had been severed lay sprawled on the ground. The black mage clacked his upper and lower teeth together and, using his hands in place of the missing legs, tried to crawl away.
“Is it not remarkable? It is a remarkable thing. As expected, my eye was not wrong. He is an interesting boy.”
Yuel muttered without so much as glancing at the fleeing black mage. The black mage took her murmuring for the monologue of a madwoman. He assumed she was not actually expecting an answer.
“I asked whether you agree or not.”
Yuel did not share that assumption.
“I am posing a question.”
“Hhk, hhaak…!”
The black mage threw every ounce of strength into moving his hands. His nails snapped against the rough stone floor; the tips of his fingers split and bled, yet still he crawled like a madman.
“I am asking you. Is it not remarkable? I do not enjoy repeating the same words multiple times.”
Yuel crooked a finger toward the black mage.
In that instant the black mage’s fingers crumbled from the tips. Broken nails disintegrated, skin scattered, bones ground to powder—exactly as though a hunter were deconstructing game.
“Gyaaaaaaaaaaah!”
The black mage screamed under the agony of being dismantled alive. Whether he screamed or not, Yuel asked once more.
“Is it not remarkable?”
“It—it is remarkable. Superb. Truly a feat that will never be repeated, an unparalleled…”
The black mage wrung every word of praise he knew from his vocabulary for a boy whose face he had never even seen. He continued until the moment excessive blood loss claimed his life. As the black mage’s thinning breath finally broke, Yuel opened her mouth.
“Yes. Precisely so.”
She nodded as though thoroughly satisfied.
“Therefore I shall have to verify it for myself.”