The Lost Ones (6)
A truly beautiful duel leaves no regrets behind.
A duel that leans on no variables, depends on no luck, and admits no intrusion of secondary factors. A sacred contest where only skill and ability decide the outcome. Such a duel, the kind so many knights long for, is beautiful even in its ending.
The loser willingly accepts defeat.
The victor rightfully savors the sweetness of victory.
There is no room for ambiguity in the result of a duel. No place for excuses to slip in, no space for regret to raise its head. Savoring that clean aftertaste, the Helmeted Knight laughed with genuine pleasure. His laughter stretched long into the night.
Like a drought-parched earth receiving a sudden rain, like a body worn down by long marching soothed by cool wine, the Helmeted Knight felt a thirst of many years finally being quenched.
"Been a while since I got this drunk. That really was a fine fight. For a young pup, you put up a damn good showing."
"I should be the one saying that. What the hell was that technique? The second I caught it, my body went flying."
"Ah, that? The pride of the Golden Horn Knights. The simplest, the most honest, and the most upright thing is the strongest. That's the principle behind it."
"I see. Stay true to the fundamentals?"
"Now you're speaking my language. Exactly that."
The bloodthirsty atmosphere from moments before had vanished without a trace. The two of them crawled back to the campfire and started talking again. Najin limped the whole way, and the Helmeted Knight's body creaked and groaned with every movement, but those were minor concerns.
The surrounding rocks had all been smashed to rubble. The ground was riddled with gouges and scrapes. A splint was strapped to Najin's arm, and the Helmeted Knight's armor had gained a few more scars… but those, too, were minor concerns.
"How old are you? Even being generous, you don't look past thirty… and at that age, to have already reached such a realm? Astonishing. It's not just the realm, either. The completeness of your technique is something you only see after decades of swinging a sword. Did my eye fail me?"
He tilted his head with a thoughtful hum.
"And how old are you? Looking at your skill, I'd have said you were a swordsman well past fifty."
"Eighteen."
"I see. Eighteen. Eigh… teen?"
The Helmeted Knight's head tilted a little further. His helmet rattled.
"The joke's gone too far. I don't care for lies."
Najin rummaged through his coat. Among the items stored in his spatially expanded pouch was a certificate the Emperor himself had bestowed upon him — proof of Najin's identity. He showed it to the Helmeted Knight.
Taking the certificate, the Helmeted Knight let out a long, wondering breath. Hidden behind the helm, his gaze on Najin carried the unmistakable question: Is this lunatic for real? It was a look Najin had received more often than any other.
"You're out of your mind."
"I hear that a lot."
"Reaching that realm at your age is shocking enough, but the fact that you've already set foot in the Outer Land is even more so. Isn't it far too soon?"
He went on.
"This is a place where those already touched by Erosion, those who can no longer live on the Continent, get pushed out. It's a land for people who've lived a hundred years, give or take — people who've lived their fill. Not a place for a brat like you."
"So I've been told."
"Then why? Your skill is real, but isn't it still too early? You could have trained more on the Continent first. Hell, even I am stronger than you. This land is crawling with people stronger than you — and people who will come for you."
"I know that as well."
Merlin had told him as much.
In truth, Merlin had given him similar advice: it wouldn't be a bad idea to accumulate more experience on the Continent first. And it wasn't only Merlin. Countless others had said the same thing to Najin.
Isn't it still too soon? Aren't you being too hasty? Why not gain a little more experience first…?
But Najin had not bent his stubborn will.
"If you know, then why?"
"Because this is the fastest way."
Because this was the shortest path.
And the righteous path.
And the path Arthur had walked.
"I have to become stronger than I am now. Faster. Until I reach a certain level, I have no room to take my time."
"How far?"
"At the very least, until I become a Sword Master."
"Hah. Do you take the realm of a Transcendent lightly?"
"I don't take it lightly. I came to this land precisely because I know how hard it is, how high it is."
Najin looked up at the sky.
Stars glittered there. Stars that hung far higher than Najin, stars that would intervene the moment he drew Excalibur.
Here, the stars of the Round Table would also intervene at once — but that changed nothing. The stars would intervene, a torrent would surge, and Najin would be swept away before it.
And if the stars of the Round Table were to intervene…
Merlin had said it. The Round Table's intervention was a card that had to be saved for the very last move. Najin looked at the stars glittering far off at the edge of the Outer Land. Merlin's star, and the stars of the Round Table.
He knew what those stars were for. Merlin had told him. And knowing that role, he had to leave the Round Table's intervention as the absolute final resort.
In the end, it came down to this.
He had grown stronger. Everyone praised the height of his realm. And still, Najin could not stand independent. And he had a goal that could only be achieved through independence.
"Is there a reason you have to rush?"
"Yes. There is."
"May I ask?"
"You're the victor, aren't you? A loser is obliged to answer a victor's questions."
Crack, crackle…
Embers leapt from the campfire.
"I have two masters."
Watching the sparks, Najin spoke.
"One taught me the sword. The fundamentals of how to swing it, how to run, how to chase, and the basic knowledge of a mercenary."
The subterranean city's mercenary, Oppen.
"And the other taught me how to live. Not only how to live, but what to pursue while living."
"And what was that?"
"Honor and pride. And the stars."
The subterranean city's knight, Ivan.
"What it means to be a knight. What pride is. That sometimes there are values more important than life itself. He taught me that."
"They sound like good teachers."
"Yes. They were excellent teachers."
Najin's eyes lowered.
In those lowered eyes, firelight stirred.
"I have to avenge them both."
"…"
"The ones who did that to them. The ones who trampled them. The ones who tried to trample me. I have to take revenge — with my own strength, without borrowing anyone else's power."
Only then would it mean anything.
Ivan had said it. He would stake his life on Najin's star. He would stake his honor on Najin's life. Only in the moment Najin brought the Church down would Ivan finally be proven right. No one else could do that in his place. Only Najin could.
Najin had always carried that weight in a corner of his heart. Without revenge, there would be no release. Somehow, the knot had to be tied off.
"Sounds like your enemies are strong."
"They are."
"Strong enough that you need to reach Sword Master just to face them?"
"Yes. Because they are Transcendents as well."
"I see."
The Helmeted Knight let out a long breath.
He felt it by instinct. That was territory he must never trespass. That was the boy's reverse scale, the fire he carried in his heart. A domain no one else had any right to interfere with.
"Well. Everyone has their reasons."
He had one of his own.
The Helmeted Knight, too, had a goal he had to achieve in this land. He exhaled at length. As if he had decided something, he looked straight at Najin.
"You mentioned a victor's rights earlier — do you know the rules of a duel?"
"I do."
"Including the rule that a victor may demand three things of the defeated?"
"The rule proclaimed by the honorable duelist Vaerman."
"That's right. You know your stuff."
The Helmeted Knight pointed a finger at himself, then at Najin.
"The victor of the duel is me. The loser is you. No disagreement there?"
"Of course not."
"Good. Accepting defeat is also a knight's virtue. In that case, I will rightfully enjoy a victor's privilege."
After a brief pause, he spoke.
"I have the right to demand three things of you. I'll use one of them."
A victor holds the right to make demands of the defeated. The defeated is obliged to submit to the victor's demands. Rights and duties. The more honorable the duel, the stronger those rights and duties become.
And so Najin accepted the Helmeted Knight's demand. Besides, it was not an unreasonable one.
The Helmeted Knight's demand was simple.
Travel with him for a while.
And for the duration of that companionship, he swore he would not seek Najin's life.
"Normally I'd swear on honor and pride, but I can't take those as heavily as I once did."
He rapped his knuckles against his helmet.
"I'll swear on this helm. This helm carries not only my own honor, but the honor of the entire Golden Horn Knights. That should make the oath heavy enough."
The horned helm. The Horned Helm.
Gazing at that helmet for a moment, Najin asked,
"You said Golden Horn Knights."
"I did."
"Would you tell me a little more about that order?"
"Of course. I could talk about the Golden Horn all day."
You provided good drink, so I'll provide a good story in return, he muttered, and began.
"The Golden Horn Knights. An elite order of thirteen. Every one of us wore a horned helm. The most honorable among us wore the most radiant one. The Horned Helm. This very one."
He ran his fingers over his helmet.
"We shone. We shone brighter than anyone. We had no need to envy the stars in the night sky. Bearing the lance of the Cross Star, we charged across the battlefield. Blowing our golden horn trumpets, we trampled the Empire's enemies. We were always honorable, always proud."
Even now, when I close my eyes, I can still hear it.
The resonance of the horn trumpets, the sound of our footsteps marching in formation, the clatter of hooves, the clank of armor. The Helmeted Knight spoke as if singing.
"The Empire chanted our name. We always won, and we won gloriously. The spears we thrust seemed to reach beyond the horizon — through the Outer Land, even through the enemies of Kamran."
He looked at his spear.
"That technique you saw earlier — every knight of the Golden Horn could use it. There was one who used it best, but all of us used it at least as well as I do."
Imagine it, he said.
"Thirteen of us fall into formation. Clank! The sound of armor rings out. Then — thud — we stamp the ground as one and take our stance. Thirteen gleaming spears fix on a single enemy and thrust forward without a hair's breadth of error."
It was a magnificent sight. A sight I miss.
"Ah…" he sighed long and deep.
"Sound the horn trumpets. Pierce the Empire's enemies. To the Empire, a glorious victory. Proud knights of the Golden Horn! Forever shall we advance…"
He sang. A dream he could no longer chase.
His voice, steeped in memory, was full of vitality, full of life. But when he finished the tale, that voice sank heavy and low.
"But that's all old talk now. There was such an order. The most powerful knightly order in the Empire."
"…"
"You've got a face full of questions. I don't blame you. An order like that — so why is it written nowhere? That's what you want to ask, isn't it?"
"Honestly, yes."
Najin nodded.
He felt genuinely sorry for the Helmeted Knight in front of him, but today was the first time he had ever heard of the Golden Horn Knights. It wasn't for lack of interest in knightly orders. Quite the opposite. Najin was deeply interested in knights and their orders.
He had read countless books on knightly orders, and all but memorized the orders recorded in the history books and their maxims.
And even so, he had never once heard of the "Golden Horn Knights." By the Helmeted Knight's account — and given that an order with a fighter of this caliber among its ranks — there was no way Najin should have been ignorant of them.
"Do you know of the forgotten kingdom of Rondinel?"
Najin nodded. He did.
The Sword Master he had met earlier in the Outer Land — Kirchhoff — had called Rondinel his homeland. A nation burned from history and forgotten roughly three hundred years ago: Rondinel.
"Through the intervention of some damned constellation, Rondinel was erased from history. They were only able to leave behind a few lines of text. And even that was only possible because countless knights belonging to Rondinel at the time offered up their stars — so that even those 'lines of text' could remain."
Because so many stars had been offered.
Because they had willingly thrown even their lives for their homeland. Because of the sacrifice of so many lives and so many stars.
"Barely, Rondinel managed to preserve even the record that such a nation had existed. But you see, Rondinel was a truly exceptional case. It was only possible because of an exceptional being named Kirchhoff. Most others never managed it. The Golden Horn Knights were no different."
The same situation as Rondinel. The same constellation's intervention.
The authority of oblivion and incineration sweeping over them.
As if recalling that day, the Helmeted Knight smiled bitterly.
"Believe it or not, that's your choice. The Golden Horn Knights most certainly existed. At least until a hundred and fifty years ago."
Running his fingers over his battered armor, his scarred helm, the broken horn of his helmet, he spoke.
"Even if everyone else has forgotten, I remember. I alone remember. The victory cries. The sound of the horn trumpets. My comrades' laughter. The maxims of the Golden Horn. I alone remember them."
And then the Helmeted Knight lowered his hand.
"There will be many such people in this Outer Land. Forgotten heroes of old. Those erased from history. And, at the end of that path, those who went mad — more than you can count."
"…"
"The term mangja doesn't only mean the walking dead. The ones who have forgotten. The ones who have been forgotten. The ones who have lost. In the Outer Land, they lump all those people together and call them the lost ones. In that sense, I might as well be one of them myself."
Crack. The flames of the campfire began to die. The firewood was running out.
"The lost ones. Those who have lost."
Forgotten, and so stripped of belonging.
"That's why I'm curious. How you'll live in this land. You, who for a brief moment let me get drunk on old glory — what conclusion you'll reach when you face the countless lost ones of this land. I find myself interested."
Crack, crackle.
"That's why I asked you to travel with me."
Crack.
The last ember leapt up. The campfire went out. With the fire gone, only silence remained. In that silence, Najin and the Helmeted Knight looked at each other.
A shining star, and a star worn down by Erosion.
"Get up."
The campfire was dead. Breaking the silence, the Helmeted Knight rose to his feet.