Holy Fire Guardian Knights (3)
People often said that a swordsman’s aura could tell you what kind of life he had lived. Najin agreed with that claim, at least in part—so long as the opponent had reached the rank of Sword Seeker or higher.
A Sword Seeker’s aura carried their mindscape within it. And a mindscape was nothing less than the landscape carved into the heart: the scene one held as most important, or most unforgettable.
For Najin, that landscape was the stars. For Klaus Aten, it had been the open plains where he once charged alongside the blue-winged cavalry. For the knight-commander of House Arvenia, it had been a thicket of thorns.
So what was the mindscape of the man standing before him?
It was obvious. The man’s sword burned crimson. The roaring flames themselves were his aura—and therefore his mindscape. An aura that seemed to mimic the Holy Fire blazing at his back. From that flame-like, wavering edge, heat itself radiated outward.
Aura infused with a mindscape shared the properties of that mindscape. Aura kindled in the image of fire naturally carried fire’s heat. It was the same principle that made Najin’s star-like aura so effective against demons.
Whoosh!
The moment their blades clashed, a surge of heat rolled over Najin and he scowled. He started to step back on reflex—then stopped. Hot, yes. It was hot, but…
I can take this.
It was more bearable than he had expected. The heat was fierce enough to melt brick, no question—yet somehow Najin could resist it. Direct contact would still be dangerous, but the heat that flared when steel met steel was something he could endure.
That’s the story your star carries, Merlin whispered to him.
You stood against the flames of the Witch of Flickering Light. You threw yourself into the maw of a dragon as it breathed fire. Even as the flames burned your body, you smashed the dragon’s heart to pieces, didn’t you?
That was the tale of Najin’s star—the feats he had already accomplished.
A little fire like this? Of course you can handle it.
She was right. Instead of retreating, Najin took a step forward. Flames licked at his face, but he paid them no mind. You’re the one who will give ground, not me. In a pure contest of strength, I won’t lose either.
Krrrrrak!
Aura ground against aura with a grinding screech. Then a flicker of unease narrowed Najin’s eyes. He had been pressing the man down like a stamp—until he suddenly released the force in his blade, shifted his stance, and slipped backward.
Shhk! Finding nothing to meet, the opponent’s sword carved empty air.
Najin stood off to the side, sword tip lowered. His expression was twisted. What showed on his face was insult—and pure distaste.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Najin spat the words like he was chewing them.
“You’re not undead. So why are you pretending to be?”
With his free hand he pointed at the man’s eyes. The right eye was vacant, unfocused—but the left was perfectly clear. And yet the man was looking at the world through the cloudy one. Even though he could still move his body by his own will, he was choosing to surrender himself to instinct.
What is this supposed to mean?
When the man had offered the sword salute, he had been a thinking human being. The moment he began to swing, he became an undead creature ruled by instinct. He was still capable of being human—and he had chosen to face Najin as one of the undead instead.
That fact disgusted Najin more than anything.
It was exactly like running away.
With Najin’s sword still lowered, the man simply stared at him in silence. Then he shut one eye completely—the clear one—and charged like a beast, seeing only through the clouded pupil.
Najin let out a short, incredulous laugh.
So that’s how you’re going to play it.
He hadn’t chosen this troublesome path because he wanted a fight with a mindless undead. There had been other ways. He and the helmeted knight had chosen the frontal assault out of respect—out of courtesy. It was a declaration: I will treat you as an equal opponent, not as one of the undead.
A stubborn, almost foolish insistence. And precisely because of that, it held a certain romance. The man opposite him could not have failed to understand it. And if he still insisted on answering like this…
Najin had his own ideas.
He tightened his grip.
Not the way he had been holding the sword until now—something entirely new. Dragging the blade low, he murmured inwardly, Let’s see if you can keep this up after watching what comes next.
Schlein Weigelmann, Guardian of the Holy Fire.
Commander of the Holy Fire Guardian Knights.
The world had judged him a clean, proud knight who knew the meaning of honor. Schlein himself never saw it that way. He was simply a man who fulfilled the duty placed before him.
Protect the Holy Fire.
Keep the flame burning.
That was his duty. He had never been so intoxicated by chivalry that he sang of pride and honor—but neither had he been so devoid of it that he would abandon his obligation. Schlein was that kind of man: an ordinary human who simply did his best in the role he had been given.
Why do we have to protect the Holy Fire?
Once, as a junior knight, he had asked his senior that question. The older man had not taken offense. He had only laughed and answered over a cup of wine.
Hell if I know why we keep it.
The retired senior took another sip.
They say that fire has burned for two hundred years without going out, right? That’s a lie. It went out about a hundred years ago, and it went out once while I was commander too.
What? That can’t be—
It’s not some sacred fire. No star dwells in it. It’s just ordinary fire.
Then why do we guard it?
Because the people call it the Holy Fire.
He set his cup down.
For hundreds of years the people of this land have looked at that flame and called it holy. They found comfort in a fire that never died, even when the blizzards came. Even if it’s nothing more than ordinary flame… to the people here, it is the Holy Fire.
And then he thumped his own chest with a fist.
It’s the pride of our order as well.
Drunk, the senior spoke as if he were singing.
As long as the Holy Fire burns, we do not yield. Like a flame that burns forever, so too shall our pride endure. Guardians of the Holy Fire—stand!
A drunken maxim carried no weight. It was far from noble or solemn—light words with no gravity at all. And yet, for reasons Schlein never fully understood, those words sank roots deep into his chest.
And in Schlein’s later judgment, that was a curse.
A curse that would bind him for eternity.
He understood it only about ten years after he himself became commander.
Ah…
On that day the land the Holy Fire Guardian Knights protected was destroyed.
The reason was simple. The boundary of the Outer Land surged and swallowed their territory whole. The people trapped inside either became monsters or were eaten by them. Everyone except the knights who could still endure Erosion died.
The eyes of the surviving knights were empty.
No honor or pride could cling to knights who had failed to protect what they were meant to protect. They had not fulfilled their duty. Could anyone who failed honor, pride, and duty still be called a knight?
The moment they began to doubt themselves, Erosion set in. As his comrades began, one by one, to turn into undead, Schlein—because he was the commander—had to make a choice.
His gaze turned to the Holy Fire brazier.
The flame that should have burned fiercely was dead.
Looking at the extinguished Holy Fire, Schlein chose.
He would light it again.
With his own aura he kindled a fire in the cold brazier. The Holy Fire rose once more. Holding a sword wreathed in that rekindled flame high so every kneeling knight could see it, Schlein cried out:
“The fire still burns.”
Perhaps he was shouting it at himself.
“As long as the Holy Fire burns, we do not yield.”
Whether it was truly the Holy Fire or merely his own aura mimicking it, Schlein did not know.
In truth, he did not need to know.
“Like a flame that burns forever, so too shall our pride endure.”
That was not what mattered.
“Guardians of the Holy Fire—stand.”
What mattered was how those who looked upon the fire chose to interpret it.
“We advance.”
Bearing the Holy Fire, Schlein led them deeper into the Outer Land. The knights followed. There was nowhere left to return to. If they had failed to protect, if they had failed their duty, then at the very least they would discharge that responsibility through struggle. They chose to remain knights.
And so time passed.
Ten years. Fifty. A hundred.
Their journey never ended.
Schlein looked back. Behind him walked the comrades who had already become undead. They had been unable to endure the long years. A century was far too long a time in which to keep singing of ideals.
Honor and pride no longer remained in them.
What still drove the undead was only duty and responsibility.
They walked as if drawn by the Holy Fire Schlein kept kindling.
Even after they became the Forgotten Ones and lost their selves, they never forgot the flame of the Holy Fire. As long as it burned, they moved at Schlein’s command. As long as it burned, they were still knights.
But now even Schlein’s own self had begun to blur—because every star he once possessed had been worn away by Erosion.
Even so, Schlein kept lighting the fire.
If he too became undead and let the Holy Fire die, then his comrades—the Holy Fire Guardian Knights—would be nothing more than a pack of the undead. That alone he could not allow.
So Schlein lit the fire.
Casting aside honor and pride, he hunted humans. He used every underhanded means without hesitation. He told himself he had to preserve his self by any means necessary.
Schlein lit the fire.
He ate hearts. He killed countless people. By slaughtering the innocent he lost both honor and pride. Yet something more important than either remained: duty. Only the duty to keep the fire alive gnawed at him.
———— lit the fire.
He no longer even remembered his own name. No matter how many hearts he tore out and consumed, it was only a temporary measure; Erosion could not be escaped forever. Schlein’s mind grew hazy. Around then he began to think:
I wish I could just become undead.
I want to let everything go.
But duty bound his body like a curse. In the end he continued the hunt. From a certain point onward he moved more often as an undead than as a man. He surrendered himself to instinct rather than will. Many times he simply handed his self over to the half of him that had already become undead.
That way he no longer had to agonize. That way he no longer had to feel guilt.
A man who had walked the path of penance for so long finally began to choose the easy road.
Time flowed on and on.
He kept lighting the fire.
And now, two hundred years later, he looked at the opponent standing before him.
A strong opponent. The starlight contained in the boy’s heart was intense—so intense and so brilliantly radiant that it was beautiful. It was not a star that a fallen thing like himself had any right to steal.
But Schlein still had to light the fire.
In truth he no longer even understood why the fire had to be lit, or why it had to be protected. Only the duty that it must be done still drove his body like a whip.
Ah…
Schlein groaned.
Because the boy’s star was far too dazzling. Because that star seemed to ask him, Is this truly the right thing? The pain of it made him close his eyes. Surrendering himself to instinct, he swung his sword.
Kaaaaang!
Steel met steel and sparks flew. Even as his body reeled, he kept his eyes shut. Like so many humans before him, Schlein closed his eyes and turned his face away from his own ugliness.
Krrrrrak!
But the boy would not allow it.
The boy settled into a stance.
The moment Schlein saw that stance, he had no choice but to open the eye he had closed.
“There you are. Finally looking this way.”
The boy smiled.
At some point their positions had reversed. Standing with the Holy Fire at his back, the boy brought his sword to the flame. The fire of the Holy Fire kindled at the tip of his blade.
Then the boy offered a sword salute.
It was the sword salute of the Holy Fire Guardian Knights.
Schlein’s eyes flew wide. It was not merely the salute. The boy’s posture as he approached, his footwork, the way he gripped the sword—even his breathing—were identical to those of the Holy Fire knights. This was not imitation. It was recreation.
Swish!
The boy swung. The moment the blade moved, the flame left his sword—because the boy’s aura had never been fire. The Holy Fire departed the tip, yet in Schlein’s eyes the boy’s sword still seemed to burn.
With a single blade the boy reproduced the swordsmanship of the Holy Fire knights. Correct posture, honest form, a frontal advance worthy of a true knight. Everything Schlein had long ago lost now shone again as the boy swung his sword.
Things the Holy Fire Guardian Knights could no longer put into their blades—the boy willingly placed them into his own.
The sight was so brilliant it felt as if it would blind him. And yet it was a light he wanted to keep watching even if it cost him his sight. The swordsmanship of the Holy Fire knights, steeped in starlight… how long had it been since he had seen something so dear?
In the boy, Schlein saw the glory of the past.
The days when the Holy Fire knights had shone. The glorious past when every one of them had stood tall with pride. And when he remembered that past, he was not undead—he was human.
“Ha.”
At last Schlein laughed.
With both eyes wide open he met the boy’s blade. He stepped back and adjusted his grip. Unlike before, the boy did not immediately pursue.
Instead he leveled his sword at Schlein.
“Najin.”
The boy spoke his own name.
Schlein knew exactly what that meant. He, too, had once been a knight. Across the long years he had forgotten, he finally remembered his own name.
“Schlein.”
Schlein Weigelmann.
Schlein’s stance changed. A blade swung with firm will rather than instinct was sharp. The edge that bit in was like wildfire racing across a dry plain; before one realized it, the ground left to stand on had already narrowed.
Kaaaaang!
Swords clashed. Sparks leapt. Najin’s aura and Schlein’s canceled each other, leaving only steel grinding against steel. With every exchange the cracks in Schlein’s armor deepened.
Shhhhk—sliding far back, Schlein seized the tattered armor and tore it free. Casting aside the cumbersome plate, he faced Najin once more.
The heat of the battle had risen high enough.
They had traded enough blades.
Though not a word had been spoken, the two men seemed to have read each other’s intent; each settled into his stance.
What would likely be the final attack.
As they prepared it, the light of their auras flashed. Atop the high castle, two stars shone.
“Hah.”
That light reached even the helmeted knight swinging his lance below. Shaking off undead, he lifted his head toward the castle’s peak. Looking up at the stars scattering light there, he gave a bitter smile.
“Damn, but they sure know how to shine loud.”
Starlight bright enough to blind.
Beneath that radiance the helmeted knight muttered,
“That’s going to be a real pain in the ass.”
He knew, because he had faced it himself.
The aura that boy kindled, the starlight he scattered—it forced an opponent never to look away from reality. It shoved forgotten things, lost things, things one had already abandoned, right in front of the eyes and made them open whether they wanted to or not.
Do not run. Do not look away. Come at me honestly, head-on. If you were ever a knight, even for a moment, then at least show me that pride. If you won’t show it, I’ll make you show it.
That damn brat forced his opponents to become knights again. He made those who had already given up dream once more. He offered them one last chance to cry out for honor and pride. Did the brat even understand how cruel that was?
Poison. The most vicious poison wine there is.
To the undead—the Forgotten Ones—it was a deadly draft.
And at the same time, it was one hell of a drink.
Even if the price of getting drunk would be high, no one could deny how good the liquor tasted. Toward the place where Schlein stood, the helmeted knight gave his lance a slight tip—almost as if raising a glass in a toast.
“Have a drink, Schlein.”
Even if it was poison.
He would not be able to stop himself from drinking.