The Horn-Blowing Star (2)
"You called him a comrade? That one over there?"
Najin pointed at the headless knight shambling between the stakes. Whether that thing could even be called a person was debatable, but since the Helmet Knight had named him a comrade, Najin decided to extend at least the bare minimum of courtesy.
"That's right. He was the vice-commander of the Golden Horn Knights."
"You said he was the one who broke the horn on your helm. I figured you two had a bitter history."
"Bitter history it is, true enough—but he only smashed the horn after he'd already become like that."
The Helmet Knight leaned his head back against the rock. The helm clattered softly where it touched the stone.
"I tried to stop him once. He was still my vice-commander, after all. What kind of knight-commander can't rein in one of his own men when they go off the rails? So I tried. And then…"
"And then?"
"I failed, and it was an ugly sight. I told you before, didn't I? If you mean to kill a dead man who reached a high realm in life, you need pure starlight."
"You did."
"My star is already stained. No matter what I tried, I couldn't put him down. Cut off an arm, sever a leg, run him through—he'd just get back up and come at me like a beast. After a while I decided even that was pointless and gave up."
Stained starlight could never close a dead man's eyes. Overwhelm him with sheer physical force and butcher him again and again, and you might render him unable to move—but that was a far cry from rest. Even the tiniest scrap of flesh still held a soul, and over decades or centuries it would regenerate.
Immortality. Undying flesh. Regeneration.
This land of the Outer Land never granted rest to those who had fled from death. So you chose to live forever? Then endure eternity. Anyone who set foot in the Outer Land had to steel themselves for that.
Shine forever—
or lose your light and fall.
There was no third path.
"And that one over there is a constellation, no less."
A constellation who had once held six stars: the Horn-blowing Star.
"When a constellation falls and becomes one of the dead, you can no longer call it human. Flesh torn away? Arms severed? Body ground to paste? Physical means like that can't even stop a Fallen Star, let alone kill it."
The Helmet Knight pointed at the Horn-blowing Star. Black veins pulsed across the fallen knight's armor.
"The closer a soul draws to constellation-hood, the less it is bound by the flesh. Whatever falls off, you just fill the gap with starlight. Unlike ordinary dead, even the heart becomes meaningless."
Najin looked at the Horn-blowing Star.
Six hearts beat within that body—the very stars he had possessed in life. Fallen, stripped of their essence, blackened so they no longer shone, those stars were embedded in his armor.
"For a Fallen Star, physical death does not exist. The more the body is damaged, the closer it simply becomes to a monster. A monster that keeps moving even without a heart—even without a head."
"…"
"And the only ones who can grant rest to such as them—"
The Helmet Knight raised a finger and pointed it straight at Najin.
"—are other stars. New stars like you, who still possess pure light. Of course, the problem is that a fledgling morning star just risen in the sky has almost no chance of facing a constellation that once held multiple stars."
But, the Helmet Knight continued, pointing at himself.
"With my help, the story changes a little."
He shrugged.
"Who am I? Once a Sword Master, once a transcendent, once the knight-commander who led the Golden Horn Knights—the finest order in the empire."
"All of that is in the past, isn't it?"
"The experience remains, that's the point. I won't fall short against any ordinary Sword Master."
"I'm not exactly brimming with confidence…"
Grumbling, Najin still rose to his feet.
"But a victor's demand is a demand the loser has to follow. Do you have a plan?"
"Of course. I was about to explain it."
Before that, the Helmet Knight said.
"Mind if I ask one thing?"
"What is it?"
"What's the name attached to your star? I've never asked until now."
"Dawn Star."
Najin answered.
"The star that announces the end of the night."
Najin walked across the wasteland of the Graveyard of Stars. As always, a single sword hung at his hip—still sheathed. It was not yet time to draw it.
He kept his eyes fixed ahead as he advanced. There stood a dead man who had missed his moment to die. A Forgotten Star that no longer shone, having lost even the memory of itself. Even as Najin approached, it showed no wariness—merely wandered among the forest of spear shafts.
Because Najin had not yet stepped into its domain.
The Horn-blowing Star guarded its territory. It attacked without discrimination anyone who set foot inside. Which meant, conversely, that so long as you did not trespass, it would not strike first.
Najin stopped at the boundary line. The moment he crossed it, he would be inside the Horn-blowing Star's domain. The fallen knight had also halted and turned fully toward him, as if ready to attack the instant a single step was taken.
And then Najin—
—drew his sword. He raised the blade skyward and closed his eyes. It was a brief sword salute, the stance Ivan had taught him, and the ritual he always performed when he needed to draw his mindscape out with force.
Aura blossomed from his blade.
The aura took the shape of constellations.
On this land where stars had fallen and been buried, this graveyard packed with stars that could no longer shine, the aura a boy had kindled burned pure white. Holding the constellation-wreathed sword upright, Najin took one step forward.
He crossed the line. He set foot in the Horn-blowing Star's domain.
In that instant the Horn-blowing Star moved. The black stars embedded in its armor pulsed like hearts, and a black star rose above the empty space where its head should have been. The moment it prepared to sound the horn in accordance with the name given to its star—
————Bwooooooooo.
From somewhere, the call of a horn trumpet rolled across the field.
The Horn-blowing Star's body went briefly rigid. It turned toward the source of the sound. There stood the Helmet Knight, horn trumpet in hand.
"Hey, Kruenbel."
He shook the horn.
"Have you forgotten? Sounding the horn first is the commander's privilege. Even cold water has an order of precedence, you insolent brat."
Thud! The Helmet Knight drove a spear shaft into the ground.
"Sound the horns, Golden Horns!"
He hurled the horn trumpet skyward as he shouted.
A hundred and fifty years ago, the moment he cast the horn into the air, twelve answering tones had followed. The full chorus of the Golden Horn Knights blasting their horns had filled the battlefield with vibration.
When those horns echoed, the empire's enemies quailed in terror and the imperial army knew victory was certain. Sounding their horns, the Golden Horn Knights had charged in glory.
All of that was now nothing but the past.
No one stood behind the Helmet Knight now. The twelve knights who should have been with him had all become the dead. The man who had once blown the horn with the greatest joy was not at the Helmet Knight's back but in front of him, leveling a spear.
And yet—
silence did not settle over the field.
Bwooooooooooooo——————.
Just as it had a hundred and fifty years earlier, the sound of the horn trumpet rolled across the battlefield.
As if answering the Helmet Knight's words, the Horn-blowing Star sounded its own horns. Every horn embedded in its body vibrated as one. Not because it understood the Helmet Knight's speech. A Fallen Star possessed no reason—only instinct remained.
And that instinct cried out:
Sound the horn.
Answer that tone.
Even with reason lost, he was still the star that blew the horn. That essence, at least, he had not forgotten. And so, as the horns echoed, the Helmet Knight could not help but laugh. Even reduced to this, he had not forgotten.
The Helmet Knight stepped up beside Najin.
"Ready?"
"Does readiness need anything more?"
"Honestly. This is why the talented ones are—"
The Helmet Knight settled into his stance. Najin likewise bent his knees and drew his sword back behind him. At the same moment, the Horn-blowing Star tore a spear shaft free and roared.
"What a racket."
"Looks like he's furious you stole his spear."
"I keep telling you I didn't steal it. I borrowed it. Borrowed."
"Earlier you said he gave it to you."
"Minor details."
They traded worthless jokes, yet neither man's stance wavered in the slightest. Toward the Horn-blowing Star that came roaring at them, the two of them kicked off the ground and charged. Turning your back and fleeing from an oncoming foe was not something a knight did.
Sound the horns, Golden Horns.
Pierce the enemies of the empire.
Raise the imperial banner and advance.
We shall triumph in glory and march with pride.
The sound of the horn lingered in his ears. Scenes of racing across the plains while blowing the horn flashed before him. He had no ears, no eyes, not even a head left with which to remember—yet those landscapes would not fade.
The Horn-blowing Star sounded the horn.
Because that was all he could still recall.
He did not know what meaning any of this held. He did not know what he himself was doing. Just as a beast does not assign meaning to each of its actions, neither did he. There was no meaning in the act. No value either.
It was simply the only thing left to him.
The Horn-blowing Star sounded the horn.
Sounding the horn, he thrust his spear. Every time he drove a spear forward, a wet explosion echoed—thuck!—as a human body skewered on the shaft burst under the impact. Flesh and blood sprayed.
The ground split even where the spear tip never touched, bursting open and throwing up clouds of dust. Every time he moved, a new crater opened in the earth. Even after forgetting himself, the techniques carved into his flesh had not vanished.
The Horn-blowing Star had been a knight who reached transcendence early.
With a single spear he had attained the realm of Master and faced countless stars. The technique that had once pierced even the stars of the night sky with one spear had not been lost, even after the body was ruined and the star had fallen.
Rrrrrrrumble—!
When he pushed the spear a mere handspan forward, several meters of earth cracked and overturned. The crude spear shafts in his grip never lasted even a single technique before snapping, but that hardly mattered.
He simply pulled free a new one.
This was his sanctuary. Every spear shaft packed into the ground was a weapon prepared for him.
Kaaaaaaaaaang!
The instant he met the thrust head-on, Najin's knees nearly buckled. Even receiving a single technique was an ordeal. He slid backward, catching his breath.
So this is what a transcendent still is, even fallen?
Though weakened by the fall, the Horn-blowing Star's technique was astonishing even to Najin's eyes. A mere thrust gouged the earth and whipped up storms. Imagining how mighty a knight he must have been in life was not difficult.
But even a knight like that fell.
The Helmet Knight had said it: countless heroes had fallen on this land. They had met ends worse than death. This place was not where stars were born—it was the Graveyard of Stars, where stars died and were buried.
Najin understood why the man spoke that way.
He simply did not like the phrasing.
In truth, he disliked the Outer Land itself. An environment that mocked human nobility, drove people to the extreme until they corrupted, and refused even to permit death—Najin hated it. Was this not an insult to every hero who had ever set foot here?
A hero deserved an end worthy of one.
At the very least, the final moment ought to be so.
Was it because a certain knight who had once shown him the stars had shone at the end? Because he had grown up reading heroic tales? Because he had yearned for heroes? Or simply because that was the nature of Najin's heart?
It could not be reduced to one reason.
He only wished that, in their final moments, they would shine. They had earned that much.
So—
Najin adjusted his grip on the sword.
While the Helmet Knight stepped forward in his place and bought him time, Najin steadied his breathing.
You are no different.
He spoke the words looking at the Silent Knight—or perhaps at the Helmet Knight. Najin still knew almost nothing about the star called the Horn-blowing Star that had become a beast. He did not know what feats Kruenbel the Silent Knight had accomplished, nor what path had reduced him to this state.
So from this moment on, he would learn.
Only a pure star can bleach a fallen one.
Najin closed his eyes and focused inward. The flickering landscape of the subterranean city. Low stars and high stars. A blue star, and a platinum-gold star. Merlin, perched there, smiled at him.
See? she whispered.
I told you you'd get the hang of it soon.
Dragging the tip of his blade low, Najin sprinted forward. The constellation gathered at the point of the sword flickered. High above, the two stars he possessed glittered.
The seeds planted in the boy's mindscape stood on the verge of Sprouting.