The Silent Knight, Kruenbel (5)
The essence of Ramming is the thrust.
A thrust that spins the spear shaft as it drives forward. The principle of the technique itself is simple, yet the process of mastering Ramming is anything but. The technique demanded far more than one or two elements.
Instantaneous strength and perfect form.
Understanding of the spear.
The shape of the aura wrapped around the tip.
To coil wind around the shaft and detonate that wind from the point, every single element had to be flawless. That was exactly what had astonished the Helmet Knight while teaching Ramming to Najin.
Even the members of the Golden Horn Knights—a company where the empire’s soaring geniuses gathered—needed a full year of drilling a single technique if they wished to learn Ramming. Even those who made the spear their primary weapon were no different.
But Najin was different.
Najin understood Ramming after seeing it only a few times. Unfamiliar with the spear, the polish of the technique was still rough, yet he perfectly grasped the principles by which it worked, which motions required force, and at what angle the spear had to be driven.
Understanding naturally leads to deconstruction.
Every motion of Ramming was taken apart inside Najin’s mind. Dozens, hundreds of frames flashed past in rapid succession.
Ah.
Najin looked ahead.
There stood a perfect Ramming. A technique of higher caliber than the one the Helmet Knight had shown—something truly close to perfection. Having witnessed Kruenbel’s Ramming for the second time, Najin knew exactly what he had to do.
With bloodshot eyes, Najin watched.
The gap inside the raging storm.
It was literally a thread-thin opening. So excessively small and fine that even a needle seemed unable to pass. The Najin of before could never have forced his sword into that gap. Even if his eyes saw it, his body would not have followed.
Now it was different.
The instant Najin swung, the blade was a handspan farther forward than usual. Only a handspan. Yet that handspan decides victory. Najin’s sword bit into the grain of the storm.
Tick, tididik…
Something caught on the tip of the blade. The storm began to split along Najin’s sword. Splitting left and right, the storm battered his body. It was bearable. Najin swung again and stepped forward.
One step, then another.
To Najin every motion felt infinitely slow, but that was only the time he perceived. From the outside those same motions were too fast for the eye to track. Najin felt he was walking; from outside he was running.
The sword split the storm. He advanced while splitting it.
Blood vessels burst in Najin’s eyes. One side of his vision dyed red, but he paid it no mind. Color did not matter. In the moment the sword carved the storm he even felt sparks flying inside his skull.
A sensation as though his senses expanded and the world grew wider. It was not merely a feeling. In truth Najin’s mindscape was expanding. From the seed planted beneath the earth a sprout broke through the soil and lifted its head into the open air.
Sprouting.
One of the three steps that lead toward Sword Master.
Najin took the first step toward transcendence.
His aura blazed pure white. Even the gold that had mixed into it was bleached away. Because what Najin recalled was the knight who had shone even without stars. Boom! He stamped the ground hard. Now even he could feel himself racing forward.
He tore through the storm at a full run.
The trajectory drawn by the sword that cut the wind was, of course, the technique he could call his finest.
The sword of Ivan, knight of Atanga.
Of course the technique Ivan had shown was not perfect. Though he had approached Sword Seeker, Ivan had still been a Sword Expert, and the form completed at the time contained flaws. Filling those flaws was the duty of Ivan’s disciple.
Having already surpassed Sword Expert and racing toward Sword Seeker and still higher realms, Najin used his own experience to close the gaps and complete Ivan’s sword.
I will break you from the front.
You are worth that much.
That was the meaning sealed inside the technique.
By chance it also resonated with the story carried by Najin’s first star—Challenge. Unconsciously he drew upon the tale his star held.
The star shoved Najin’s body forward. He took the step that would be his last. As he stepped he swung. The moment the arc drawn by the blade tip became complete, Najin stood directly before Kruenbel.
The storm was split.
Kruenbel swept the spear he had thrust forward sideways as if to shove Najin away. Najin brought the raised sword crashing down. Though Kruenbel moved faster, the technique Najin unleashed had assumed a second strike from the very beginning.
A technique that shatters the enemy’s art with the first blow.
And cuts the opponent with the second.
From the instant the sword was lifted, the blade had been waiting only to fall. Najin swung downward. His sword was faster than Kruenbel’s spear. Only a handspan or so… yet victory and defeat are decided by such trivial margins.
Slash.
Najin’s blade, cutting diagonally downward, bisected Kruenbel’s body. The edge that entered at the shoulder emerged from his side. No blood sprayed. What leaked from the long sword scar was pure white light.
Unstained pure-white light.
White starlight burned Kruenbel’s body.
The heavens acknowledged the feat the boy had wrought. A new star rose in the night sky.
The six stars embedded in Kruenbel’s armor.
The stars dyed black were bleached white. As if filthy water were washed away, as if soot fell free, Kruenbel’s stars began to turn pure.
No—not dyeing.
They were reclaiming their original color.
At the same time Kruenbel’s body began to crumble. First to fall away were the helmets that had clung to his armor. Then the flesh that had fused with the armor itself turned to powder and scattered on the wind.
The more the black stars whitened, the faster Kruenbel’s flesh collapsed. Najin gasped the breath he had held and looked at him. Kruenbel looked back.
“……”
Kruenbel slowly took one step backward.
Already half his body was gone. With the remaining arm he gripped his spear shaft. Not to swing it, and certainly not to oppose Najin.
Boom!
He drove the spear into the ground.
He spoke no word. Kruenbel was the Silent Knight. Believing there were things that could be conveyed without speech, believing that one second of silence could carry more than a hundred words, he held silence as a heavy thing.
The Silent Knight raised a salute.
Even having lost his head and half his body, respect for the other could still be felt in that gesture. It was not a salute offered only to Najin. It was also a salute to the Helmet Knight who had come to his side without his noticing.
Having forgotten himself, having lost his self, he had wandered the tomb of stars for more than several decades. Roaring like a beast, blowing the horn trumpet, he had spent days utterly distant from silence.
But in the final moment at least he could be the Silent Knight. The end he met was quiet.
Psssss……
The stars that had turned pure white crumbled together with his flesh. What remained in that place was only a single spear.
“Finally discharged after putting it off for eighty-seven years, Kruenbel.”
The Helmet Knight smiled bitterly.
“Good work.”
He tapped Najin’s shoulder once.
The words were for Najin, and also for Kruenbel. The Helmet Knight walked to the spear left standing alone and knelt on one knee before it.
“His name is Kruenbel. His title is the Silent Knight; the name given to his star is the Horn-blowing Star; his order is the Golden Horn Knights.”
“He was the next commander of the Golden Horn Knights, the vice-commander, and a knight braver than any other. Even though the commander who should have led you sat down in place, you advanced alone. You challenged without end, blew the horn trumpet, and marched. I declare that entire journey sublime.”
It was a eulogy offered to Kruenbel.
“You knew the worth of silence. You knew bravery. You knew honor and pride. In the final moment you were a knight. Therefore……”
The Helmet Knight closed his hand around the spear shaft.
There was no need to wrap a new banner around the body.
The banner bound most deeply, most tightly, was already the banner of the Golden Horn Knights.
“Thank you.”
Before the campfire the Helmet Knight spoke.
His voice was more subdued than usual. At the low, resonant tone Najin lifted his head.
“Somehow it sounds like the voice of a man about to die.”
“Does it?”
“You also look a little more at ease.”
“Well, after sending off the last remaining knight of the order, my heart feels a bit lighter.”
The Helmet Knight shrugged.
“Of the thirteen Golden Horn Knights, that fellow was the last one left. After seeing him off I finally feel like I’ve done everything I needed to do.”
“The last one?”
Najin tilted his head, then raised a finger and pointed at the Helmet Knight.
“You’re still here.”
“I’m not really someone who can be called a knight.”
“What are you talking about? You told me to call you Helmet Knight.”
“It’s not Helmet Knight—it’s ‘Helmet Knight.’ I would have needed to do something worthy of the name first, wouldn’t I? A nickname is about right.”
A nickname given from outward appearance alone.
The Helmet Knight seemed to believe that being called a knight even by that nickname was enough. At such a reply Najin spoke as if he could not believe his ears.
“Living more like a knight than anyone else, yet claiming you aren’t one?”
“It isn’t something that can be said so easily and simply……”
“Don’t sweat the small stuff.”
Najin gave a short laugh.
“Doesn’t life get tiring that way?”
Those were the very words the Helmet Knight always used as a habit.
As though he had taken a clean hit, the Helmet Knight burst into laughter.
“You’re right.”
He let out a long breath.
“That Kruenbel… he was the one who should have come after me. The one who would have taken my place as commander of the Golden Horn Knights. An honest, upright fellow—I thought I could trust him with everything. Never expected he’d be discharged before me.”
He stroked the spear in his hand.
“Najin.”
“Yes.”
“This spear—any thought of using it?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. The one who defeated Kruenbel is you, and the one who won the duel is you. The victor is entitled to a proper reward.”
“It seems a little large for me to handle. And my main weapon is the sword.”
“Keeping one auxiliary armament ready has all sorts of uses. And this spear is a bit special… it’ll shrink to fit your hand. It’s something close to a Masterpiece.”
The Helmet Knight held the spear out. Najin gripped it, but nothing changed.
“It’s not changing.”
“Try pouring starlight into it.”
He did. The shaft vibrated, then shrank a little—until it was a size Najin could comfortably grip and swing.
“Not bad?”
“It’s fine, but… then what will you use?”
Najin eyed the Helmet Knight with open suspicion. It looked exactly like a man disposing of his belongings before he died. At that look the Helmet Knight gave a dry chuckle.
“Don’t look at me like that. I have no intention of dying. Until I put a hole through the head of the bitch who turned the Golden Horn Knights into this, I can’t die even if the resentment kills me.”
“Is that so.”
“Something like that.”
Najin ran his fingers along the spear, then looked back at the Helmet Knight.
“You said thank you just now.”
“I did.”
“The fact that you feel grateful means… I did better than you imagined. Honestly, even I think I did pretty well.”
“Irksome, but I can’t deny it. Yeah. You did better than I imagined. Because it wasn’t simply demanded as the winner of a duel—it was half a request as well.”
To the youth who, even badly wounded, had refused to retreat, had charged in, and had finally gifted rest to Kruenbel, the Helmet Knight felt genuine gratitude. Najin had allowed his vice-commander to die as a knight, and had finished the work the Helmet Knight himself had left undone.
Najin knew that gratitude was real. Knowing it, he smiled mischievously.
“Then I’ll collect that excess debt right now.”
“Well, I’ll grant one wish.”
“Please teach me the sword.”
He pointed at the sword bound at the Helmet Knight’s waist.
“You’re a Sword Master, aren’t you?”
“To be precise, I was a Sword Master.”
“You still remember the techniques, right?”
“…I can’t claim I’ve forgotten them.”
“Then teach me those.”
The Helmet Knight could not answer at once.
Najin knew he was reluctant to draw the sword. He also understood that drawing it carried a heavy meaning for the man.
Precisely because of that, Najin had asked.
Draw that sword and teach me.
“Can’t it be another wish?”
“No.”
“Tsk. Haa……”
The Helmet Knight scratched at his helmet, then let out a long sigh.
“Fine. Whatever.”