The Knight Who Removed His Helmet (2)
Alderan Basaglia.
Dig through the Empire’s histories and you will find that name. Yet no one truly knows the man. Who is he, that his name should be written so large? And what did he do, that not a single related record remains?
The imperial historians would tilt their heads at the blank. Clearly an important figure, and yet… had the records been lost in the Dawn War? Or had he been a traitor whose existence was deliberately erased?
Countless documents burned during the Dawn War. With no way to verify the facts, only speculation remained.
Among the many theories, one historian declared, “This Alderan Basaglia is clearly a traitor. The erasure of the records proves it.” The next day that historian was found in his home with his throat cut.
Others who voiced similar claims met the same fate—fingers severed, tongues torn out by the roots. The Empire seethed at the grotesque murders.
Who dared threaten an imperial historian? The Imperial House itself launched an investigation, yet the inquiry was quietly closed not long after. Not because the culprit could not be found, but because the culprit was far too great a figure to punish.
The hero of the Dawn War—Gerd.
He was the one. The Emperor summoned him privately and asked his intent. Gerd answered the question with only a few short words.
“I have not forgotten.”
“Forgotten what?”
“The Triumphant Sword of that man—hero of the great Empire, my master, and the Imperial First Horn.”
Gerd showed his blade.
Decades later, on the day Gerd himself ascended to the seat of Imperial First Horn, a few new lines were added beneath the name Alderan Basaglia at the new First Horn’s demand.
Former Imperial First Horn.
Master of the current Imperial First Horn, Sir Gerd.
Founder of the Triumphant Sword, the origin of modern Imperial swordsmanship.
That was the first act Gerd performed after taking the position. He carved the name back into the Empire’s histories so that he would never forget the promise he had made with his master.
Records are distorted. Records are erased. And still Gerd keeps rewriting the histories.
Again and again and again…
Imperial First Horn, Alderan Basaglia.
Najin had heard the name before. Not knowing it would have been stranger. Alderan Basaglia was the master of the Empire’s Sword Master Gerd and the founder of the Triumphant Sword that Gerd wielded.
…Why?
The moment the man revealed his name, a question rose in Najin.
Why couldn’t I put it together?
There had been plenty of clues. The Helmet Knight had spoken as though he shared a bond with Gerd, and the sword he taught Najin resembled Imperial swordsmanship. Only now did Najin understand the sense of familiarity he had felt in the Helmet Knight’s blade.
It had been Gerd’s swordsmanship.
That distinctive style that split the earth in a straight line even without aura—why had he failed to recognize it? Why had he never connected the Helmet Knight with the name Alderan Basaglia?
The man before me is Alderan Basaglia.
The instant Najin turned the sentence over in his mind—
Stories he had never heard, contradictory fragments, flooded his mind. Dozens of lines invaded, warping every scrap of information so that he could no longer tell falsehood from truth.
Najin frowned and pressed his fingers to his temple. Confusion reigned—yet it did not last.
Well now?
Merlin’s voice rang in his ear. She flicked her hand as though shooing a buzzing insect. That alone was enough; the mass of information crammed inside Najin’s head evaporated in an instant.
Who do you think you’re touching? This one’s mine.
Merlin looped an arm around Najin’s neck and whispered against his ear.
Focus. Finish things with your master. I’m no knight, but I was the Knight King’s companion, wasn’t I? I know better than to let a pest interrupt an honorable duel.
She smiled.
Go on.
Go become a knight.
Thank you, Merlin.
Najin stepped forward. His mind was clear. The heat that had been pounding through his skull moments before had cooled to ice. With widened vision he looked upon his master. Alderan was looking back at him.
For the first time, their gazes met.
The light in those eyes, no longer hidden by a helm, was chilling. Not because the face was monstrous. It was the unique pressure a Sword Master generated—and that pressure, save for Merlin’s, was greater than anything Najin had ever felt.
Not Yuel, not Gerd, not even Caron could produce a presence of this magnitude. Instinctively Najin felt his body tremble. The realization made him laugh in sheer disbelief.
He had expected greatness, but this was beyond imagination.
Standing before him was a hero of the Empire, the previous Imperial First Horn, the Sword Master who had once torn half the stars from the Revelry Emperor. A being who had possessed eight stars—stronger than any other Sword Master on the Continent.
By any ordinary measure Najin could not win. Had this been a fight to the death, he would not have lasted a single second.
But this was not slaughter.
It was an honorable duel, and at the same time a sparring match in which a disciple received his master’s teaching. Najin offered the sword salute. Alderan accepted it and let his blade hang low.
Then—
Crack.
With the hand that did not hold the sword, Alderan seized his own heart and crushed it. Najin’s eyes flew wide. He muttered under his breath, for he understood exactly what the act meant.
The heart is where mana and starlight pool. To burst it was to declare that he would use neither. Alderan was saying:
I will not use aura.
I will face you with the sword alone.
His consciousness was hazy; at any moment he might lose reason and run wild. In such a state Alderan could not perfectly control his mana. The slightest break in breath would send crude, violent aura rampaging. He would not permit that.
A swordsman, a knight, was one who perfectly restrained and commanded every part of himself. At least that was the knight Alderan believed in. So if he could not control it, better not to use it at all. One blade swung exactly as he willed was enough.
A swordsman does not swing aura; he swings a sword.
Alderan chose to remain a swordsman.
It was consideration for his disciple and, at the same time, absolute confidence in himself.
I’m still a Sword Master without aura, you brat.
No change crossed Alderan’s face.
Come. Hit me with everything you’ve got.
He said nothing aloud.
Break me if you can.
Yet Najin felt as though the man were smiling those very words. It was no illusion. The Alderan he had known was exactly that sort of man.
Najin’s grip tightened on the hilt. He challenged his master—
the vast wall he had to surpass.
Sword Masters—humans who have stepped into transcendence.
They swing a blade and cut targets dozens, even hundreds of meters away. A single stroke dominates a battlefield and performs feats that defy common sense. They are walking disasters, strategic weapons equal to an entire nation’s army.
Yet that is not a feat achieved by the sword alone. It becomes possible only because aura—aura that goes beyond merely holding a mindscape and dyes the surroundings with it—accompanies the blade.
Aura is an indispensable element in distinguishing a swordsman’s realm.
So then… can a Sword Master who cannot use aura still be called a Sword Master? From Sword Seeker onward, after all, the stages are divided by the form of aura into Sprouting, Blooming, and Full Bloom. If one cannot draw aura at all, would he not lose even to a Sword Seeker, let alone another Sword Master?
Najin had once heard that such a debate had taken place inside the Sword Church—from none other than its master, Sword Saint Caron. And with a laugh Caron had told him how the argument ended.
“They were making a fuss over something so stupid I just beat the lot of them without using aura.”
“When an adult fights a child, does the adult lose just because he can’t use a few fancy grappling techniques? No. Never. Same thing here.”
“A Sword Master who can’t use aura isn’t a Sword Master? Then that person was never a Sword Master to begin with.”
At the time Najin had listened without much thought. Now he understood the meaning perfectly. The moment he caught Alderan’s first strike, he understood whether he wanted to or not.
Kaaaaaaaaaaang!
Even without aura, the blade Alderan swung reached dozens of meters away. When Najin caught the slash that carved the earth and shot toward him, he nearly lost his grip. Sliding backward, he laughed in pure disbelief.
Of course that merciless master had not the slightest intention of going easy. I’m not using aura, so I’ve already done enough for you—that was the attitude. He had taught Najin the same way from the beginning.
Harshly, on the razor’s edge, driving him to the limit until insight was forced out of him. Apparently this was no different.
Then again, this was both a spar between master and disciple and a duel. Alderan seemed to be placing more weight on the latter.
“Huuu…”
Najin no longer felt any complaint. Instead he smiled. He reset his stance and exhaled a long breath. Before he could draw that breath back in, he kicked off the ground and swung. Aura roared up along the blade.
Alderan would not use aura. Najin would.
He would have preferred to match him without it, but he could not afford that arrogance. Without aura he would be broken in a few exchanges. Catching the distance-ignoring slashes, he closed in.
Kuuung!
Just as Alderan had taught him, he poured strength into every single step. He swung the sword, not the aura. And the technique he unfolded was the Triumphant Sword that Alderan himself had taught him.
Skaaaaak!
Najin’s rising blade split Alderan’s slash in two. The sundered strike buried itself in the ground on either side of him as he surged forward. Now he knew the name of the sword he wielded, and he knew its weight.
The swordsmanship of a hero who had always won and become the very symbol of victory.
Because there were those who followed him, because there were those who watched him, Alderan had always had to win. He had to be their symbol. That was why he had swung every single stroke with full force.
Najin imitated that stroke—not for those who followed him, but for the master standing before him and watching him now.
I haven’t learned the secret techniques yet.
But I learned your sword. Right now I know how the blade you swing will move—because you already showed me.
Kwang!
The moment Najin began catching the slashes that way, Alderan swung and kicked off the ground. Najin’s sword rang out with a long kaaaaang! as it met the distant slash—and Alderan was already in front of him.
Najin’s eyes widened at the blade raised high toward the sky. He whipped his sword up in defense, yet the shockwave of the clash nearly drove him to his knees. His joints creaked; the earth under his feet cratered.
Even after absorbing most of the force with aura, it was still this heavy. The weight was different. The realm was different.
And of course it did not end with a single blow.
Alderan swung. A Sword Master swung his sword. With every handspan the blade advanced, the air caught on its tip turned into razors. No aura sheathed the steel, yet the storm coiled around the edge took its place.
Without a single magical means he created aura through pure physical force. Watching it was almost absurd. How was that even possible?
Kwaaaaaaang!
Najin was driven back until he slammed into a boulder and stopped. He stopped; Alderan did not. The pursuit came at once. Najin ducked and dropped his stance; the blade that whistled over his head split a rock a good ten meters thick cleanly in two.
Still Alderan’s sword did not stop.
The horizontal cut that had gone left to right reversed without any regard for momentum and returned left again. There was no break between the motions; they looked like a single continuous action. Najin hurriedly wedged his blade into the arc, yet he could not fully receive it.
Chuhk—his body jackknifed sideways.
Even though he had blocked with the sword, the sheer impact flung him rolling across the ground. Distance opened—but that was no blessing. Distance meant room for a greater technique.
Alderan adjusted his grip and settled into a stance. The instant Najin saw it, his eyes flew wide. That was the stance for Ramming. Why that stance? What he held was a sword, not a spear.
As if answering the question, Alderan twisted the blade. The air that had been coiling along the tip wound around the entire length of the sword and spun like a storm.
“You’re kidding me.”
Najin could not keep silent. He pushed his aura output to its absolute limit and swung with everything he had. At the same moment Alderan thrust toward him.
Ramming.
The earth split. Boulders were ground to dust. The ground was butchered and the wind howled in a screaming vortex that tore the air with a piercing kiiiiiiing!
The experience of breaking the Ramming of the Horned Star helped him now. Najin swung along the grain of the storm. He clenched his teeth and endured the raging gale. Gripping his shuddering blade hard enough to make it groan, he heaved it upward.
Tuhwak.
The storm parted. There was no time to celebrate. Through the split gale Najin saw another storm already lunging toward him.
Ramming.
To the Horned Star it might have been a secret technique; to Alderan it clearly was not. He unleashed Ramming again without pause. Najin’s pupils trembled as he stared at the approaching storm.