Free Knight
Every demon has a core, and that core differs wildly from one to the next—but for those that wear a shape close to a human’s, the core is the heart. Burst the heart, and a demon loses its hold on form and simply comes apart.
Squelch…
Orgis’s body melted. Black sludge pooled on the ground with a wet slap. In a few minutes even that filth would evaporate, and every trace that a demon had ever stood there would be gone. People usually called that “subjugating a demon.”
Najin knew better. In truth, so did most others. What they had done was closer to putting the demon into stasis; in a hundred years at most, a few decades at least, it would rise again.
Demons are immortal by nature. Ordinary means can never give them a true death.
Merlin shrugged, then shot Najin a sidelong glance.
Unless, of course, there’s an exception.
Without a word Najin drew up his sword aura. The tip of the blade flickered platinum-gold. Before Argo could notice, he drove the sword into the sludge the demon had left behind.
Platinum aura touched the demon’s soul. To a demon that light was a natural enemy. The aura of a man who had become one with Excalibur carried, even in part, the same nature as the holy sword itself—the contradictory power that could kill the unkillable. It set the demon’s soul ablaze.
Ssssssssss!
The sludge boiled and hissed as it evaporated. The demon no longer had a mouth, hands, or feet, yet the thrashing of the filth looked for all the world like a creature screaming and clawing for life.
“Hm? What are you doing, lad?”
“Nothing important.”
“Well. I expected as much, but it seems the Masterpiece is beyond recovery.”
“Beyond recovery? What do you mean?”
“That’s simply how Masterpieces work. They don’t break under normal circumstances, but once they’re contaminated past a certain point or their function fails, they vanish—exactly like a demon.”
They disappear without a trace, Argo explained, only to reappear somewhere unexpected on the continent.
“Why do you think the Bookmark turned up in some backwater village library? Same principle. They usually resurface near whatever the previous owner held dearest—but in the Bookmark’s case we may never know. It’s all mixed up now.”
Argo shook his head.
Najin stared down at the sludge in silence. Certainly nothing resembling a bookmark could be seen inside it.
Ssssss…
When the last of the filth had boiled away he extinguished the aura, flicked the blade clean, and looked at the blackened ground with open contempt.
Did you really think I’d let you run?
The soul that had tried to slip away without paying its price burned to ash and crumbled. Najin exhaled a long breath and rolled the stiffness from his shoulders.
Ended easier than I expected.
An ancient demon, one that had swallowed a Masterpiece, a creature forged from dozens of knights… From the description alone he had braced for a brutal fight. Instead the battle had been smooth, almost simple.
Maybe it was weaker than the stories?
No. It was exactly as strong as you heard—maybe a shade stronger.
Really? It felt kind of weak.
You…
Merlin stared at him as if he had grown a second head.
Ever since you came to the Outer Land you’ve been fighting fallen stars, undead monsters that lived for centuries, transcendents… Your sense of scale is completely broken.
She jabbed a finger hard into his forehead.
A demon of that level is a walking nightmare for ordinary knights. It was far stronger than the Red Dragon that almost killed you.
That strong?
Yes, that strong. You just grew so fast your calibration is off.
When he thought about it, the distortion was inevitable. Every opponent he had met since entering the Outer Land had been monstrous. Defeat one and a greater monster appeared; break that one and something worse still stepped forward. After enough rounds of that, the gap between how strong Najin felt and how strong he actually was by any objective measure was bound to yawn wide.
“Finally finished.”
Once the dust settled, Argo let out a long breath and looked up at the sky.
“Finally… I got my revenge.”
His voice was light, and a clean, relieved smile curved his mouth. Najin followed his gaze upward.
A new star was rising. Argo’s second. Not a star won merely by toppling a powerful foe, but one claimed by laying an old regret to rest.
“You’ve gained a star. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. And you? Did you pick one up as well?”
Najin shook his head and pointed. Four stars shone there. The faint outline of a fifth beside them had not shifted in the slightest.
“Ah… right. The more you pile up, the harder the next one becomes. Still—four at your age? Every time I look it feels unreal.”
Unreal. Reality.
Argo snorted a quiet laugh, then pointed toward a corner of the city.
“Let’s walk. I think we have things to talk about.”
What things? Najin asked. Argo’s answer was brief.
“About Ivan.”
At first he hadn’t noticed, but by now even Najin could hardly miss it. Argo knew about Ivan—and seemed to know that Najin was his disciple.
Well, the alias I used from the start was Ivan, after all.
He had probably known from the very beginning. And during the fight against the knight-demon Najin had become certain of something else: the demon Ivan had drunkenly ranted about was the Knight Demon Orgis, and the comrade famous for his parries was none other than Argo.
“I had a peer named Ivan.”
They walked through the ruined streets while Argo spoke.
“He was a prodigy. Strongest of our year, and he didn’t fall short of the seniors either. Talent, character—none of it lacking. There were always people around him.”
Argo walked as if retracing old memories.
“He was the center of everything. Half in jest, half in earnest, the rest of us used to say that if any of us was going to claim a star first, it would be him.”
“A star…”
“Yes. Not a metaphor or a rank—an actual star hanging in that sky.”
Looking up, one could still see them. Then and now, the stars shone as if a hand stretched high enough might just brush them.
“Embrace honor. Guard your pride. Chase the stars.”
The words Ivan had muttered like a habit.
“‘The knight who chases the stars.’ That was his nickname. Half of it was mockery—‘look at the fool with his impossible dream’—and the other half was genuine awe for a man who never stopped challenging.”
Argo told him of the feats Ivan had accomplished, of the kind of knight he had been. Listening, Najin found himself smiling without meaning to. So the drinking stories had not been empty boasts after all.
“The more those stories piled up, the more the mockery faded from the name. It stopped sounding like an empty dream and started sounding like a man who might actually snatch a star one day if you looked away for a second.”
But—Argo’s smile turned bitter.
“In the end it became mockery again.”
“…”
“He became a sinner and fell to a place where no stars can be seen.”
The underground city of Atman—the place where the knight who chased the stars had plummeted.
“What was the crime?”
“I’d like to tell you, but I can’t. The Church bound the whole affair under a silence edict; even speaking of it is forbidden. Only this…”
Only this, Argo said.
“Ivan challenged something. He refused to sit still, challenged it, and failed. That failure made him a sinner.”
He smiled again, the same bitter curve.
“Some knights still run their mouths about it however they please.”
“…”
“‘He acted like an idiot. Crossed the line. Reached for what he could never touch. Should’ve known his place. Why such a stupid stunt? With a golden future right in front of him, why…’”
Argo’s face twisted as he muttered the words.
“Complete fucking nonsense.”
It was the first time he had sworn.
“Isn’t that exactly what a knight is supposed to do? Dream high. Reach for what you cannot touch. If someone laughs and calls you a fool, shout that this is romance and charge anyway. Isn’t that a knight’s privilege?”
He spoke as if singing.
“Even if you fail and fall, even if you’re beaten to your knees—cowards who never even tried have no right to laugh at that failure or that defeat. None at all.”
“…”
“Even if the story ends right there…”
“No.”
Najin cut him off.
“It hasn’t ended.”
“Hasn’t ended? What hasn’t?”
“That story. The story of the knight who chases the stars has never ended.”
Argo’s eyes turned to him. The expectation in that gaze was something Najin could answer.
“A single human lifetime that never reaches transcendence is far too short to hold one complete story. Even transcendents are the same. Even the great hero King Arthur never finished hers, did she?”
Then, Najin said,
“If one life is not enough, then two. If two are not enough, then the next. That is how humans have always continued their stories. History is full of the proof. Ivan simply did the same.”
He lifted his hand. The tip of his finger pointed at the stars—four brilliant points of light.
“I am here.”
I, who received that story, stand here now.
Pointing at his own stars, Najin continued.
“I was taught by Ivan. I learned the sword from Ivan. I made a promise with Ivan—and I am still here.”
“What did you promise?”
“To climb to the highest place. To stand there and shout.”
His stars had not yet been hung at the highest point, but he used their upward path as proof and cried out:
“That at the beginning of my story, there was Ivan.”
Because you were there, I am here now.
“That there was a star-chasing knight named Ivan.”
Argo fell silent. The silence did not last long. He dragged a hand down his face and then burst out laughing.
“Yes.”
The laugh still in his voice.
“That truly is a knight’s privilege.”
He rummaged inside his coat and drew out a single sheet of paper.
“This is the perfect moment.”
The paper bore both the Imperial crest and the crest of Atanga. Holding it aloft, Argo raised his voice.
Najin already knew the question. His eyes widened.
“You, boy who dreams of knighthood.”
Argo put the first question of the knighting rite to him.
“What do you believe a knight to be?”
What is a knight?
It was the continuation of a conversation they had shared once before. On the day they first met, Najin had answered the same question. Time had passed since then, and now he answered again.
“One who never loses his pride.”
The same answer, yet changed by everything that had come after.
“One who never yields. One who fears loss yet refuses to be frozen by that fear. One who always looks to the high places and keeps stepping forward.”
Najin lifted his head.
“One who embraces honor, guards pride, and chases the stars.”
He spoke the words clearly.
“That is the knight I intend to become.”
Argo smiled—a bright, unforced smile—and lightly touched Najin’s shoulder with the flat of his raised sword.
“Easy to say, hard to live. Words alone are worthless. But you have given your words value through your deeds—value beyond price.”
Argo knew what Najin had done in the Outer Land. Through the Imperial court he had heard every story those stars carried.
“I know you returned honor to those who had lost it, pride to those who had abandoned it, and the chance to be knights once more to those who had ceased to be knights.”
Of that record the head of Atanga, Godif, had said:
He makes knights knightly again. He returns the honor and pride they lost. If we do not call such a man Atanga, whom else shall we call by that name?
And the Emperor had spoken:
You have kept your promise magnificently.
Then I must keep mine as well.
Both the Imperial house and the Atanga Order had agreed. Argo had been the final examiner, and in truth he had made his decision the moment he first met the boy.
“You who make knights knightly.”
Argo’s voice rang out.
“You are a knight.”
Collapsed buildings. A city of ruins. No cheers, no crowd of witnesses. But what did any of that matter? Najin’s heart was hammering.
Argo drew a deep breath. Up to this point he had spoken only as the voice of the Empire and of Atanga. The next words belonged to the knight named Argo alone.
“Rise, knight.”
Najin stood.
Argo offered his hand.
“I am Argo. Argo of the Atanga Order.”
He introduced himself, then asked the question he had postponed for so long.
“What is your name?”
Even when the whole world had begun to chant Najin’s name, Argo had never spoken it. He had never yet heard it from the boy’s own mouth.
Then I will wait for the answer to this question until after you become a knight.
When you stand as a knight with honor and pride, you will be able to tell me your name, won’t you?
That answer had never been given—until now.
Remembering that day, Najin smiled, and joy rose warm in his chest. At last he could speak his name before this proud knight.
“My name is Najin.”
He declared it without hesitation.
“Free Knight Najin.”
“A pleasure, Sir Najin.”
They clasped hands—not as superior and subordinate, but as equals.
Free City Pavanne. The knight-demon that had occupied it was gone. What remained were two knights, and both of them broke into open laughter.