On That Adventure Tale Worth Telling with Laughter (1)
“What Don Quixote seeks is utopia—a place that exists nowhere at all. If that’s the case, there’s one spot that comes to mind.”
“And where might that be?”
“In these Outer Lands, you see, truly anything can exist. Whales that fly through the sky, frozen flame, seas of salt, wastelands half buried in snow and half in sand… Yet there is exactly one thing that does not.”
Rocinante flung both arms wide.
“A place where the sun rises.”
So saying, he pointed to the heavens—the sky of the Outer Lands, black night instead of blue, filled with the stars of constellations instead of a sun—and cried out:
“A place with a blue sky rather than one shattered to pieces, a place bathed in warm sunlight rather than the restless starlight of constellations—no such place exists in these Outer Lands. Or perhaps it simply hasn’t been discovered yet.”
A place that existed nowhere.
A place no one had ever found.
“Would that not be utopia itself—heaven?”
In the fairy tale of the Knights of La Mancha, the paradise where the heroes finally arrived was likewise a land of blue sky and abundant warm sunlight. Listening to Rocinante’s words, Don Quixote’s eyes shone.
“Where is it?”
“That, no one knows.”
Rocinante lifted his staff.
“Which is precisely why it’s worth the adventure, is it not?”
He planted the staff with a sharp tap and pointed ahead, as if declaring that their destination had been decided in this very moment, then strode forward with vigor.
“Let’s go, Don Quixote.”
Toward a place that existed nowhere.
And so the journey began all at once. Amid it, Najin put a question to Rocinante.
“Are you a mage, Lord Rocinante?”
“Come now, Sancho—no need to put up walls when we’re to adventure together. Call me Rocinante, plain and simple.”
“All right. Rocinante.”
“Better. To answer your question: your guess is correct. I am a mage. And a rather formidable one at that.”
Rocinante preened. It was no empty boast; even to Najin’s eye he seemed near the level of a transcendent.
“And as luck would have it, a fine subject for demonstrating my magic is coming this way. A seven-legged wolf. Common enough creatures in the Outer Lands.”
Where Rocinante pointed stood a demonic beast the size of a house. By pure coincidence it was charging straight toward Najin and Don Quixote. Najin hastily drew his sword; Rocinante, unhurried, rapped the ground with his staff.
“A true mage creates magic that exists solely for himself—magic only he can use. And I am a true mage. Which means…”
Thwack. He tapped the tip of his staff against Najin’s back.
“I, too, possess an inherent magic.”
Acceleration.
“Huh?”
Najin’s eyes flew wide. His field of vision had abruptly transformed. The pupils that had been fixed on the beast ahead were somehow staring at the ground. It was no mere flip of perspective.
Guh—
With a comically undignified final cry, Najin planted his face in the dirt. Cheek pressed to the earth, he blinked. What on earth had just happened? He had been certain he was driving his raised foot into the ground to charge the beast. When he came to his senses, he was sprawled on the ground.
“Haha. Fail to master the speed and you topple just like that. I had my own share of trouble at first.”
Only then did Najin understand. His body had moved far faster than he had imagined, tangling his steps and pitching him forward.
“What is this…?”
“My inherent magic. Acceleration—it makes anything faster.”
Rocinante shrugged and rapped the empty air with his staff.
“Not merely the flesh, either.”
His mouth moved with blinding speed. Incantatory syllables no ear could parse poured out several per second. In the blink of an eye, seven completed circles floated in the air.
“Magic as well.”
The moment he struck the hovering circles in rapid succession with the tip of his staff—
A flash, then a series of thuds.
Seven beams of light punched through the beast in a single burst of brilliance. Every leg pierced, the creature collapsed.
Najin’s eyes widened further.
What in the…?
From the completion of the spell to its release and impact, less than a second had passed—fast enough that even Najin’s transcendent-level dynamic vision would miss it without total focus.
—This… is astonishing.
Even to a fellow mage—no, to a Great Mage—it seemed a marvel. Merlin, too, was watching Rocinante with open curiosity.
—Accelerating an incantation is no simple feat. Push the speed and the original form usually collapses. Only the ‘lump of mana’ that hasn’t yet become magic gets accelerated, so if you try to hurry a fireball the flames scatter more often than not.
Even accelerating the simplest spell was difficult, Merlin said.
—Worthy of being called an inherent magic. His claim to be an outstanding mage doesn’t seem to be bluster.
For the notoriously exacting Merlin to acknowledge anyone was rare. Najin marveled inwardly and tried to rise. But the motion he pictured and the actual speed refused to match; once again he sprawled face-first into the dirt.
“……”
“……”
Najin looked up at Rocinante without a word.
Rocinante merely shrugged, as if to ask what the holdup was.
“Well? Get up.”
“Would you mind releasing the magic?”
“If you’re going to travel with me, you’ll need to grow used to it. Why not adapt in advance? Once you do, it’s a splendid magic.”
The trouble was that it was far from easy. Had this been Najin’s original body, adaptation would have come swiftly; as it was, his flesh was half-assimilated with Sancho’s. Merely controlling Sancho’s body was already bewildering enough—adding speed made every intended movement go awry.
“Sancho? Why are you lying on the ground?”
Having finished off the fallen beast, Don Quixote blinked. Najin shot Rocinante a look. The mage’s grin turned positively impish as he nodded.
“Ah, nothing of consequence, Don Quixote.”
Rocinante raised his staff.
“He’s experiencing my magic. You should try it as well. Better to grow familiar early.”
Tap—he rapped Don Quixote with the staff. The knight blinked, took a step forward—and likewise crashed face-first into the earth with a resounding thud.
“……”
“……”
Silence.
“……What is this?”
“My own magic.”
“Release it.”
“You’ll both thank me once you’re used to it.”
For a while the sounds of bodies hitting the ground—thud, thump—rang out in succession. Only after nearly a full hour did the two manage to stay on their feet.
“You look a wreck, Sancho.”
“My lord is no better.”
Caked in dirt, Najin and Don Quixote burst into unbidden laughter. Watching them, Rocinante laughed as well.
“Yes.”
Don Quixote brushed the dust from himself and spoke.
“Don Quixote’s adventures ought to be like this. Laughter must never be missing. For a moment I had forgotten.”
He pushed up the corner of his mouth with a thumb. From the day he had left the burned-out manor of Quijano behind, Don Quixote had not truly smiled; now he forced himself into a comically exaggerated grin.
“Onward, my friends!”
He shouted through the laughter.
“A ridiculous, delightful, unendingly mirthful adventure awaits us. No reason not to run toward it.”
Taking a great stride, Don Quixote broke into a full sprint.
“I am Quixote!”
The ingenious gentleman of Quijano, Don Quixote!
So he cried as he strode with vigor—only to lose control of the speed and topple once more into the dirt. Even while rolling across the ground with a tremendous clatter, Don Quixote laughed.
“Wahahahahahaha!”
He laughed as though he meant to float the Outer Lands themselves. As if only by laughing could he endure—or as if he believed that by laughing long enough he might one day truly smile again.
2.
The adventure toward heaven began.
Najin became companion—or observer—traveling with them while watching a step behind. He had to confirm how this story would unfold.
As expected, of course.
The adventure was not easy.
“Sancho!”
“I know, my lord.”
A journey in search of a place that existed nowhere could never be simple. And this was the Outer Lands. A place crawling with monsters—and with the dead who were more monstrous still. Ancient specters and beasts centuries old leapt out at the slightest provocation; the Outer Lands were danger incarnate.
“Oh, dear.”
Amazingly, the Outer Lands did not stop there. In their generosity they even layered on a Fallen Star for the entertainment of visitors, drawing an admiring gasp from Don Quixote.
“What is that, Sancho?”
“That is a Fallen Star, my lord.”
“A Fallen Star?”
“You’ve seen plenty of the dead, have you not? Think of it as a constellation that has become one of them.”
“Oh. Then how ought we face it?”
“You mean to face that?”
Najin pointed at the Fallen Star that shook heaven and earth, hurling lightning that bridged sky and ground. Don Quixote stroked his beard, then gave a vigorous nod.
“We must flee, Sancho.”
“My lord, a knight does not flee.”
“Blast! I nearly forgot chivalry—”
“We are merely charging in reverse.”
CRACK! Dodging the lightning that erupted at their feet, Najin began to run. Don Quixote blinked, clamped a hand over his rattling helm, and ran after him.
“Run, Rocinante!”
“I am already doing so without being told, my lord!”
Accelerated to the point their tails nearly left them behind, the three finally ducked behind a boulder and gasped for breath. Then, finding their own bedraggled state ridiculous, they laughed again.
“We’ll need a way to pass that lightning.”
“Must we truly go through there?”
“If it guards the place so fiercely, it must be hiding some vital treasure! Legend says that wherever lightning strikes, treasure is always buried.”
Najin was aghast, but Rocinante readily agreed that the words rang true.
“Lightning is a symbol of the sacred, and often an allegory for divine miracles. Beyond that place there is surely some holy relic, my lord.”
“You know your lore, Rocinante!”
I’m going to lose my mind. Najin sighed, yet still played along with their antics. When they finally forced their way through the lightning, a single helm lay waiting—likely the one the Fallen Star had worn in life.
“A golden helm! It must be the helm of Mambrino!”
“Who is Mambrino?”
“A hero of legend.”
Don Quixote set the half-melted helm—scarred by lightning—upon his head and smiled. The sight was thoroughly absurd.
Similar episodes followed.
Before trials that made no sense, places that screamed danger at a glance, Don Quixote never simply passed by. He insisted they had to cross, wrung his brains for a method, and then actually devised one that carried them over the ordeal.
“This is a golden gauntlet. Any true knight must possess a shining gauntlet.”
And each time, Don Quixote obtained something. Relics of constellations and the dead—broken junk with no special function whatsoever—which he nonetheless proclaimed treasure and put on.
A half-melted helm, gauntlets faded to a dull yellow, greaves riddled with holes, banners of every emblem imaginable…
Thus the journey continued.
Those who witnessed the antics of Don Quixote, Rocinante, and Sancho grew in number, and rumors of them began to spread quietly through the Outer Lands.
And then—
“Who are you, to travel the Outer Lands in that state? Do you even know what lies beyond?”
Drawn by the rumors, people began seeking Don Quixote one by one.
3.
Quite a few were intrigued enough by Don Quixote’s reputation to seek him out. They were stars who had long survived in the Outer Lands—heroes, once.
“I do not know what lies beyond.”
To one such star’s question, Don Quixote answered.
“Not knowing is what makes it delightful, is it not?”
“Delightful? This wretched Outer Land?”
“Wretched? It is a land full of the unknown. Fresh adventure awaits me every single day—how could it fail to delight?”
A star who had never once found life in the Outer Lands “delightful” burst out laughing at Don Quixote’s words—laughing in sheer disbelief.
“Might you allow me to join that journey? My life holds no interest. Existence in this horrible Outer Land is so painfully unbearable that I cannot laugh at all.”
Then he proposed:
“Yet I have a feeling that if I travel with you, I might be able to laugh. May I come along?”
“Of course. I am Quixote—the ingenious gentleman of Quijano, Don Quixote.”
The company grew. The new companion called himself a shepherd and addressed Don Quixote as “Sir Knight.” And he was far from the only new comrade to join the road.
“Teacher, I wish to die.”
Don Quixote, exploring the Outer Lands with reckless abandon, met countless dead—or stars on the verge of becoming dead—and willingly conversed with them all.
“I have lived long enough and see nothing left to enjoy. I want to end this wretched life this very moment. Yet I cannot. Death offers no rest; I would only continue as one of the dead into eternity…”
The star fading into undeath asked:
“You said you search for heaven, Teacher?”
“I do. La Mancha—a heaven that exists nowhere.”
“Take me to heaven. Throw me into that cinerary urn if you must.”
A knight who called Don Quixote “Teacher” joined them.
“If you mean to die now, why not adventure with me instead? It will surely be delightful—a journey where laughter never ceases!”
“You’re telling me not to die? I have no reason to live.”
“If dying today or dying tomorrow makes no difference, why not spend one last adventure filled with laughter?”
“……What an absurd person.”
A constellation who had resolved upon suicide joined them.
“You said you seek heaven? I am a gardener who tends gardens. Might heaven have need of a gardener?”
A girl who had lived as a hero and a knight, yet whose dream had always been to cultivate gardens, joined them.
“I wish to make your travels into song. I am the foremost bard of the Outer Lands. Grant me the chance to sing your tale.”
A lute-bearing minstrel joined the procession.
What had begun as three swelled, before anyone quite noticed, into several dozen. The minstrel played and sang; Don Quixote erupted in laughter; Rocinante threw in the refrains.
“Sancho!”
“I know, I know, my lord.”
Sighing as if there were no help for it, Najin still sang along in time. Even in the bleak and rugged Outer Lands they alone brimmed with life, and wherever they passed, laughter never ceased.
Rocinante’s banter and Don Quixote’s laughter.
And the occasional flash of Sancho’s clever wit.
It was an adventure of unbroken mirth—utterly mismatched to the Outer Lands. In this terrible land where the dead thronged and even death offered no rest, a joyful adventure?
“I, too.”
Yet paradoxically, countless stars were drawn precisely to Don Quixote’s adventure.
“I, too, wish to laugh.”
“So do I.”
“And I.”
“If it would not be an imposition…”
Stars who had lost themselves. Stars fading into undeath. Stars facing death. Stars who had lost the meaning of life. Stars craving rest. Stars who simply wanted one last joyful adventure.
For countless reasons, countless stars joined Don Quixote’s procession.
“Wahahahahaha!”
There was an ineffable power in Don Quixote’s laughter; it spread among the stars as if contagious. They laughed at ease, danced with him, sang, and joined the ridiculous journey.
Now Don Quixote no longer forced his smiles.
He could truly believe it was delightful.
“Let’s go, Sancho!”
They headed onward.
Toward a heaven that existed nowhere.
Toward the end of this joyful adventure.
“My lord—what is laughter, in your mind?”
One day Najin asked Don Quixote. What is laughter? There are so many kinds; what sort of laughter do you mean, my lord?
“Laughter, Sancho, is this.”
And Don Quixote answered.
“It is akin to a scream. When there are those who cry out because the burden is too heavy, because they cannot endure—there are also those who, like me, simply laugh their heads off.”
“A scream?”
“Yes. Life itself is so hard and painful, is it not? Truly hard. The world is full of things no single human can bear alone.”
Don Quixote spread his arms wide and gestured to the many companions sharing his road.
“Those who have lost comrades, those who have lost their country, those who watched everything they loved burn before their eyes, those who have lost lovers, those who have lost and lost again until they stand on the brink of losing even themselves…”
Murmuring thus, Don Quixote let out a breath.
“I want to scream. I want to rage. I want to weep. But that only makes the heart heavier.”
So, he said—
“Then laugh.”
Laugh.
“Lift the corners of your mouth. Laugh absurdly. Laugh until you’re spent. If you would weep, rage, or snarl—laugh instead! For laughing, even a little, lightens the heart.”
Don Quixote laughed.
“Laugh! Laugh and laugh again!”
It was a laugh so bracing that anyone who saw it felt better—so infectious that one smiled without meaning to.
“To endure today. To dream of the happiness that may one day come. And if that happiness never arrives, then to sing joyfully this very day.”
Laugh. What harm is there in laughing?
“The world is short on laughter!”
In the sky, Don Quixote’s star glittered.
“So is it not good that there should be at least one story we can tell while laughing and chattering, Sancho?”
Dalso—to talk and laugh, to speak while smiling and enjoying.
“I hope my story will be such a story. That is the laughter I have in mind.”
Najin looked up at the heavens.
The Star of Laughter and Chatter—the star that lets one speak while laughing and enjoying.
That had been Don Quixote’s other name.
The name he had borne before he became the Star of Contempt.