The Stars Shine (4)
A wind of war swept across the continent.
The war began without warning. Foreign armies invaded imperial territory, yet the empire’s own subjects scarcely understood why the fighting had started at all.
Ironically, the other side was no different.
What was the reason for this war? Why had the king suddenly ordered an attack on the empire? Was there any just cause? No one knew. Their superiors had issued commands as if possessed, and so the soldiers had no choice but to obey.
Even the nation’s heroes—the transcendent ones—were crying for war, and the rank and file simply thought, Well, if they say so, and followed orders. Unanswered questions, doubts, and suspicions remained unresolved as the war dragged on.
If it had been a short campaign—if victory had been swift—then none of this would have mattered much. The war would have ended before the doubts could grow. And with victory came vast rewards. When bellies were full and purses heavy, most people found a way to be content.
“······.”
But the war did not end so easily.
By the calculations of every nation’s leaders, the empire should have crumbled in an instant. Yet somehow it refused to fall. The empire was far stronger than they had imagined.
“Monster.”
“It’s a monster······.”
“How are we supposed to fight that?”
“One swing of its sword evaporates dozens of meters. Formations mean nothing. Magic means nothing. Artifacts mean nothing. How the hell are we supposed to advance against that?”
“U-uwaaaaaaah!”
According to their intelligence, Gerd—the Empire’s First Horn—should have died in the Outer Land. Instead he had returned alive and whole, holding the approaches to the empire without yielding a single step.
“I suppose the Holy Body Church looked like easy prey. That’s why they struck while I was away, isn’t it?”
“Is your side finished as well?”
“Over there··· ah, I don’t even need to ask. The stench of blood is so thick you must have had quite the time.”
“We’re done here too. There were some losses, but the complex terrain of the Sword Gorge kept them from being too severe.”
The Star Incarnation, the Church’s Executioner, and even Sword Saint Caron were all still standing. The war that was meant to end quickly—while the transcendent ones were away, their churches pinned down—had begun to drag on. Something about the situation was starting to go wrong.
“The Sword Church will side with the empire.”
“The Holy Blood Church will join the empire as well.”
“The Holy Body Church likewise.”
The three churches entered the war. The moment three more transcendent beings joined the fray, the scales tipped in an instant. The tide of battle reversed. Supply lines were cut. Soldiers starved, were swept away, driven back again and again.
Slowly, doubt spread among the ranks.
Why had this war begun? What was the reason? Why attack the empire so suddenly? Was there any proper cause? Why were they even here?
The unanswered questions erupted like a dam bursting.
Morale collapsed. Discipline frayed. And in the midst of it all, the empire’s forces came crashing down. The armies rotted from within and without. Yet the high command, as if still under a spell, kept repeating the same refrain.
The time is almost here. We may look like we’re losing now, but the moment the reinforcements arrive, the entire war will flip.
It was not a lie.
The leaders and transcendent ones of each nation—the very architects of this war—knew how it was supposed to unfold. Their master, the Revelry Emperor, had told them so.
Before long the Holy Light Church would join them, and the Lighthouse, the Lighthouse Keeper, and stars even more powerful would enter the battlefield.
The leaders who had become jesters believed their master’s words without a shred of doubt. The moment those forces joined, the tide truly would reverse. No matter how brilliantly the Empire’s First Horn flew and fought, he could not match the Lighthouse Keeper, could he?
If we just buy time, victory is ours.
We only need to hold on a little longer.
While they stalled and left the problems to fester, one day they witnessed it.
A flash.
A colossal torrent of light burst through the Holy Light Church’s barrier. A radiance so brilliant that no matter where one stood on the continent—even in the far Outer Land—it could be seen with the naked eye.
Starlight overflowed from the Holy Light Church.
The constellations of the heavens realigned. King Arthur’s constellation surged; the Round Table’s constellation shuddered; Merlin’s constellation made a place at the very heart of the Round Table.
A new constellation was carved into the center of the Round Table.
A constellation of seven stars.
The Dawn Star.
Before the torrent of light the Dawn Star unleashed, the jesters felt it in their bones. That was not the light they had been waiting for. Every plan had gone awry.
They frantically sought their master.
Revelry Emperor—where is the Revelry Emperor? What judgment would she pass on this situation······.
「······.」
No answer returned.
Because she had already achieved her purpose.
······On a chessboard there are pieces sometimes used as sacrifices. Pieces that are not especially important—or that are important, yet are still discarded for the sake of the greater game.
The jesters of the continent realized it too late.
They had been nothing but sacrificial pieces all along.
Najin walked on.
Tap.
Beneath the subterranean city of Atman lay the city of the Abyss. Leaving the collapsing landscape behind him, Najin kept walking.
He had not asked Eurypylos, but he knew the man had wanted to be buried here, so he did not recover the body. Eurypylos had claimed he had retired from the post of Lighthouse Keeper, yet in his final moments he had wished to close his eyes beside the Lighthouse—as if that were the only place a Lighthouse Keeper should rest.
A funeral is the act of carrying the dead to the place they longed for.
The grave Eurypylos desired was this place. Beside the shattered corpse of the Lighthouse, Eurypylos closed his eyes. The city, modeled after the Holy Light Church in its most radiant age, buried both of them.
Leaving the crumbling scenery behind, Najin walked.
He walked upward.
“Merlin.”
-Yeah.
Najin spoke as he walked.
“This was my hometown.”
Climbing out of the Abyss, he set foot once more in the subterranean city of Atman. Looking around, he smiled without meaning to.
“The place I was born.”
The underground city, Atman.
“Not much of a place to live. The light is dim, the smoke never clears, and the stench hits you whenever it feels like it.”
Merlin listened in silence.
“Still.”
Najin’s steps halted for a moment.
“There were good people here. Grateful people who never belonged in a city like this.”
It was the front of a certain smithy. An old man sat on the chair set before the entrance, staring up at the sky. After decades without stars, the old man’s eyes looked dazed—as if he were dreaming.
Najin approached him. The old man slowly turned his head. The moment their eyes met, he gave a short snort of laughter.
“What is it, brat?”
It was Old Man Hogel. The smith who had forged Najin’s sword wore a smile that had not changed in the slightest from two years ago, and jerked his chin at him.
“Come to pick up a sword? Or get one fixed?”
“Well. I don’t think I need any more swords.”
Najin gave a bitter smile and lifted Excalibur. Hogel’s eyes went wide; then he let out a hollow laugh.
“And the other one?”
“This one’s made of rare metal too. Give it time and it should restore itself.”
“Rare metal? Don’t tell me you went and became a disciple of the Sword Church?”
“I’m the direct disciple of their boss, actually.”
“Ha!”
Hogel laughed. At the same time a strange pride welled in his eyes. On the rare-metal sword at Najin’s hip he could still see the traces of the blade he himself had hammered.
They said rare-metal swords of the Sword Church absorbed other blades to take their shape, didn’t they? The form of that priceless weapon had been built upon the very sword he had forged.
For a blacksmith there could be no greater honor. Heat rose again in a heart he had thought long cold and exhausted. Hogel laughed aloud. To his eyes the pitch-black rare-metal sword shone brighter than the Excalibur Najin held.
“Damn brat······.”
The old man wiped at the corner of his eye. Najin watched him quietly, then shrugged.
“Old Man Hogel.”
“What.”
“I got to thinking—I still haven’t paid you for the sword. That’s why I stopped by.”
“······Payment?”
“This was the sword I received as Ivan’s hunting dog, and I never paid for it because it was in place of protection money.”
Najin unfastened the sheathed sword from his waist and held it up so Hogel could see it better.
“But look how things turned out—the organization went completely under, and for all the protection fees paid, public order went to hell. That means I never settled the bill, doesn’t it?”
“Huh.”
Hogel’s eyes said, Go on, then. Najin grinned the same mischievous way he had as a child.
“So I’m going to pay it back.”
“How?”
“Oh, I’ll manage.”
Najin spoke lightly.
“Not to brag, but I’m a little famous these days. I’ve shared drinks with the heads of the Sword Church, the Holy Blood Church, and the Holy Body Church··· I’m under the protection of the Empire’s First Horn, and I’m close with the master of the empire’s greatest trading company.”
And that wasn’t all. Like a child showing off to a grown-up, like a grandson performing for his grandfather, Najin boasted of everything he had built.
“So tell me whatever you want, old man.”
“At my age, what grand wishes could I have left?”
Hogel let out a short breath.
“I used to wish I could see the sun, but it looks like I can manage that just by sitting here and waiting.”
“Anything else?”
“I’ll have to think about it. If something comes to mind later I’ll tell you. Now get going—looks like you’ve got plenty to do.”
Hogel waved him off as if annoyed.
“A young man shouldn’t be stuck with an old geezer. You can take care of this after the real work’s done. And······.”
He glanced at Najin’s swords and gave a quiet snort of laughter.
“You’ve already paid me. More than enough.”
Najin bowed his head in greeting, then started walking again. Past Hogel’s forge he headed for the heart of the underground city.
“······.”
Eyes poured over him. Najin walked under the gaze of every resident of the subterranean city. Among them were children born and raised here, just as he had been. One of them was the little boy who had once sold newspapers in the square.
Najin smiled at the child who watched him with shining eyes. As he walked he thought.
He knew.
Not everyone in this city was good. Not everyone was innocent or wrongfully condemned. There would be true criminals among them, and for some the underground city might even be a fitting prison.
Even so.
Najin meant to deny this city. Criminals could receive other punishments as they deserved. Those who had been framed by the Church and suffered unjustly would be compensated and given their freedom.
From this moment on.
Every resident of the subterranean city of Atman would stand trial once more. If they had committed no crime, or if they had already served sufficient punishment······ they would be free.
There was still much to do.
Najin climbed through the ceiling he himself had split open, higher and higher. Two years ago he had been forced to escape this underground city through a waterway. Two years later, he no longer needed to.
Tap.
He set foot in the city built above the underground one—the place where the Holy Light Church’s main cathedral stood. No one could stop his steps.
Those who belonged to the Holy Light Church did not know how to make sense of the present situation. Not everyone in the Church had boarded the same ship as Orlang. Even if the leadership was rotten, plenty of people never noticed the rot.
Many simply wanted the comfort of praying to their god, or an escape from a harsh reality.
To them, what was unfolding now was nothing but alien.
Suddenly the Lighthouse Keeper had moved. High Priest Orlang lay unconscious in the Lighthouse, and beside him sprawled the two highest-ranking priests who had followed him, their heads burst open.
In the middle of all that, the ground beneath them shook.
Several deep rumbles—earthquakes.
Then the earth split, and light surged into the sky.
For a while they could only stare in shock at the suddenly riven ground. How much time passed after that?
Tap.
Someone rose from the underground city. Atman was the city into which sinners fell. The people of the upper city had always scorned them, living with the superior conviction that they themselves were different.
That was what their god had taught them, after all.
Filthy things. Cursed things. Hideous sinners.
The very idea that someone might “come up” from the underground city was hard enough to accept; even if they accepted it, offering such a person a kindly look was nearly impossible.
Contempt, disdain, scorn······.
Those gazes were about to pour onto the figure who had risen from below. Then every one of those gazes lost its target and broke apart.
“Ah···.”
“Oh.”
“That’s······.”
There was not a soul who did not know the man standing there.
“Sir Najin.”
Free Knight Najin.
The youngest Sword Seeker, the youngest six-star, and a man who enjoyed the full protection of the empire. Who would dare look down on a free knight acknowledged by the emperor himself?
But it did not stop there.
Their eyes naturally fell to Najin’s hand. In it he held a shining sword. Its shape was different from the one they knew, yet there could not be two blades in the world that glowed with starlight.
The Sword of Stars—Excalibur.
It was Excalibur.
“Ghk, ghh······.”
From somewhere came a groan of pain. Someone staggered out of the Lighthouse. A man in luxurious priestly robes—High Priest Orlang of the Church.
Supported by a holy knight, Orlang locked eyes with Najin. The moment their gazes met, every drop of color drained from Orlang’s face.
He understood. Every one of his plans had been smashed to pieces. In this very moment he was cornered. Had Orlang possessed a sharper mind, he might have realized why the Lighthouse Keeper had left him alive—that even this situation was exactly what the Keeper had intended.
Receive the punishment you deserve.
Let the avenger carry out a rightful vengeance.
That would have been the Lighthouse Keeper’s final teaching. But Orlang was not wise enough to understand it. He refused to accept the penalty that was coming for him.
“Seize him.”
All that remained in the shabby old man’s head was obstinacy and stubborn pride.
“Did you not hear me? Seize that man. Captain of the Holy Knights—subdue him at once. He is a heretic. A heretic!”
Orlang jabbed a finger at Najin. The moment his connection to the Revelry Emperor he had worshipped as a god was severed, he had been reduced to nothing more than a frail old man.
“He is a heretic! A filthy, cursed monster of the Abyss born in the shadow of Holy Light! That monster dares to ape the sword of the great hero Arthur and mock us!”
So seize him. Subdue him. Punish the sinner.
Orlang raved.
Yet the eyes of the holy knights and soldiers fixed on him were filled with doubt.
“Now!”
Orlang raised his voice. Najin neither argued nor matched the shout.
He simply raised his sword.
Excalibur shone. A sword-cry like a pealing bell resounded through the city, as if resonating with the constellation Najin had carved into the night sky.