Imperial First Horn (4)
The ground shook.
Some stretches of the cracked earth collapsed and fell away; others were caught by the wind and flung skyward. Everything that entered the eye whirled and scattered as if a storm itself had come howling down upon the land.
“······.”
In the midst of it all, Gerd’s heart was still. His eyes did not waver. It was not a landscape strange enough to startle him anew.
An old man who had lived nearly two hundred years thought to himself:
It was a familiar sight.
And a longed-for one as well.
More than a hundred and fifty years had passed, yet the memory remained as sharp as if it had happened only yesterday. Gerd recalled the past. Even then, his master had rampaged with the same unrestrained gusto.
“I’m going first. Follow me.”
“If you can, that is.”
He could still see his master pressing that helmet down with a click, wearing a thoroughly irritating smile. He could see him kick off the ground in leap after leap, then slam down into the heart of the enemy line with a thunderous boom.
Whether the enemy numbered in the hundreds, the thousands, or the tens of thousands—
Once his master hurled himself into their midst, he gladly became the storm. Even from far away the spectacle was plain to see: earth overturned, soldiers driven into the dirt, hurled into the distance, or sent soaring into the sky······.
“Looks like he’s full of energy again today.”
Watching that sight, the knights of the Golden Horn Knights would thump Gerd on the shoulder and grin.
“Let’s go, kid.”
“We can’t leave the Commander to run wild on his own.”
Remembering the past, Gerd looked upon the present.
Now there were no knights at his side to thump his shoulder. The master who had shouted for him to follow had gone too far away. The brilliant past had faded, and the devil’s meddling had fouled it.
But still.
There were things that did not lose their light even so.
Gerd gripped his sword.
His master believed himself a war hero now. He believed this was the heart of a battlefield, and that they were enemies of the Empire. He seemed to be dreaming of the years when he himself had shone brightest.
Gerd found himself smiling without meaning to.
Yes—how long had he waited for this reunion? To Gerd, Alderan Basaglia had been a hero. The object of his longing and admiration, the goal he had set for himself. He had always yearned for that figure who tore across the battlefield without restraint.
Even if the devil had tainted the reunion—
Who was to say this could not still be a chance? A chance to show his master the hundred and fifty years he had lived, a chance to prove himself.
His eyes fixed.
The old man’s gaze left the past and locked onto the present. Overturned ground, a shattered sense of direction, heaps of stone and clods of earth whipped about by the raging wind. In that chaos Gerd found his center.
The moment he moved—
Alderan, standing at the heart of the storm, turned his head. Their eyes met. The instant they did, both moved almost as one. Alderan’s blade dragged the storm with it. Gerd’s blade carved through the clods that blocked his sight and advanced.
In a situation like this, what movement was best?
Sword Masters who could glimpse the near future always chose the optimal path. In that same moment the two Sword Masters made the same choice almost simultaneously.
Discharge of sword-aura.
As Gerd’s stroke completed, the aura he loosed split the earthen mounds. It swept the dust aside and sheared clean through the rubble that stood between him and Alderan.
Aura met aura and clashed.
······In the end, sword-aura is only energy drawn forth through the medium of a sword.
Unless one resorted to special techniques—secret arts or finishing moves that taxed the body—once aura left the blade its cutting power and force bled away at a terrifying rate. Without that limitation, those who had reached such heights would have been called mages of the sword rather than swordsmen.
However far a Sword Master might hurl aura to strike an enemy dozens of meters away, that tactic only truly worked against those of lesser rank.
In other words, against another Sword Master—
Discharging aura was not a particularly effective strategy. It would never deal meaningful damage. Yet the reason both of them loosed it in that instant was simple.
Clear the obstacles. Secure the line of sight. Harass. Force a particular response from the opponent. A Sword Master achieved several aims with a single action.
Aura collided with aura and canceled out. The mana that composed it detonated in a flash of light. The wind pressure swept the dust away, and then······.
Kaaaaaaaaaang!
Even as they discharged their auras, both charged without the slightest hesitation and swung. The two blades that sought each other’s throats met not flesh but steel, and locked.
A deadlock of blade against blade.
In a span of time that was only a fraction of a second, dozens of techniques passed between Gerd and Alderan. Twist the sword. Slip the stroke. Strike the hilt upward and break the line. Ride the blade as if gliding and aim for the neck.
Counter met counter. Technique canceled technique. The two blades that had advanced to slip past or beat aside the other and sever a throat now shot in opposite directions into empty air.
After that exchange of wits, both swords carved the void.
A deep furrow opened in the earth behind each of them. From that single exchange Alderan felt a sense of dissonance—as if he were facing a mirror.
“How could it be otherwise?”
Gerd took a step forward.
“From whom do you think I learned the sword?”
With a grinding screech Gerd’s aura compressed. An aura that could have been drawn out for dozens of meters was packed down onto a blade a mere meter and a half long.
“Do not draw your aura long.”
“In the end, no matter how much they talk of transcendence, a swordsman is someone who fights with a sword. Stretch your aura out like a whip and what kind of swordsman is that?”
“Never forget the essence of the blade.”
It was the method he had learned from none other than Alderan. Against another Sword Master there was no point in drawing aura long. What mattered was density.
The same was true of his opponent.
The aura that had flickered like flame compressed onto Alderan’s blade. Once pure white, it was now stained as if by paint—yet it had not lost its radiance.
An advantage gained upon reaching transcendence.
Both men abandoned the ability to stretch their aura and cut for dozens of meters. They kept it compressed upon their blades as they thrust and swung at one another.
It was a clash of two transcendent beings, yet absurdly it unfolded within a span of only a few meters where their swords could meet. At a glance their duel might have looked little different from the fights of ordinary men······.
Kaaaaaaaaaang!
Even if it was only a meter and a half of aura, it was the compression of power that could originally have cut for dozens of meters. Watching the ground split beneath the shockwaves of colliding blades and rocks ground to dust by the wind pressure, that impression vanished at once.
Blade met blade.
Swords that flew for each other’s throats bent along strange arcs and returned again and again.
Kang! Kagagagagak!
Aura crashed against aura and sparks flew. Through the rising sparks the old man’s eyes and the eight gleaming pupils that shone from the cleft of Alderan’s helm glared at one another.
One step—Gerd was driven back.
He began to give ground, little by little.
Gerd was being forced back, yet he felt no regret at the fact. Realizing that the master of his memories had not been exaggerated, the old man smiled instead.
And that was not the only reason he smiled.
Even after he had believed himself to have reached the peak, there was still something left to learn. Looking upon the perfect Triumphant Sword unfolding before his eyes, a strange light rose in Gerd’s gaze.
Ah······.
Eyes that long years and hard weather had worn and dulled were shining now. Feeling as if he had returned to his boyhood, Gerd swung his sword.
Kang! Kaaaaaang!
Had Gerd stood here not as the Imperial First Horn but simply as an individual—simply as Alderan’s disciple—he would have continued this duel forever. Even if he were driven back, worn down, and finally killed.
“If you’re going to come looking for me, you might as well plant the banner of the Imperial First Horn while you’re at it.”
But Gerd had made a promise.
To stand before his master as the Imperial First Horn. And the duty of the Empire’s first pillar was simple.
Protect the Empire.
And—
Bring the Empire the glory of victory.
Even as he continued the duel with Alderan, one corner of Gerd’s gaze looked beyond. There stood the youth who had held his stance from the very beginning.
Gerd swung his sword in a great arc.
The opening he created.
At once Najin, who had been holding position in the air, kicked off a floating slab of stone and shot forward.
Holding his stance, Najin waited for the opening.
Legs bent, sword hanging loose, eyes narrowed. On a boulder that the storm had lifted into the air, Najin steadied his breath.
Earlier Gerd had said:
He would create the opening. So wait for that moment. Watching the duel unfold below, Najin had waited for his time······.
Now.
The moment arrived. He straightened his bent legs. He kicked off the slab of stone that had briefly served as ground. The instant Najin’s foot struck, the boulder could not endure a transcendent’s leg strength and shattered.
A single flash.
Najin became a streak of light and hurtled downward. From high above he plunged on a diagonal toward the earth. Trailing platinum-gold aura, he looked for all the world like a falling star.
Stone still whirled between Najin and Alderan, yet the moment it touched his body it crumbled with a dry crack.
Piercing that fleeting instant, Najin swung at Alderan. A blade that had piled acceleration upon acceleration. Alderan, his back exposed as he swung toward the retreating Gerd, was the target of a stroke that dragged a train of light—yet······.
In that same moment the arc of Alderan’s sword bent.
As if he had eyes in the back of his head, as if he had accounted for Najin from the start, he pulled the blade he had been swinging at Gerd and brought it around.
He beat Gerd’s sword aside and described a great half-circle.
Seogeok.
The tip that traced a crescent cut smoothly through the earth and burst free of the ground. Alderan twisted his body and continued the half-moon’s path into a perfect circle.
Kaaaaaaaaaaaang!
He deflected the enemy before him and at the same time received the attack from behind. At the moment of impact the ground beneath Alderan’s feet caved with a deep crack. Najin’s eyes flew wide.
Gritting his teeth, Najin slid to a landing and immediately charged Alderan again. Gerd did the same. From both directions they thrust their blades at him.
Imperial First Horn, Gerd.
Yeomyeong-gak, Najin.
Together they were the Empire’s strongest fighting strength at present. Within the Continent there was no one who could stand against them; even if one widened the scope to the Outer Land the number remained few. Both were high-tier even among transcendent beings.
And those two transcendent beings were thrusting their swords without a shred of carelessness, intent on killing. Edges honed to the utmost raced for heart and throat.
······Who could possibly handle both of them at once?
Even to Merlin the combined assault looked threatening. Only a transcendent of the Round Table’s caliber could have received it. And yet, while that level of concerted attack continued—
“······.”
Alderan took every stroke. He shoved aside the blades that sought to drive in, beat them off, and at times guided Najin’s and Gerd’s swords into positions where they tangled and obstructed one another. He handled them with the ease of long familiarity.
Whenever it seemed he had been driven back a few steps—
Swaaaaaaaaaeek!
As if even the retreat had been a tactic, a blade came cutting through the gap. Still, even Alderan could not avoid being forced back. He understood that defeating both at once would be difficult.
In that case—
Alderan stopped dead. He set his sword slantwise beneath his shoulder. In that instant the blade Najin brought down from above sank into Alderan’s shoulder.
It sank—but the sword could go no farther.
Alderan’s blade, braced under his shoulder, barred its path. Why receive the attack? The question had barely formed in Najin’s mind when—
Alderan reached out. With the hand that did not hold the sword he seized Najin by the scruff of the neck. Najin choked out a strangled breath—
And Alderan kicked off the ground and began to run. He sprinted with Najin’s throat in his grip, as if deliberately opening distance between them. Fingers digging into his neck and choking off his air, Najin clenched his teeth.
He drove a kick into Alderan’s gut; the man did not so much as flinch, and kept running with Najin’s neck in his grasp.
As his breath failed, Najin found a move. A method he had imagined but never yet used in real combat. There was no room to be choosy.
He released Excalibur, which had been stopped by Alderan’s blade and could advance no farther into the shoulder.
He let go and raised both hands high.
The moment his grip left it, Excalibur dissolved into light and vanished. The instant Najin’s raised hands closed, the sword reappeared amid a swirl of radiance.
A flash.
Najin brought the light-trailing blade down. As if to say: if you will not release my neck, I will take the arm with it. The attack was clearly outside Alderan’s expectations; his body stiffened for a fraction of a second. But only a fraction.
He released Najin’s throat and at the same moment kicked him in the stomach. Greaves locked with a metallic clang; the fully extended leg buried itself in Najin’s midsection.
“Ghk—hkk······.”
His body lifted. Najin’s sword managed only to rake Alderan’s shoulder. Then Alderan leveled his blade at the flung Najin. From aiming to loosing took no more than an instant.
Ramming.
Suspended in midair, Najin could not fully cut through the storm. He managed only an incomplete swing that lessened the impact. Bloodshot eyes stared past the howling wind as pain hammered his body and his insides reeled from the concussion.
Sure enough—
With a heavy crack Alderan’s sword split the storm and drove in. Twisting his body saved his heart; the thrust punched through his shoulder instead.
Kuuung.
Now the positions were reversed. With Najin impaled on the tip of his blade, Alderan began to run. He struck the flat of the buried sword with his gauntlet.
Deudeuk, deudeudeudeuk!
The wound widened. The blade lodged in Najin’s shoulder sought to shear through bone and flesh. Just as Alderan had done, Najin set his own sword beneath the shoulder and stopped the advance. Sparks seemed to dance before his eyes.
When the blade would go no farther, Alderan kicked him again. The sword tore free and Najin’s body shot away like a cannonball. After tumbling and sliding across the ground he was already being pursued; Alderan raised his sword to bring it down—
When, with a sharp hiss—
Najin’s blade, swung without even looking up, grazed Alderan’s forearm. Had Alderan not stepped back, the arm would have been severed.
“······.”
Watching the drops of blood fall from his forearm, Alderan let his sword hang. The helmet still hid his face, yet Najin could tell the man was astonished.
“Ha.”
Najin lifted his head with a breath of laughter.
“You see, as for me—”
He was panting, yet his eyes shone.
“I’ve been through this more than once or twice.”
How many times do you think we’ve dueled?
The corner of Najin’s mouth curled as he reset his grip on the sword. Alderan might be using aura now, displaying strength close to his prime—but Najin too was no longer the same.
He had changed. Greatly.
A disciple’s proper duty, upon reunion with his master, was to show how far he had grown. The constellations carved into Excalibur blazed, and Najin’s aura surged violently.
You led me to Sprouting.
You made me earn the Star of Breakthrough and the Star of Indomitability.
And now I······.
A brilliant flash.
Challenge, Dragonslaying, Breakthrough, and Indomitability were joined by the stars of Dirge, Laughter, Selection, and Adventure. Najin’s aura no longer stopped at Sprouting; it had passed Blooming and reached Full Bloom. Showing his master how far he had come, Najin leveled his blade at Alderan.
It was the Triumphant Sword, and at the same time the sword of the Empire.
The sword his first disciple had perfected—the fundamental form every knight of the Empire regarded as basic. Najin aimed the Empire’s sword at the Empire’s hero.
“First—”
I’ll smash that helmet of yours.
Now you can be a knight without the likes of it.