Preparations (2)
A month had passed.
Najin spent that month in constant motion, and the greater part of it went to sparring with Bedivere. Under ordinary circumstances Bedivere would never have been able to carve out the time—his duty was to watch the Abyss—but this time was different.
In the last battle Najin had held Siegfried in check so thoroughly that the boundary of the Abyss never expanded, and the seal that had been thrashing about finally quieted. A brief window of calm opened. Bedivere invested that calm without hesitation in dueling Najin. He taught him everything he knew about the Knights of the Round Table in meticulous detail, even mimicking the movements of Lancelot and Galahad for him to study.
“Lancelot is a knight who drives his opponent into a corner without mercy. He does not dodge; he specializes in parries and counters. Reproducing that style exactly is difficult, but… roughly, it feels like this.”
Extremely aggressive movement. A knight who neglected defense entirely, who pressed without pause and forced every fight into a short, decisive clash.
“Galahad is the opposite. He felt like a great wall. No matter what attack came, he raised his shield and stopped it. And he never merely stopped it—he absorbed the blow and kept advancing on the enemy.”
Extremely defensive movement. A knight who blocked, blocked again, and walked forward until the opponent simply grew exhausted and admitted defeat.
“Their ways of fighting are polar opposites. Each of them reached the absolute peak of his own extreme.”
“Then what about the Lancelot of now?”
“Since the two have become one body again, he is both.”
Bedivere continued.
“There was a time, before Lancelot separated Galahad from himself, when he fought with sword and shield together. If I try to recall that Lancelot…”
He gave a bitter smile.
“It is hard to find an opening. An exceedingly troublesome opponent. Lancelot was the strongest knight of the Round Table, and Galahad the most perfect. That is all there is to it.”
The knight who had already been strongest even after splitting Galahad away had now taken perfection into his hands as well. And Najin was the one who had to challenge that perfection.
“Still,” Najin said, gripping Excalibur, “King Arthur defeated Lancelot, did she not?”
“His Majesty did. But she was an existence beyond discussion.”
“Then I will have to defeat him too.”
Najin gave a short laugh. Bedivere nodded at that laugh, as if that very attitude was the mindset the successor who held Excalibur ought to carry.
“For whatever time remains, I will teach you everything I can. I hope it will be of some use.”
Bedivere of the Hundred-Man Spear drove the spear-point into the ground. A thousand years had flowed past, and now he crossed weapons with the successor who had appeared before him. As they sparred, Bedivere smiled—truly, freely, for the first time in ages.
And so time flowed on and on…
“Pillar of Dawn.”
The day arrived.
“We have located the sanctuary of the Star of Oblivion.”
2.
The domain of the Star of Oblivion had been pinpointed. It was thanks to the blood-and-sweat efforts of the empire’s cartographers and the astronomers of the Grey Tower; the work had been so grueling that one of those astronomers had even gained a star from the ordeal. Word was that for months he had split his sleep to track the movements of the heavens and had reorganized every record accumulated over the past thousand years…
When Najin heard that the same astronomer had been named the next Lord of the Grey Tower in recognition of his merit, he quietly sent the man a gift under his own name.
Najin read the report in silence.
The sanctuary discovered through so many people’s labor lay near the boundary between the Outer Land and Kamran. At the northernmost edge of the Outer Land, where two vast cliffs faced each other as if to mark the division between the Abyss and the Outer Land, a single bridge spanned the gap. It was a structure raised by ancient humanity in an age even earlier than Arthur’s.
A bridge that led into the Abyss. Its name: the Bridge to the End.
Beneath it yawned a bottomless pit. That pit, the empire’s scholars unanimously declared, was the sanctuary of the Star of Oblivion. Special-forces teams, working with the cooperation of the constellations, had surveyed the vicinity and confirmed the claim as fact.
The sanctuary of the Star of Oblivion was there.
When Najin saw the name attached to that sanctuary, a complicated expression crossed his face.
Landfill—or Deposit Ground.
Now that the location was known, all that remained was to form the subjugation force. Everything proceeded in secret and at speed, and the number of people who would actually enter the Landfill was limited to three.
Najin. Yuel Razian. Kirchhoff.
Only those capable of resisting the authority of the Star of Oblivion were assigned to the assault team. This was nothing like the battle against the Revelry Emperor. The subjugation of the Star of Oblivion would be carried out by a handful of people alone.
Of course the assault team was not the whole of the plan.
Najin made several preparations of his own, and in the course of them he sought out a certain constellation and asked a favor.
“I have a request.”
“A request, is it? Of what sort?”
“You remember what happened before? The matter concerning her…”
“Ah, that business.”
The constellation who received Najin’s request nodded.
“I gave my word, so I will keep it. Send the fellow my way, then. I will take responsibility and see him delivered.”
“Then I leave it to you.”
With his preparations complete, Najin headed for the place he had arranged with Kirchhoff. Kirchhoff was already waiting.
“So the hour has finally come.”
Kirchhoff, too, had finished his own preparations. When Najin saw the arms he wore, he fell briefly silent.
“That?”
“Ah. The gear I have been saving for this very day.”
Kirchhoff gave a bitter smile.
“I waited for this day and nothing else, yet now that it is actually here the feeling is… complicated. How shall I put it? Emotions I thought time had erased or faded…”
Najin looked into his eyes.
“They had not faded in the slightest. As if they had only been buried, and had always been waiting right there—everything has come roaring back.”
Hatred burned in Kirchhoff’s gaze. The knight who had watched his country fall with his eyes wide open, whose very reason for living had been denied, was grinding his teeth.
“A hero, by nature, is one who protects the nation and its people. And I was the hero of Rondinel. Embarrassing as it is to say, they called me a hero.”
He stroked the hilt of his sword.
“Does a hero who failed to protect the people he was meant to protect—who failed even to protect his own liege—still have any value? Can such a man still be called a knight? That is the question that has always dogged my steps.”
He saluted Najin with the deepest respect he could offer.
“Thanks to you, I will be able to settle that question.”
I am grateful, Kirchhoff said, and for the first time he pulled on his helm. The cheerful hero who always showed his face, who boasted of his looks and shouted, “How else are the bards supposed to sing of the last knight of Rondinel!” was gone.
In his place stood an avenger.
An avenger who had waited three hundred years for this single day.
After fixing the rendezvous with Kirchhoff, Najin went to fetch her. She, too, would be central to this subjugation.
“Ah. I have already heard about that.”
Yuel pointed to her bracelet as she spoke.
“This side of me explained it quite thoroughly. I have been told a number of other stories as well, but…”
She fixed Najin with a quiet, assessing stare.
“It seems you and I have been through a great many things together. We will need to have a deep conversation about all of that later, separately.”
Najin’s shoulders gave an involuntary twitch. He had not done anything wrong, yet somehow he felt as though he had.
“That was a joke.”
“…Pardon?”
“In any case, Najin, I understand what you intend to do. And I understand exactly what role I am meant to play in the process.”
Yuel touched her bracelet.
“Now I will finally be able to answer him.”
Not the me on this side—the me who is standing here right now. She nodded as she said it.
“Then I will see you there.”
Each of them had finished preparing for the role given to them. All that remained was to move.
Najin took a step.
As always, one step ahead.
3.
“Galahad.”
“You called.”
“Why? Why did you make that choice? You found the Holy Grail. Was that not supposed to be enough to solve everything? The means to stand against the Abyss. If only we had had that—if only…”
“The story might have turned out differently.”
“Then why?”
He spat the words in rage. Barely restraining the urge to tear the knight before him apart on the spot, he clung to reason and glared at the expressionless figure.
“Why did you disappear?”
“Because I had to.”
“Explain the reason.”
“I cannot.”
“I am you. You cannot be unaware that I could kill you right now.”
“Then do so. That too is your right.”
A grinding of teeth.
“Lancelot. Do you remember what King Arthur said to us? The role she gave us.”
“I remember.”
“Speak it.”
“Doubt. Reflect without end. Look back upon your path and keep asking whether this road is the right one. Only the path that emerges at the end of that questioning will have any worth.”
So doubt me. That is why I keep you close.
“Yes. That is what King Arthur told us.”
“Why bring that up now?”
“Because we must doubt.”
Galahad looked down at the Holy Grail in his hands. The moment he claimed it, he had understood everything.
“Whether this is truly the correct answer. Whether this is the right thing to do. We ought to doubt it—yet I can no longer doubt.”
Galahad set the Grail down.
“This method is right.”
“…”
“There is no other way. It was decided from the beginning.”
“What did you see?”
“Kill me. You cannot reach the Grail, so kill me and look into my memories.”
He removed his armor. He laid down his shield. Galahad wore the same blank expression as always, yet bitterness filled the corners of his mouth.
“Lancelot. Humans cannot be perfect. Perfection is an illusion. A perfect being, precisely because it is perfect, cannot doubt itself. And so it is incomplete.”
Therefore, he said, looking at Lancelot,
“The one who can give the answer is a human like you. Not me, who was made perfect.”
Galahad took his own life. The two divided existences became one. The moment the memories flooded in, Lancelot understood everything.
…Galahad had chosen to do nothing. He had decided that watching was the answer.
Lancelot would not.
“Your Majesty.”
“What is it, Sir Knight?”
“There is something I must confirm with you.”
“Ask. You have that right.”
Lancelot leveled his sword at Arthur.
“Did you know everything?”
“Well. I am neither omniscient nor omnipotent. I do not know all things. Even so, regarding the things you mean by ‘everything’…”
Arthur nodded.
“I knew.”
“And everything that is about to happen as well?”
“To a certain extent.”
“Then why…?”
“Because it has to be done this way.”
Arthur looked at Excalibur standing thrust into the ground beside her.
“Because that is my role.”
Gazing at the sword, she answered without emotion.
“Because it is the duty of the one who was selected. There is obligation, and there is responsibility. Therefore one must act. That is what a knight is meant to do. Is it not?”
“…”
“Ah. So it has come to this after all.”
Arthur rose with a bitter smile.
“Sir Knight. Did you enjoy the adventures we shared?”
A grinding of teeth.
“I hope that somewhere in those adventures you found your answer. It is a pity I will not hear it—yet even so, the adventures I shared with you were a joy.”
Even with a knight’s blade leveled at her, Arthur wore the same smile as always.
“They were days of meaning. Because of you, I was able to find my answer.”
“I cannot let you go.”
“Then do not. That, too, is your freedom.”
Arthur walked. Lancelot had betrayed her; Mordred had rebelled. She walked past them all. And as she walked she stopped, almost absently, because someone had seized her ankle.
“You may resent me if you wish. But if you do, you must resent yourself as well. It was you who chose me—the one who would try to ruin your plan…”
It was Lancelot. He would not let Arthur go. Looking down at the knight clutching her foot, Arthur gave a bitter smile.
“I think you are under some misunderstanding.”
“What… do you mean…?”
“I resent neither you nor Mordred nor anyone else. Whom would I resent?”
I only, Arthur said,
“ask you for what comes next.”
Arthur took a step.
As always, one step ahead.