The Sword of the Stars, and the Voice (1)
I deliberately left my clothes unchanged.
Still wearing the blood-soaked postman's uniform, I walked the streets. The hour to open shop must have come; merchants began to emerge one by one.
Thud.
I passed among them in silence.
Those whose eyes met mine flinched, shoulders twitching, before they quickly looked away. They saw me and pretended they hadn't. Of course they did. They knew I was Ivan's hunting dog.
On these streets under Ivan's protection, he was both fence and absolute ruler.
Those who kept the rules he set, he protected and showed mercy. But anyone who crossed the line received not a shred of mercy—only thorough retribution. He often reminded those grown too accustomed to his mercy of that fact.
Do not take mercy for granted and step over the line.
Trashing Trixie's tavern today, and walking the streets still covered in blood without changing clothes, were extensions of that warning. Ivan had ordered me to act this way.
"You've all gotten soft lately."
"I'm seeing signs of people wanting to cross the line, one by one."
"While you're cleaning up Trixie, put a little fear into them, Najin."
I was simply following orders.
"Eek…"
A merchant whose eyes met mine as I walked recoiled in terror. He was one of those who usually ran with Trixie, walking the tightrope right on the line Ivan had drawn.
"……"
I stared at him without a word.
His gaze slid to the blood crusted thick on my coat, then to the sword hilt at my hip.
Thud.
I passed the trembling man in silence. Ivan had not yet ordered me to deal with him. I could only hope this had been warning enough.
Please.
Don't cross the line.
Don't provoke Ivan. The more you do, the more work piles up for me—and the more pointless cutting I have to do. And that is not a pleasant business.
Slick, sticky, unpleasant.
It wasn't moral guilt. It simply put me in a foul mood. I especially hated the awkwardness of facing a dead man's family afterward.
"Haa…"
I let out a long breath and kept walking.
How far had I gone when I finally stopped and lifted my head? Ahead lay the entertainment district—built from the finest things this underground city could scrape together.
Gaudy, clamorous ore lamps.
Luxury goods refined from ore.
Goods, food, and fabrics from the surface above.
This was the center of the underground city of Atman: the window through which the ore mined here was sent up and goods received in return… and the sole passage leading to the surface.
Thud.
I headed for the most splendid building among them. The residence of this district's ruler, One-eyed Ivan—my employer.
One-eyed Ivan.
Before he fell to the underground city of Atman, he had been a knight—a swordsman who had reached the realm of Sword Expert. He had ultimately declined far enough to end up in this city, yet he remained a powerhouse who could still pour out aura with ease.
A man of a knight's caliber stands out no matter where he falls. Ivan was no exception.
In no time he dominated the underground city.
He drove Trap-spider Horce, the original master of the entertainment district, out to the city's fringe and took the seat for himself. Anyone who challenged his authority he crushed without mercy, growing his power. It was the beginning of a long civil war.
I don't know the full details…
But I knew the war had ended long ago, and that the result had been Ivan's victory. Even now, years later, he remained the city's true ruler.
And.
At the same time, he was my master and employer.
The one who took me in the day my parents abandoned me, who taught me how to survive in this city—that was Ivan. Mostly how to kill people, but still.
"Ivan, are you in?"
Knock, knock. I rapped on Ivan's door.
A voice from inside told me to enter. When I opened the door and stepped into his office, a middle-aged man with an eyepatch over his right eye filled my vision.
Broad shoulders. Arms dense with scars. Black hair streaked here and there with white.
The master of this office: Ivan. Arms crossed, he glared at me with his one remaining eye—a gaze that looked ready to tear a man apart. The moment that gaze landed on my face—
"What, it's you, Najin!"
Ivan's expression melted at once.
He burst into a hearty laugh and slammed the table with a bang.
"I thought that Trap-spider bastard had sent an assassin. Why the hell are you covered in so much blood? I tensed up thinking you'd cut every throat on the lower floors and come up."
"You didn't look tense at all."
"Hey, brat, don't you see this? The sweat?"
Ivan jabbed a finger at the back of his neck and shouted.
All I could see were the usual small scars. I shrugged and shrugged off the postman's coat and hat, setting them down.
"You told me to go put a little fear into them, Ivan."
"Did I?"
"A bit early for dementia, isn't it?"
"Joke. Just a joke."
Ivan lit a cigarette and jerked his chin. Report how the job went. I settled onto the sofa in the office and began.
"Just as you expected, Trixie had lined up with Horce. I saw some of Horce's men."
"Figured as much."
Haa— Ivan exhaled gray smoke and muttered.
"Trixie plays on the line, but he doesn't have the guts to actually cross it. And then a guy like that suddenly crosses it in plain sight?"
He tapped the table with his knuckles.
"Means he had something to lean on. So how many were there?"
"Thirteen. About half looked like Horce's family."
"And?"
The corner of Ivan's mouth stretched wide. He watched me with interest. I answered shortly.
"Of the thirteen, I took an arm or a leg off twelve of them. Left Carbin intact and put him in charge of the cleanup. Trixie I killed."
"Without a scratch? Thirteen of them?"
I nodded, and Ivan laughed out loud—a rough laugh that shook the whole office. After a long while he finally exhaled.
"Khuh. Trixie's face must've been a sight. Hell, he probably thought gathering thirteen was more than enough to bury one green kid."
"Trixie said pretty much the same thing."
"Crazy bastard, that one."
"Trixie?"
"Not Trixie—you. You."
Where the hell did a monster like this come from?
Muttering, Ivan ground out the cigarette in the ashtray. A soft hiss filled the room.
"I'll call you when there's more work. Rest until then. Ah, and…"
As if something had just occurred to him, Ivan rubbed his chin.
"For a while, don't even go near the square."
"The square?"
"Yeah. The surface sent people down. Because of the Constellation's Trial that's about to appear in the square."
The Constellation's Trial. Constellation—meaning star.
The word constellation ringing in my ears made me ask on reflex.
"…What's the Constellation's Trial?"
"Ah, you've never seen it? It's a kind of event that opens periodically every thirteen years."
Thirteen years ago I would have been five.
Of course I didn't know. I nodded and listened.
"You know who the Constellation Sword of Selection is?"
"Arthur?"
"Right. King Arthur. There's a famous legend tied to that constellation, yeah? The one about pulling the sword from the stone."
I knew it.
Excalibur—the legendary sword thrust into the rock. The blade that marked the beginning of Arthur's saga, and the holy sword of starlight that later became the shape of the constellation Arthur carved into the heavens.
"The Constellation Sword of Selection sends a trial across the entire continent every thirteen years. A simple, clear trial: pull the sword from the stone. Honestly, calling it a trial is generous—it's just an event. Because in hundreds of years, not a single person has ever drawn that sword."
Ivan shrugged.
"Spreading their own legend, stamping it into people's minds on a regular cycle… that sort of thing. Since a sword appears in every city with a decent population, one shows up even in this underground dump."
And that was the problem.
Ivan clicked his tongue.
"Even if it appears in every city, it's still a sword made of King Arthur's starlight. A sacred Star Relic. You think the surface is going to sit quiet when a Star Relic like that shows up in a trash heap like this?"
Considering how the surface viewed this place, the answer came quickly.
"They won't let anyone near the sword."
"Exactly. Every time this season rolls around, the churches that worship the stars go into absolute fits."
"Do they execute anyone who approaches the sword for blasphemy?"
"Close enough. Usually they stop short of execution and just beat the hell out of people… but depending on the case, a head might roll right there on the spot."
Ivan shook his head as if fed up.
"Brutal."
"Right? So unless you have a real reason, stay away from the square. The guards the surface sent will be watching the sword all day long."
"…When does the sword appear?"
"Najin."
Ivan looked at me steadily.
The playful glint from before was gone. As a senior who had lived longer than I had, he gave advice.
"It's better not to do anything that might offend the high and mighty living up on the surface. Take that to heart."
He pointed to his eyepatch.
Pointing to the right eye he had lost when the surface banished him to this city, Ivan gave a bitter smile.
"Live inside the lines that are drawn. Cross them, and life gets hard."
No doubt his own experience speaking.
I nodded reluctantly.
"…I'll keep it in mind."
"Good. Go on."
Just as I was about to leave the office—
"Najin."
Ivan called me back.
Chin resting on his hand, he tossed the words out casually.
"The Constellation's Trial starts at midnight tonight. If you're somewhere with a good view, you should at least be able to see the sword 'strike.'"
I tilted my head.
Ivan exhaled a long sigh and added,
"District 31, by the window at Talia Tavern—that's the prime spot. Drop my name. They'll give up a seat."
Understanding the meaning a beat late, I smiled.
I gave Ivan a slight bow, then ran out of the building as if fleeing.
Talia Tavern, near the square.
The place was packed with people determined not to miss an event that came only once every thirteen years. It was only natural. For those who had fallen to this city and lived forgetting both the sun and starlight, this was one of the few chances life ever offered.
A chance to see the stars.
A chance to remember the scenery of the outside world they had forgotten.
To seize that chance, the residents of the underground city were willing to pay double the usual rate just for a seat. And among those seats, the ones by the window commanded whatever price the seller named.
"……"
One of those window seats at Talia Tavern.
A prime of primes with a clear view of the square. Najin sat there with a drink to wet his throat and an old, worn fairy-tale book open on the table.
The Saga of Arthur.
With the final page spread before him, Najin quietly waited for the hour. Only a few minutes remained until midnight. He swallowed dryly and stared hard through the window.
Stars. Starlight. Constellations.
The one longing the landfill boy who cared for nothing of the outside world had never been able to let go. The stars had not yet fallen, yet the boy's eyes already shone like them.
One minute.
Najin counted silently.
A minute that felt like an hour passed. When only about ten seconds remained, he let out a long breath and opened his eyes wide.
Dong… dong… dong…
As the bell pealed through the tavern, cheers erupted from the crowd. Najin immediately lifted his gaze past the window to the ceiling of the underground city. The ceiling that had held only dim ore lamps set in precarious places was now blazing with light.
The tiniest flaws in the stone.
Gaps worn by ages of erosion.
From those hairline cracks—too fine for even sunlight to pass—particles of platinum-gold light began to seep. A color he had never seen. Only a beat later did Najin realize it was starlight.
Flash.
The cascading starlight lit the ore set in the ceiling brilliant white. Though it was the dead of night, the underground city shone brighter than it ever had.
Beautiful, Najin thought without meaning to.
In eighteen years of life, this was the first time he had ever seen starlight. Lines from the fairy tale he had read countless times circled through his mind. Radiant starlight glowing platinum-gold.
Ah—Najin let out an involuntary sigh.
Then the starlight leaking from the ceiling began to gather. What that brilliant starlight formed was a single sword. The holy sword worshipped by the churches, the star-forged blade of starlight: Excalibur.
With a blaze of starlight, Excalibur began its descent. Trailing a plume of platinum-gold radiance, the sword fell from the air of the underground city toward the square.
I have never seen one, Najin thought, but a shooting star must look something like that.
"Whoa…"
Sighs of awe spilled from every corner of the tavern.
The place was full of people who had burned a fortune for this fleeting view that lasted less than a few minutes. Witnessing the starlight they had forgotten—had been forced to live forgetting—they moaned and ached for the past.
After its brief fall, the holy sword buried itself in the center of the square.
Excalibur made no clamor as it drove into the earth. Only a heavy sound like a solemn bell swept through the underground city.
…Ah.
Najin looked at the sword planted in the heart of the square.
It was too far to see clearly, but the blade of that holy sword must surely bear a constellation—the constellation of Arthur, who once raced across the continent with a single sword in hand.
I want to see it.
I want to see it just a little closer.
The boy's eyes shone. Whether it was the starlight Excalibur scattered or light from the boy's own eyes, he could not tell. Pressing his face almost against the glass, Najin felt a sudden dissonance.
…What is this?
An inexplicable unease.
No—unease was the wrong word. Something stirred deep inside. The stirring became words, then a sentence, filling his mind to the brim.
A single line that occupied his entire head.
Pull the sword.
Why that sentence had surfaced, Najin could not know. He shook his head hard, casting off the empty delusion. Are you insane? Touch that sword and they'll take your hand—and your head—and put it on a spike.
Clank, clank!
Then it happened.
Thud.
Soldiers strode out from somewhere and surrounded the sword driven into the ground. Their armor hid the starlight-soaked blade from view. Sighs of pure disappointment rose from every side of the tavern.
They could have let us look a little longer.
Najin, too, clicked his tongue as he glared at the soldiers.
Looking doesn't wear it out. Why do the surface people make such a fuss? Thinking that, he slowly rose from his seat.
The eyes that had shone with starlight returned to their original color and temperature. The cold, settled eyes of someone who had already given up. Without a word, Najin left the tavern.
The starlight he had met for the first time in his life left his side just as quickly. More precisely, it had been cut off by the dividing line between this underground city and "the surface above." The soldiers ringing the sword were no different from the ceiling of this city, Najin thought abruptly.
"Haa."
Najin sighed.
Dreaming empty dreams only makes life exhausting. The words Oppen and Ivan, his two masters, always had on their tongues. Turning that sentence over, Najin tried to order his thoughts.
He tried.
Yet even as countless words washed away, one sentence remained firmly in place.
Pull the sword.
A single line that would neither be shaken off nor sorted away.
Najin turned that endlessly circling sentence over and over in his mind.