Demon Knight Bernhaigen (6)
Argo, knight of Atanga.
Even within Atanga he ranked among the strong, a man renowned for never losing his composure no matter the crisis and for rendering swift, decisive judgment. Yet in this moment Argo felt genuine bewilderment.
The scene unfolding before him was simply that absurd.
The instant Demon Knight Bernhaigen unleashed his authority, Argo had been more than a little shaken. The demonic aura far exceeded every estimate, and the nature of the power itself was something he had never encountered—an authority that erected a barrier completely sealed off from the outside world.
Even so, up to that point he had adapted quickly.
Gritting his teeth, Argo made his call at once.
The youth who had been trading blows with the demon was in danger. Until a moment ago they had been evenly matched, but that could not hold true once the barrier closed around them. Therefore he had to help.
“Shatter the barrier!”
The method for dismantling and conquering a demon’s authority.
Atanga was an order whose primary duties were the governance of knights and the extermination of demons; their knowledge of such creatures ran deep. Even so, analyzing and breaking the barrier had demanded considerable time.
Crack!
Then, at last, the barrier weakened for an instant. They smashed through the gap and forced their way inside. Even as he entered, Argo could not hide the bitterness on his face. After this much time had passed, the youth was almost certainly already dead.
Nevertheless Argo shouted.
“Protect the youth!”
Protect the youth and kill the Demon Knight. If the youth had already fallen, then at least protect the corpse so it would not be desecrated. With that thought he raised his voice—
“Form ranks and press Bernhaigen… press…?”
What greeted them inside the barrier was not the Demon Knight. Still less was it the youth’s corpse. Waiting for them was the body of Demon Knight Bernhaigen, cleaved cleanly in two, and—
“…Huh?”
—a youth staring back at them with wide, startled eyes.
Crash!
The barrier finally shattered completely, and sunlight poured down. Warm rays spilled across the scene: Bernhaigen’s bisected corpse face-down on the earth, and Najin standing unscathed, without a single wound.
Every prediction overturned.
To demand that a man maintain perfect composure and cold judgment even in a situation like this…
What in the world… is going on here?
Even for Argo, that was asking too much.
And so the situation had arrived at this present moment.
Najin watched the figures who had broken through the barrier. Reflexively his hand settled on the hilt at his waist, yet he soon let the wariness drain away.
He had seen the crest engraved on their armor.
Two crossed swords surmounted by a shield. He knew that emblem. Ivan had once spoken of it, and after reaching the surface Najin had sought it out in books.
The Knights of Atanga…
Those who upheld the ancient knightly code. The order to which Ivan had once belonged. Eyes wide, Najin regarded the knights. They, in turn, regarded him. Whatever meaning each pair of eyes carried, knight and youth simply looked at one another.
Najin moved first.
He lowered the hand that had been ready to draw and addressed them.
“Are you, by chance, the Knights of Atanga?”
“…I am Argo, knight of Atanga.”
The knight at the forefront—the commander of this mission—stepped forward. He lifted a hand and pointed past Najin. There lay Bernhaigen’s body, severed in half.
“I am the officer in charge of the pursuit force dispatched to execute that man. Though it seems further pursuit is no longer necessary…”
Still half-dazed, Argo lowered his hand.
He studied the youth standing before him. At best the boy was barely of age. Had he truly reached such a realm at so young an age?
The output of sword aura I saw just moments ago…
That should have been impossible for someone of his years.
Argo’s eyes narrowed. It was an unforgivable discourtesy toward the youth, yet those who achieved abnormal feats often bore some connection to demons.
Argo himself was a Sword Seeker.
His eyes could pierce the flow of mana within a body. If the mana itself were tainted with foulness rather than merely clotted with demonic aura, one would have to suspect a demonic pact. Yet—
It is pure. Impossibly so.
Mana of absolute, unsullied purity.
Not a trace of turbidity, clear as a mountain stream deep in the hills. That alone meant the youth had no connection to any demon. Nor was there the slightest mark of demonic contamination.
Remarkable. Truly.
Argo clicked his tongue inwardly.
He had never seen mana so pure. The absence of any clotted demonic residue even suggested the youth possessed some means of resisting demonic aura itself.
There was much he wished to ask. Much—yet he knew what had to come first.
Clang!
He sheathed the sword he still held and struck his own chest with a closed fist. Knuckles rang against the Atanga crest engraved on his breastplate as Argo spoke.
“I offer you my gratitude.”
What must be done.
Nothing other than this expression of thanks.
“On behalf of Atanga, I pay my respects to you who have punished the one who defiled the name of knighthood.”
Immediately afterward a succession of sharp reports rang out.
The Atanga knights behind him were saluting Najin. The sound of armor and gauntlets striking together filled the air.
Receiving their salute, Najin felt his heart pound for reasons he could not name. The knights of this age, whom he had only glimpsed in fairy tales and in his master’s stories, now stood before him.
“It is an honor.”
Clumsily, yet sincerely, Najin returned the salute. When he finished, Argo nodded.
“If I may be so bold, may I ask for an account of what occurred?”
“Yes. Gladly.”
Najin exhaled a long breath and began. He had already decided how he would explain. The tale did not run long.
That he had pursued Bernhaigen.
That during the pursuit he had encountered a knight who had faced Bernhaigen earlier… and that he had heard the man’s story.
“Gilbert, knight of the Trevache family.”
Thanks to that man’s aid, the trail could be followed.
Bernhaigen had already been exhausted and wounded from earlier clashes with the knights. By exploiting that weakness, Najin had seized the advantage.
He spoke no lies.
He simply did not speak every truth.
It was not yet time to reveal his full identity.
“…So then.”
Having listened to the end, Argo summarized.
“You pursued the mortally wounded Bernhaigen and, here, you brought him down. Is that correct?”
“It is.”
“And even inside the barrier you exploited that same weakness?”
“Yes. The wound on his shoulder…”
Najin pointed to the bisected corpse. Indeed a scar remained on the shoulder.
“I see.”
Argo stroked his chin.
It was plausible, yet suspicious points remained in plenty. Above all, Argo had witnessed it—the overwhelming sword aura Najin had displayed before the barrier closed.
Suspicious, yes.
But he had no grounds to interrogate further.
Even if the other party were concealing his strength, Argo possessed neither the right to dig it out nor the standing to reproach him for it. Had the youth before him shown any sign of demonic connection or hidden wickedness, then questioning would have been proper… yet he did not.
In that case, only one question remained for Argo to ask the youth.
“May I ask just one thing?”
Argo spoke, and Najin nodded.
Looking him straight in the eye, Argo said:
“Why did you cut down Bernhaigen?”
Answer freely. You may say you were simply fulfilling a commission, or that you wanted the bounty—answer however you like. With that, Argo added:
“Whatever answer you give me to this question here and now, I swear I will bring you no harm. This is pure curiosity alone.”
An oath spoken by a knight of Atanga.
Najin did not fail to grasp its weight. Therefore, at least regarding this question, he could answer without concealment. Slowly he opened his mouth.
“I didn’t like him.”
“…You didn’t like him?”
“During the fight I asked Bernhaigen a question. I asked him what a knight was, to him.”
Najin continued.
“Bernhaigen answered. A knight, he said, is nothing more than a seat for advancement. Honor and pride, he claimed, only gain value when you cast them away.”
The knightly creed Bernhaigen had held, spoken now through Najin’s lips. Argo’s face twisted. Behind him the Atanga knights clicked their tongues and scowled.
“That was what I didn’t like.”
Najin went on.
“Because the knight I envision is nothing of the sort.”
“And what is the knight you envision?”
He had promised only one question, yet Argo could not stop himself from asking a second. He wanted to hear what the youth who had slain a Demon Knight considered a true knight to be.
“I don’t believe it’s a tale fit to tell the knights of Atanga. I am not a knight myself.”
“Ordinarily it would be laughable for one who is not a knight to discourse upon knighthood—yet you are the exception. Whatever the reason, by striking down a Demon Knight you have proven your right.”
Speak, if you will.
The knights of Atanga, who safeguarded the ancient code and swore only to remain knightly, all fixed their eyes upon Najin. They waited for the words that would leave his mouth.
And Najin spoke.
“One who never abandons pride.”
The answer he had wrested from the duel with the Demon Knight—what a knight truly was—he now laid bare.
“One who guards what has not yet been lost, and struggles desperately to reclaim what has been…
What is a knight?
Before the knights among knights—the knights of Atanga—Najin was giving his answer.
“…one who aspires to that high place.”
Najin said:
“One who, bearing pride and honor, pursues the stars of the lofty heavens. That is the knight I envision. No—that is the knight I mean to become.”
A brief silence.
Then laughter rose from behind Argo. The knights of Atanga broke into open smiles. Though he did not laugh aloud, a smile had found its way to Argo’s own lips as well.
It was not mockery aimed at Najin.
It was something far removed from mockery.
Argo raised a hand. At the signal the knights quieted. They simply gazed at Najin. Their eyes had grown gentler than a moment before, and the regard they turned upon him was now openly favorable.
Speaking for them all, Argo asked:
“Is that the absolute truth, without a single falsehood?”
“Yes.”
“Then I believe you.”
Argo laughed, well pleased.
Najin’s eyes were not the eyes of a man who lied.
“No matter where one falls, no matter if honor is lost, no matter if one plummets to the depths—one still struggles to reclaim it… Some would sneer that such a thing is ugly.”
Argo smiled.
“But I—we—find it beautiful. It means one still desires to remain a knight.”
“…”
“It seems you spoke those words while picturing the image of some particular knight. I cannot know who that knight is in your mind, yet he is surely one worth emulating.”
A knight worth emulating—spoken by a knight of Atanga.
Najin felt something stir deep inside him. He wished he could tell this story to Ivan. He wished Ivan could have been here.
“To pursue the stars while bearing honor and pride. A fine ring to it. Honestly…”
Argo removed his helm.
Bare-headed, facing Najin, he scratched the back of his neck. The face revealed beneath the helm was that of a young man. To a Sword Seeker, physical age was merely a number.
“I said only one question, yet I keep finding myself asking more.”
Meeting him face to face, Argo gave an abashed smile.
“What is your name?”
It was probably written on the commission. Yet he wanted to hear the name from the youth’s own lips. At the question Najin fell silent for a moment.
“I hope that every word we have exchanged in this place remains nothing but the truth.”
After the silence, Najin spoke.
“Therefore I cannot give my name.”
To speak the name would make a lie of everything.
“Is that so.”
Najin had spoken obliquely, and Argo understood. He asked for the name no further.
“Then the answer to today’s question—”
Argo rapped his breastplate.
“—I will hear after you have become a knight. When you stand as a knight of honor and pride, then you will be able to tell me your name, yes?”
Najin nodded.
Grinning broadly, Argo clapped him on the shoulder. It was a thoroughly satisfied smile.
“I look forward to the day arriving soon.”
You may go now.
We will handle the rest here.
“Before long, I will come to see you again.”
Najin bowed his head and walked away.
He added nothing more, yet Argo knew exactly what had gone unspoken.
Next time, I will meet you as a fellow knight.
After Najin had gone, the knights of Atanga disposed of the Demon Knight’s corpse, recovered the relic he had stolen, and gathered the bodies of the knights he had slain. Feeling the sorrow of the grim news that would soon reach each household, they were finishing the work when—
“Lord Argo.”
Argo’s squire addressed him.
“Why did you not question him further? He seemed to be hiding a great deal.”
A squire not yet a knight.
Talented, yet still young, her view of the world remained narrow. At the girl’s question Argo stroked his chin.
“Because there was no need to ask more.”
“May I ask the reason?”
“Of course. You are my squire, and as your master I am obliged to answer my disciple’s questions.”
Argo opened his mouth.
“Because that youth’s intent was pure. Pure, and therefore no falsehood could be felt in his words.”
“Pure…?”
“Yes. Rather than emphasize his own achievement, he sought to diminish it. ‘It was only possible because the knights had already wounded him.’ ‘It was only possible because of the advice a knight gave me.’ ‘I was lucky,’ and so on…”
Had he coveted gold, or fame, he would have inflated his own merit and never mentioned the knights. Yet the youth had gone out of his way to name the knights already slain and thereby reduce his own glory.
“It makes no sense, of course.”
Argo gave a bitter smile.
He had spoken no lies—yet that did not mean his words were the whole truth. This was a being who had contracted with a demon wielding authority of that magnitude. The wounds might have helped, but they could never have been decisive.
Which meant the youth had fought and defeated Bernhaigen in his full strength.
Even so he had chosen to belittle his own feat and conceal his power, and that was why Argo had asked no further. There had been no need.
“The words of one who was not knightly displeased me. That was the youth’s answer.”
I didn’t like him.
So I cut him down.
A plain answer, a sincere one, and a thoroughly refreshing one. Argo smiled. The youth’s realm, the means by which he had slain a demon—everything remained a mystery, yet none of that mattered.
The knightliness the youth had spoken of.
The knight he meant to become.
To Argo, knight of Atanga, those things were more important than anything else. Having heard that answer, Argo was content.
“Do not forget the knightliness of which he spoke, Planché. It is a tale worth carving into your heart and turning over again and again.”
“Yes, Lord Argo.”
Argo’s squire, Planché, nodded.
Watching the girl return to help recover the bodies, Argo let out a long breath. The image of the youth he had just met would not leave him.
He had wanted to bring him into the Knights of Atanga at once.
Yet he sensed the time was not yet ripe.
At the same time Argo felt certain: someday, without fail, that one would come seeking the Knights of Atanga of his own will. Even if he never formally joined the order, he would become a comrade who shared their purpose. Of that Argo was sure.
“Pursue the stars while bearing honor and pride.”
“Hang my own star in the highest place of that lofty sky. What a magnificent dream is that?”
“If one is a man, if one claims the name of knight, shouldn’t one dream big?”
Argo gave a bitter smile.
Listening to the youth had brought to mind a certain knight—his own peer, once the rising star of Atanga. A man who, had he still walked the surface, would certainly have become a Sword Seeker by now.
“Ivan.”
Argo murmured the name of his old friend.
So you’ve taken a disciple, have you.
In Argo’s hand was the commission form.
The name of the youth who had accepted that commission was Ivan. A common enough name, yet he could not dismiss it as mere coincidence. Argo exhaled slowly.
No matter where one falls.
Even if honor is stripped away and everything is taken.
One still struggles to reclaim what was lost.
The knightliness the youth had spoken of—words almost certainly uttered while picturing someone—Argo now understood whom they pointed toward. At the same time he realized that his old friend, even in that place, had never abandoned being a knight.
“That’s just like you.”
So murmuring, Argo rose to his feet.
It was not a tale fit to share with others; he would have to keep it locked inside his heart. The former Atanga knight Ivan was, after all, a criminal in the eyes of the world.
By what fateful encounter the youth had met Ivan, and what bond they shared…
Those answers he would hear someday, together with the youth’s true name. Hoping that day would come soon, Argo rested a hand upon his sword hilt.