Eclosion (3)
In the depths of darkness, the constellations gleamed.
Yet they did not hang suspended across the vast night sky. They shone only at the tip of a sword clutched by a hand still planted firmly on the earth. The stars that glittered from a human blade’s edge were quiet, almost cold.
**Najin**, the Sword Seeker.
Having reached the realm of the Sword Seeker, Najin lifted his sword. Along the shining edge, the constellations moved, and where they halted lay his foe.
“···Haa.”
Jerald, staring at the blade pointed straight at him, let out a laugh. Truly, what a magnificent opponent. The slight discomfort he had felt moments ago was gone. From the moment this man had ascended to the Sword Seeker rank, the distinction between the weak and the strong had become meaningless.
“**Klaus**.”
Jerald spoke.
He exhaled slowly.
“I’m sorry to say this, but I’ll take the first strike. This is non-negotiable.”
“Too bad. I was about to say the same thing.”
When the first move is stolen, there is nothing to be done.
Jerald said as much, then stepped back a pace, while Jerald himself advanced. He seemed prepared to let the other move first, as if to erase any numerical advantage.
In this case, that was not necessarily so.
A Sword Seeker of this level was, for all intents and purposes, an army walking on two legs. One man could accomplish the work of dozens, even hundreds. The metaphor was apt, and so was the restriction that came with such power.
Swinging a sword to split a great tree, carving a path through an entire battlefield, sweeping the surroundings with each stride—these were the movements of a Sword Seeker.
If they had not already synchronized their rhythm, if they had not fought side by side for a long time, they would interfere with each other. Charging at the same time would sweep friendly forces into the path of their own aura and shockwaves.
They had therefore restrained themselves.
Both Klaus and Jerald did the same.
If they had hurled everything they possessed at each other, friendly forces would be swept away. Each would become an obstacle to the other, and the advantage of numbers would vanish.
‘But now that it has come to this.’
The advantage of numbers was meaningless.
Playing around would only lead to being sliced apart. A battle of endless length would end with one decisive, sufficiently powerful strike.
“No, not that.”
Jerald shook his head.
No. If they fought cooperatively, they could do whatever they wanted. Distributing their strength evenly, surrounding the opponent, they might even gain an edge.
But he had no desire to do so.
The Sword Seeker who had undergone **Eclosion** and awakened the constellation at his blade’s edge had clearly declared it: this was to be an honorable duel. Even though Jerald now possessed no honor to shout and no pride to claim.
‘Still, I want the final strike.’
One last exchange.
He wanted to exchange the final strike in the honorable duel the other had proclaimed. Even if his life was on the line in the process, he wanted it.
Both Jerald and Klaus held the same thought.
Foolish. Foolish, yes.
Najin’s declaration had turned this into nothing more than a duel, not an ambush, not an assassination, not a war. If so, they should answer in kind. Was that not the duty these former knights were bound to uphold?
Jerald took a great step forward.
He pulled forth a sword spirit fiercer than ever.
His right foot slammed into the ground with thunderous force. His left foot braced at an angle. Breath held tight. The stance completed was one designed to unleash the **Shattered Blade** he was famous for—the swordsmanship that had shattered countless demons and their contractors.
Even if the swordsman before him was not a demon.
Even if he was not wicked, not insidious.
He was still an opponent who demanded their full power.
No words were needed. Jerald thrust his legs against the earth and charged. With every step he took, the ground shook—**boom**, **ku-wung**. Trees shattered and splinters flew as he moved, exactly like a bull charging forward.
**Shatter**.
By shattering everything he touched, Jerald raced toward Najin. And Najin stood waiting, sword lowered, as if daring him to come closer, as if to say: come as close as you like.
A smile slipped from Jerald’s lips.
How proud this swordsman was. Even now he refused to retreat! He shouted that he would meet the full-power strike head-on! In this age of extinction, Jerald felt gratitude toward the last pure-blooded swordsman of the age.
And then—collision.
The instant Jerald’s final stride hit the ground, the earth cracked with a deafening **crack**. He swung the heavy greatsword laden with the weight of his charge. The mindscape within the sword spirit was a charging bull that obliterated every obstacle in its path.
**Crack, boom, ku-wung**...
Though the sword’s arc was not perfectly straight, trees across the entire battlefield shattered. Dust exploded from the pushing pressure, and the air itself churned. Najin’s coat, taking the full force head-on, billowed wildly. His skin split, blood bursting forth.
Yet Najin did not retreat.
He swung his own sword straight at Jerald’s greatsword. The clash of greatsword and longsword. Normally, the greatsword should have crushed the longsword and shattered the hand holding it. But the rules of Sword Seeker combat did not apply.
The moment the blades met, a thunderous sound erupted.
The sword spirits bit and tore at each other.
The constellation wrapped around Najin’s sword took the full brunt of Jerald’s sword spirit, resisting every inch of its advance. No—it even pushed back. The flickering constellation scattered a pure, blinding white light with a **tic-tic-tic**!
A brief silence. A brief stalemate.
To Jerald it felt like dozens of seconds; to any third party, barely one. And then the balance broke. Najin gritted his teeth, forced his knees straight despite the crushing weight, and swung with all his might.
And then—**slash**.
The sword that had been halted advanced forward. It cleaved the sword spirit, the greatsword, and severed the technique Jerald had unleashed. First the sword swung, then the constellation exploded along its path.
Light erupted like an explosion following the sword’s trajectory.
That light was the gathered sword spirit. Watching the constellation flicker before his eyes, Jerald gave a hollow laugh. It was a perfect strike—and his defeat. Immediately after, the recoil of the sword spirit slammed into his body.
**Kwaaahaaaaang!**
The foot that had struck the ground hard now floated in mid-air, stripped of its meaning. Jerald was flung backward by the force of the recoil. He flew for a long distance, crashing through several great trees before finally stopping.
Spitting blood, Jerald collapsed.
Najin let out a long, steady breath. The constellation still wrapped around his sword had not lost its light. There was still one opponent left to be felled. Najin lifted his head and looked ahead. There stood the final foe.
**Klaus Aten**.
The Fifth Wing of Prolea Kingdom’s cavalry.
The Last Blue Wing knight stood before Najin.
2.
“What a shame you couldn’t fly off so cleanly.”
Klaus offered a wry smile.
He pulled the spear he had planted in the ground. In this situation, Klaus was surprised. Had this youth not simply undergone **Eclosion**?
**Eclosion**—the act of breaking the cocoon and emerging.
Many people, right after **Eclosion**, could not follow the newly reorganized flow of sword spirit and mana, and took time to adapt. Klaus had been the same. Yet the swordsman before his eyes…
‘He seems to have been a Sword Seeker for years, wielding sword spirit naturally.’
How absurd. The academy’s information said this youth was clearly eighteen. It was so ridiculous that a laugh almost escaped Klaus. The kind of prodigy that words like “genius” could not describe existed in this boy.
“Perhaps… it is an honor.”
Klaus exhaled.
A youth who would soon reach his peak. Receiving the sword of such a man was an honor worth bearing. Even so, Klaus laughed at how ill-suited the situation was.
A duel. How the heart burned with this resonance.
As the one-on-one situation approached, Klaus laughed. If the end of his life stained with filth was this kind of duel, he would gladly accept it. Whether he won or lost this fight, Klaus had no intention of leaving this world alive.
A knight who had lost both honor and pride should not breathe. The final act of the Last Blue Wing knight should end not with execution but with honorable suicide.
Since the day four years ago when he had lost all his comrades, Klaus Aten had been as good as dead. He had simply postponed his death indefinitely, waiting for the day his comrades’ honor could be avenged.
And that day had come.
The time had arrived to draw a line under the life of a living corpse who could not die. Most gloriously, the hand to draw that line belonged to a proud swordsman. A worthy opponent capable of meeting Jerald’s full power. Klaus truly understood why Jerald laughed.
How could he not laugh.
How could he not feel joy.
“Najin.”
“**Klaus Aten**.”
They called each other’s names.
That was enough. Klaus raised his spear and lowered his stance. The weight of his body leaned forward, as if ready to leap at any moment.
“I am coming.”
“Very well.”
Aura erupted above Klaus’s body. The swirling aura wrapped around the spear’s tip. Twigs touched by the churning aura crumbled to dust.
On Najin’s sword, the constellation gathered. The long constellation wrapped the longsword. The longsword wrapped in the flickering constellation seemed to evoke the blade of a star.
Both Klaus and Najin adopted their own stances.
And without waiting to see who would move first, the two charged at each other.
3.
**Klaus Aten** ran.
He had no flag. He could no longer carve the glory of being the Fifth Wing of the kingdom.
He had no horse. On the day his comrades had sunk into the mud, his faithful steed had met its end as well.
He had no comrades left. The Blue Wing cavalry had been annihilated. They had met death without honor or pride.
Still, Klaus Aten ran.
Flags were unnecessary. The memory of running with his comrades remained etched in his mindscape. Horses were unnecessary. Two legs were enough to push against the earth. Comrades were unnecessary. Still, Klaus Aten was a Blue Wing knight.
A mere defeated commander.
A knight who had lost honor and pride.
Klaus Aten ran.
He raced toward the honor of his comrades. With eyes wide open, he saw his own mindscape. Cavalry galloping across a vast plain. Ah, they rode with the emblem of the blue wing branded into their flesh, charging across the battlefield.
He stood at the head.
It sounded as if the thunder of hooves echoed from behind. The thunderous roars of his comrades rang in his ears. Klaus sped up. If he were a brave Blue Wing knight, his comrades would follow no matter what. So he ran with all his strength.
Acceleration. And acceleration again.
**Klaus Aten** looked at the enemy he must pierce through. He looked at the proud swordsman. That man was also charging straight at him. Head-on, unyielding, he wanted to shatter his spear.
Come at me. Whenever you like.
He sped up. The scenery blurred past. His eyes fixed solely on Najin. He only watched the sword that was about to swing. That was why Klaus understood.
The technique Najin was about to display.
He knew that technique.
The swordsmanship of a knight among knights, the knights of **Atanga**. Then the youth had introduced himself as a descendant of **Atanga**’s knight? Perhaps. The final act that decided his honorless and pride-less end was the sword of **Atanga**. Yes, it was a fitting end beyond compare.
Yet soon Klaus’s eyes widened.
No, it was not that.
The sword of **Atanga** that struck to slay a knight did not advance in this manner. It did not swing this way. That was not a sword for slaying.
It meant: “I acknowledge you as my worthy opponent.”
It meant: “I have value worthy of being shattered with full power.” At that fact, Klaus laughed.
So he would accept the expectation.
The Fifth Wing of the kingdom, commander and vanguard of the Blue Wing cavalry, Klaus Aten thrust his spear. Najin, the descendant of the knights of **Atanga**, swung his sword.
In the moment their spear and blade crossed, nothing else interfered with this duel. Background, affiliation, church—all of it became endlessly meaningless. It was simply one knight and one swordsman who had unleashed their full-power strike at each other.
To decide the victor of the duel.
To claim victory.
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