Eighth-Circle Spell: Flicker.

Eight rings wreathed in flame spun fiercely. Whenever they scraped against one another, the flames that leaped up became fireworks, embroidering the sky in red. From the moment the witch gestured, the sky was no longer blue or black.

Only red.

Nothing but an unbearable red filled the sky.

Looking up at the scarlet sky, which seemed ready to melt at any moment, Najin let out a hollow laugh. Merlin had been right. This was not an enemy he could face as he was now.

How could he fight it?

How could he block it?

How could he evade it?

Nothing came to mind, even with his ability to glimpse the immediate future. Drawing Excalibur would not change the situation. Before flames that would burn heaven and earth alike, Najin was powerless.

'So this is a transcendent being. This is a witch.'

The witch stood alone beneath the red sky.

Najin laughed as he gazed at the transcendent being standing in a realm he could never reach as he was now. It was neither the laughter of someone driven mad nor a wild cackle.

It was a scoff. A mocking laugh.

Was that the realm you had reached by whittling away a thousand years? Had a thousand years set you upon that seat? Fine, he admitted it. She was overwhelming. For now, he could see no way to reach her.

But...

"Not much to it."

That was only true for now.

Do not think your thousand years will last forever. It had taken a mere eighteen years to hold your thousand years in place for fifteen minutes.

"Yes. That's it."

Merlin's laughter.

And the sound of someone kicking off the ground. Listening to those footsteps, Najin smiled.

Najin had lost to the witch. The tip of his sword had not reached her; he had failed to draw even a single drop of blood. It was a crushing defeat, but not a meaningless one.

Fifteen minutes. The time he had promised Gillette.

For those fifteen minutes, Najin had held the witch's attention, endured her gestures, and managed to buy time. The time he had bought was not without value.

SHING.

For someone who would give that time meaning had appeared on the battlefield. With a quiet slicing sound, a line was drawn between Najin and the witch. A single line. A storm swept along it, driving out the heat.

Then came the tap of a footstep.

Someone stepped into the heart of the battlefield, between Najin and the witch. His step was light, but the weight of his presence was anything but. The instant the man appeared, the tilted scales balanced.

Kirchhoff, Sword Master of the Forgotten Kingdom.

Only another transcendent being could face one.

A superhuman who had attained transcendence with a single sword had arrived on the battlefield.

2.

Some three hundred years ago, a nation had been destroyed by a fallen star. Its destruction had been quiet, and even the fact that such a nation had existed vanished from people's memories. That was the authority of the star involved in its destruction.

Oblivion and erasure.

As it destroyed a nation, the star possessing that authority made a wish: that the very fact this place had existed would disappear from the world without a trace. Ordinarily, that wish should have come true.

Memories, evidence, traces.

All of them should have vanished.

Yet only half the star's wish was fulfilled.

The world forgot that such a nation had existed, but proof of its existence did not disappear from history. Thus, through records and history, the world recalled that nation.

The forgotten nation's name was Londinel.

Londinel, the Forgotten Kingdom.

That the records of Londinel had not been completely erased, that they were not dismissed as mere fiction, was due to the existence of one man alone.

Kirchhoff, Sword Master of the Forgotten Kingdom.

Londinel's sole survivor, and living proof that it had existed. The Sword Master who had made that fact known to the world by wielding his sword.

"It's been a long time, witch."

Kirchhoff, who had entered the battle, curled his lips into a smile. Looking at the back of the man who had appeared before him, Najin knew instinctively that this was the Kirchhoff Gillette had spoken of.

"... Kirchhoff."

Ermina, the Witch of Flickering Flames, frowned. Her face twisted as she spat out the words.

"Fuck off. It's not you I have business with. It's the insolent little shit standing behind you."

"I'd rather not do something as graceless as interrupting a fight... but, well, isn't that what battlefields are like?"

Kirchhoff raised his sword. His eyes narrowed in an instant.

"And I always have business with you, Ermina. Surely you haven't forgotten that?"

The witch said nothing more.

She clicked her tongue and snapped her fingers. The moment her middle finger scraped against her thumb with a sharp snap, the red sky fell.

Flicker. Flames that extinguished starlight.

Only then did Najin realize that the sky had not turned red. Flames had covered it. The sight of those sky-shrouding flames falling to earth was at once wondrous and grotesque.

"What a rough welcome."

Beneath the falling sky, Kirchhoff merely raised his sword. Settling into his stance, he looked back.

"You there, boy."

"... Yes?"

"I'll thank you for buying us time later. Run. I doubt I'll have the leeway to protect you while I fight."

"Well, I'd like to do that myself."

Najin smiled bitterly.

"Unfortunately, my body won't move."

He had forced himself beyond his limits. His body had reached its limit long ago, and with flaming arrows embedded all over him, even twitching a finger was an ordeal.

"I don't think you'll need to worry about that."

Kirchhoff smiled.

Najin soon understood the meaning of that smile. A chain flew in from somewhere with a rattle and wrapped around his arm.

WHOOSH!

The chain pulled taut, and Najin was yanked backward. At the place it dragged him to were the chain unit's survivors of the battle with the witch, along with their commander, Gillette.

"Retreat! We're retreating!"

Gillette hoisted the immobile Najin onto his back and began running, intent on getting as far from the battlefield as possible. Carried on Gillette's back, Najin looked behind him.

There, transcendent beings were fighting.

There lay the realm he would have to reach someday.

Najin took in the sight of the swordsman swinging his blade at the flames covering the sky. With eyes wide open, he watched the sword wielded by a swordsman who had attained transcendence.

SHING.

Kirchhoff swung his sword, and a single sword strike reached the sky, splitting the flames. As the divided flames surged in to fill the empty space, he swung again.

Every swing drew a line.

The lines began to intersect and connect.

Wind raged with every swing of his sword. Each time he drew a single line, the flames parted and the heat was driven back. Every handspan his sword advanced pushed the red sky back another handspan.

'... Ah.'

Najin groaned.

There stood a swordsman cutting down the flames that blotted out the sky, all on his own. A transcendent being swept away by nothing. Before Najin's eyes lay the realm he would one day have to surpass.

Someday.

Surely, in the not-too-distant future.

He would face that battlefield again.

Because he could not stand upon it now, Najin could only burn their battle into his eyes, so that he would never forget the surging storm or the heat of this moment.

3.

After retreating far away to safety, Najin and the chain unit rejoined their allies and reached the tents. The troops readily gave Najin a tent and lent him the services of their priests.

The flaming arrows embedded in his body were removed.

His burns and other injuries received emergency treatment.

By the time the treatment was over and Najin could barely hold himself upright, Gillette came to his tent. The chain unit's soldiers stood behind him.

"Thank you."

Gillette's first words were words of gratitude. He bowed his head to Najin.

"We survived thanks to you. Our allies retreated safely, and even half the chain unit survived, though we were prepared to be wiped out. It's all because you bought us time."

Gillette raised his head.

His body was covered in soot, and one arm had been severed. When Najin looked at it, Gillette shrugged.

"One arm is a small price to pay. I was prepared to die, but somehow I survived. Bowing my head a hundred times wouldn't be enough."

"... Is that so?"

"Of course. You don't seem to grasp just how incredible a thing you've done..."

Gillette smiled wryly.

"At the very least, you saved me and the chain unit's soldiers. On a larger scale, you saved hundreds, thousands of our retreating allies. One gesture from that witch sweeps away dozens or hundreds of soldiers... and you endured it time and again, didn't you?"

"It's an unbelievable feat," he said, patting Najin's shoulder.

"An enormous one. You saved our allies from being wiped out. The fifteen minutes you held out were worth more than anything. I stand here as proof, along with the chain unit and every soldier who survived."

Gillette meant every word.

Najin remained silent, unsure how to respond. Something felt awkward. He had fought many battles, but this was the first time he had saved lives.

'No, I've fought to rescue people a few times before...'

But this felt different.

His struggle had saved lives. Because he had held his ground, hundreds of people had survived. The weight of those statements felt unfamiliar to Najin.

After all, that had not been his intention.

He had merely stood by his convictions. He had merely hated the idea of running away. He had merely found it intolerable. Those were the reasons he had leaped into battle. He might have thought of saving them, but that had not been his central purpose.

'This feels a little...'

Perhaps that was why Gillette's gratitude made Najin slightly uncomfortable. He had not wielded his sword purely to save them.

"Well, the truth is..."

Najin put those feelings into words.

He felt a little guilty accepting their thanks without saying anything. As he spoke, Merlin simply stood beside him, laughing softly.

"... That's why I did it. I didn't swing my sword with the intention of saving you all. I think you're giving me a little too much credit."

After hearing Najin out, Gillette blinked, then burst into laughter. As though he could not believe what he was hearing. As though he had found the strangest fellow imaginable.

"Well, you've done so many impossible things that I hadn't thought about it, but you really are still young."

"What? What do you..."

"Why does your intention matter? In the end, we survived thanks to you. That's what matters," Gillette said with a chuckle.

He had lost an arm in the battle and suffered burns all over his skin, yet his laughter was easy. Nor was he alone. The soldiers of the chain unit merely laughed at Najin's words as well.

"You're not getting too much credit at all. We ought to thank you, and you deserve our thanks. So square your shoulders and say it with pride."

Say what?

"'Today, here, I saved hundreds of lives.' You have every right to say that."

Like a hero in a heroic tale.

Like Arthur, who had raced across the continent, you saved countless lives today. That was what Gillette was telling him. Listening quietly, Najin awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck...

"Is that so?"

Then he laughed.

You saved hundreds of people today. Those words had a rather nice ring to them. A ring that felt good.