Liquor that intoxicates you when you drink it, but makes you suffer when you sober up.

That was how the Helmeted Knight described honor and pride. Najin fell silent at his words.

"..."

Najin watched the Helmeted Knight without speaking. His eyes were hidden behind his helmet. Najin had always read other people's thoughts and moods through their eyes, but his keen powers of observation were useless against this knight.

He would have to find out another way.

"Are you saying honor and pride are useless?"

"No, I never said that. Didn't I tell you? They're strong liquor. Liquor is an essential part of life."

"Pardon?"

"How could anyone live without liquor? Nothing is more dreary than a life without it. A drink now and then, a little intoxication—that's what makes life bearable."

The Helmeted Knight spoke with breezy nonchalance.

"But you can't stay drunk forever. Sooner or later, you have to sober up, and then you must pay a price equal to your intoxication."

What would they pay that price with?

Those who lived on the continent would say they would pay with their lives. But the Outer Lands asked them another question.

With only that?

"The drunker you get, the worse the hangover. I don't know how you lived on the continent, but I'm telling you to sober up a little. Otherwise, life will be hard."

With a scar-covered hand, he pointed toward the Lost wandering the Outer Lands. There stood corpses fighting for eternity, unable to relinquish their weapons even in death.

"They were knights once, too. They simply couldn't remain knights forever."

A death without honor or pride.

The Helmeted Knight said that was the end met by those who had lived intoxicated by honor and pride.

'The Lost.'

Those who had forgotten.

Najin looked at the Lost. Some had planted spear shafts in their own bodies, and the banners hanging from them fluttered in the wind.

The crests of knightly orders. Of the Empire. Of noble houses.

Bearing banners of every kind, the Lost roamed the Outer Lands, as though those were the only honor they were permitted.

2.

After following the Helmeted Knight for a long while, Najin arrived at a place filled with enormous rocks. Their formations were unnatural.

Rather than rising naturally from the earth or being worn down, they looked as though they had flown in from somewhere and embedded themselves in the ground. The Helmeted Knight stopped between them, fetched a suitable stone lying nearby, and sat on it.

"Sit down, too."

The Helmeted Knight looked around, brought over something resembling firewood, and placed it on the ground to start a fire. The only problem, if one could call it that, was that his firewood was a severed human arm. It burned readily enough.

CRACKLE, CRACKLE...

Watching the fire burn, the Helmeted Knight spoke.

"You said you came from the Empire."

"Yes."

"How much history do you know?"

"A fair amount."

"Good. Then do you know about the Dawn War?"

Najin nodded.

He did. He had learned about the war while researching Yuel Razian. It was none other than the Dawn War in which she had first been sighted.

"Wasn't that the war sparked by a rebellion among the Empire's pillars? I know of it."

"How long has it been since that war?"

"One hundred and fifty years."

"One hundred and fifty years," the Helmeted Knight murmured.

"It's been quite a while. What happened to the Empire afterward?"

"The Empire won the war. Sir Gerd, who commanded the Royal Guard at the time, secured victory by executing the ringleaders of the rebellion."

"Gerd? That fellow?"

The Helmeted Knight sounded surprised.

"That's a surprise. He wasn't that good a fighter. What happened to Gerd after that?"

"In recognition of his achievements, Sir Gerd became a pillar of the Empire. He held the lowest seat at first, but now he is called the Empire's foremost warrior."

The Helmeted Knight fell silent at Najin's words. The silence was brief. Soon he burst into laughter, his helmet rattling.

"I didn't mishear you, did I? Gerd became the Empire's foremost warrior? The First Pillar of the Empire? Then he must have become a Sword Master. Earned himself stars, too."

"He did."

"How many stars does he have?"

"Seven."

"Ha! Seven whole stars? What a surprise."

"Do you know Sir Gerd?"

"Very well. Though he won't remember me."

The Helmeted Knight chuckled.

He continued asking Najin about the outside world. Most of his questions concerned the Empire's circumstances, such as, "Is the Empire at peace? Who is the emperor now?"

"It's a pleasure to hear about the outside world after so long. I've asked too many questions. I'll take some myself now. Is there anything you'd like to ask? I'll answer, so long as it's not about me."

"What are crows?"

"Ah, those?"

Both Graf and the Helmeted Knight before him had called Najin's attackers "crows." Najin was curious what that meant. Merlin had been at a loss, saying, ["I think I know what they mean, but the terminology's a little different from my day..."]

"Hunters. They hunt newcomers who've just set foot in this land. They also pick at the scraps left behind by other hunters."

"Hunt?"

"Yes. There's no easier way."

The Helmeted Knight spoke as he watched the campfire.

"This damned land, the Outer Lands, wears people down relentlessly. Once that erosion goes far enough, you become one of the Lost. If you don't want that horrible end, you have to resist. But there aren't many ways to do that."

He held up two fingers.

"Either you achieve great feats, earn stars, and keep proving yourself..."

He folded one finger down.

"Or else," he continued with a sneer, "you hunt other stars. Of course, if you hunt the Constellations in the night sky, you earn both a feat and stars—two birds with one stone. But how could that be easy? Fighting a transcendent being is exhausting. Difficult, too."

"Then..."

"That's right."

The Helmeted Knight pointed at Najin.

"You hunt newcomers like yourself."

"..."

"Devouring the starlight dwelling in a heart slows the erosion, if only a little. You can keep yourself from becoming one of the Lost. In this land, those who hunt newcomers or weaklings to take their stars are called 'crows.'"

So that was why they were crows.

Filthy beasts that lived by picking at corpses.

"They're fools," the Helmeted Knight said quietly.

"They're weak, so they travel in packs. Act as a group. But that's precisely what makes them fools. Even swallowing a newcomer's star whole wouldn't be enough, yet they end up dividing it. Before a hunt, crows actually go on and on about distributing the starlight according to each person's contribution..."

He sneered.

"Who would honor that? They've already lost their pride and honor. People who've sold off everything they have just to survive today aren't going to keep their promises."

When a hunt ended, the crows turned on one another.

The starlight they gained was scant enough already. Dividing it again and again would leave barely a taste. Muttering this, the Helmeted Knight continued.

"Not one of them can be trusted. They're all ready to stab you in the back and run at any moment. Those who travel in packs like that are fakes. They don't deserve to be called hunters, so they're given the insulting name 'crows.'"

"Then what are real hunters?"

"Real hunters? Nothing special. They hunt alone."

The Helmeted Knight laughed.

"They lure prey away from the crows by pretending to help. They offer all sorts of excuses, pretending to be kind, pretending to mean well, until their prey lets down its guard. They shake off the troublesome crows and wait for the moment they're alone with their prey."

His laughter sounded heavy after reverberating inside his helmet.

"You don't need me to tell you what happens next, do you?"

He raised his head.

The helmet, flickering in the firelight, gazed steadily at Najin. He couldn't read the eyes hidden behind it. Nor could he tell what expression the man wore inside.

Only his voice. Najin could feel its temperature.

It was cold. Though he couldn't see the man's eyes to know for certain, Najin thought they must hold much the same chill.

"Kindness, goodwill—they use everything at their disposal to lure their prey in, then sink their teeth in the moment it lets down its guard. They keep all of it for themselves. That's how real hunters do things."

"I see."

"I'm weighing my options right now. Whether to take your heart or do you another kindness."

"So it seems."

The Helmeted Knight spoke matter-of-factly, and Najin answered in kind. Seeing Najin respond with the same composure as himself, the knight lowered his gaze a little further.

"Didn't you understand? I meant I'm deciding whether to kill you."

"I understood."

"You look rather calm for that."

"I was thinking what a considerate declaration of war this is."

"What?"

Najin shrugged.

"You're sitting right in front of me, saying, 'I'm thinking of killing you now. What do you think?' What hunter in the world hunts so carelessly?"

"Perhaps it proves I'm confident I can kill you even while taking my time."

"That may be so."

Najin slowly stood.

"But isn't there another way to describe this?"

"Another way?"

"You tell your opponent you're going to attack. Even after saying so, you don't ambush them—you give them time. You wait until they do something, whether that's fleeing or preparing to fight.

"Isn't that a familiar procedure?"

As he spoke, Najin slipped his fingers between his wrist and his glove, pulled it off, and held it in his hand.

"All that's left is to throw down a glove and exchange names."

Najin threw his glove to the ground.

It was a well-tanned leather glove, a gift from Argo, a knight of Atanga. Just as Argo had boasted, it struck the ground with a crisp sound.

SMACK!

"I am Najin, squire to Ivan, knight of Atanga."

Najin rested a hand on his sword hilt.

"I accept your challenge to a duel."

Then he gave the Helmeted Knight a broad grin. The smile proved contagious. Realizing what Najin's actions meant, the Helmeted Knight burst into laughter.

You called this a hunt?

I will call it a duel.

Whether you accept is your choice.

Hunter and prey. Attacker and victim. By throwing down his glove and announcing his name, Najin had shattered that arrangement. They were equals, not superior and subordinate. At the gesture, the Helmeted Knight laughed, his helmet rattling.

"You're out of your mind. You're taking this as a duel?"

"Helmeted knight."

Najin addressed the man before him not as the Helmeted Knight, but as a helmeted knight.

"You said honor and pride were liquor?"

"I did."

"Then have a drink. I can at least be your drinking companion."

A brief silence. Then laughter.

Laughing loudly, the Helmeted Knight answered.

"Not a bad offer."

The knight slowly rose.

"I'm sorry, but I have no name to give you. I've lost it."

"I see."

"But failing to introduce myself before a duel would be discourteous."

He raised his spear. Even if he had lost his name, he still had a way to introduce himself.

"Do you know the Order of the Golden Horn? It's also called the Horned Helm."

"I don't."

"Then remember it. The name of the Order of the Golden Horn."

Pointing his spear at Najin, he spoke.

"I am the first commander of the Order of the Golden Horn, master of the Horned Helm. This helmet is proof of my existence. This helmet, and the story it holds, stand in place of my name."

He tapped his helmet with the spear shaft. His laughter echoed along with the ringing sound.

CLANG!

"Najin."

He called Najin by name. Not boy, greenhorn, or hey, but the name that referred to Najin alone. That was the courtesy owed to one's opponent in a duel.

"I'll give you the first move."

3.

Najin studied the Helmeted Knight before him.

He had said he would give Najin the first move. Yet Najin couldn't readily charge at him. The crackling of the campfire stretched out, each pop lingering. His perception of time had slowed that much.

CRACKLE.

The brief instant in which an ember leaped from the fire and faded stretched into tens of seconds for Najin, perhaps longer. In that lengthened perception of time, he observed his opponent.

He was powerful. There was no question of that.

Not one of those who had pursued Najin since his arrival in the Outer Lands could compare to the knight before him. Nor was it only the Outer Lands. Even among those Najin had met on the continent, he could count on one hand the people who could rival this man.

Sword Masters. Transcendent beings of equivalent standing.

Only people of that caliber did not pale in comparison to this man. The pressure the helmeted knight exuded was truly comparable to that of a Sword Master. Then was this man a powerful warrior who had attained transcendence?

'No. He isn't.'

He wasn't. Najin narrowed his eyes.

He sensed a strange energy from the man before him. Where had he felt such energy before? It didn't take long to recall.

Ermina, the Witch of Flickering Flames.

The opponent he had met when he first set foot in the Outer Lands some time ago. A witch who had lost all her stars and whose circles had been shattered, leaving her no longer a transcendent being. Something resembling the presence he had felt from her emanated from the knight before him.

Not enough to call him a transcendent being.

Yet far too intense to say he wasn't one.

'Someone who was once a transcendent being...'

But no longer was.

Najin steadied his breathing.

His reason cried out. This was a fight he couldn't win, and fleeing at once was the right thing to do. Hadn't this man said he would hunt him, declared that he would take his life? His reason screamed at him.

'Run now. The man before you is dangerous. Your chances of winning are vanishingly small. He's hiding something.'

That conclusion rested on solid evidence.

But Najin's instincts reached a different conclusion.

'An honorable duel. Show him your best.'

That was what the man wanted.

So Najin's instincts cried.

Of course, there was no evidence. It wasn't rational. It was impulsive.

But Najin had always trusted his instincts more than his reason. Had he followed reason alone, his journey would never even have begun. Hadn't it started with the instinct urging him to draw Excalibur?

As he always had, Najin trusted his instincts.

It wasn't an irresponsible trust. He would pay the price for it.

When Merlin asked him with what, Najin answered.

With what he held in his hand.

Sword aura bloomed over Najin's blade.