A truly beautiful duel leaves no lingering regrets.

A duel that relies on neither unforeseen circumstances nor luck, free of any secondary influence. A sacred duel in which skill and ability alone determine victory and defeat. The kind of duel countless knights long for is beautiful even in its ending.

The loser willingly acknowledges defeat, and the winner rightfully savors the sweetness of victory.

The outcome leaves no room for doubt. There is no place for excuses to intrude or regret to rear its head. Delighted by that clean aftertaste, the Helmeted Knight laughed. His laughter went on and on.

Like welcome rain falling on drought-parched soil, like cool wine soothing a body exhausted by a march, he felt a long-standing thirst being quenched.

"I haven't felt this intoxicated in ages. A truly fine fight. You fought remarkably well for someone so young."

"I should be saying that to you. What on earth was that technique? The moment I blocked it, I went flying."

"Ah, that? It's the pride of the Order of the Golden Horn. What is simplest, most honest, and most straightforward is strongest. That's the principle behind it."

"I see. Stay true to the fundamentals?"

"You understand me well enough. Exactly."

The deadly atmosphere from moments before had vanished. The two dragged themselves back to the campfire and chatted. Najin limped on the way, and the Helmeted Knight's body creaked, but those were minor matters.

Every boulder around them had collapsed, the ground was covered in gouges and scratches, Najin's arm had been splinted, and the knight's armor had acquired still more marks... but those, too, were minor matters.

"How old are you? Even a generous estimate wouldn't put you past thirty... To have reached that level at your age is astonishing. And it isn't just your level. Your technique has a polish I'd expect only after decades of wielding a sword. Have I misjudged you?"

He tilted his head with a thoughtful hum.

"How old are you, then? Your skill looks like that of a swordsman well past fifty."

"Eighteen."

"I see. Eighteen. Eight... een?"

The Helmeted Knight tilted his head a little farther.

CLATTER

His helmet rattled.

"That's taking a joke too far. I don't like lies."

Najin rummaged inside his clothes. Among the items in his magically expanded pouch was the certificate the emperor had personally awarded him—a document proving his identity. He showed it to the Helmeted Knight.

Taking the certificate, the knight let out a stunned sigh. Though his helmet hid his face, the look he directed at Najin seemed to ask, Is this boy insane? It was also the look Najin received most often.

"You're out of your mind."

"I hear that often."

"Reaching that level at your age is astonishing enough, but setting foot in the Outer Lands already is even more so. Isn't it far too early?" he said.

"This is where people are pushed out to once deterioration begins and they can no longer live on the continent. People who've lived close to a hundred years at least, who've lived a full life. It isn't a place for a youngster like you."

"So I've heard."

"Then why? You're skilled, yes, but isn't it too soon? You could have trained more on the continent before coming. I'm stronger than you, for one. This land will be full of people stronger than you who are after you."

"I know that as well."

Merlin had told him, after all.

In fact, Merlin had offered similar advice: it wouldn't hurt to gain a little more experience on the continent first. And she wasn't the only one. Many people had advised Najin.

Wasn't it too early? Wasn't he being too hasty? Why not gain a little more experience...?

But Najin had refused to budge.

"If you know, then why?"

"Because this is the fastest way."

Because this was the fastest path.

It was also the rightful path.

And the path King Arthur had walked.

"I need to become stronger than I am now. And quickly. Until I reach a certain level, I can't afford to take my time."

"What level?"

"At the very least, until I become a Sword Master."

"Hah. Do you think transcendence is a joke?"

"I'm not taking it lightly. Isn't it precisely because I know how difficult it is, how high a level it is, that I've come here?"

Najin looked up at the sky.

Glittering stars hung there. They floated far above him, and they would intervene immediately if he drew Excalibur.

Here, the Round Table's stars would also intervene at once, but that would change nothing. The stars would intervene, a torrent would rage, and Najin would be swept away before it.

'And if the Round Table's stars intervene...'

Merlin had said that the Round Table's intervention must be kept as their "last move." Najin gazed at the stars glittering far away at the edge of the Outer Lands. Merlin's stars, and those of the Round Table.

He knew what role they served. Merlin had told him. Now that he knew, their intervention truly had to remain a last resort.

In the end, that was what it came down to.

He had grown stronger, and everyone praised the level he had reached, but he still could not stand on his own. And Najin had a goal he could achieve only by doing so.

"Do you have a reason to be in such a hurry?"

"Yes. I do."

"May I ask what it is?"

"You're the victor, aren't you? The defeated have a duty to answer the victor's questions."

CRACKLE, CRACKLE...

Sparks leaped from the campfire.

"I have two teachers," Najin said, watching the sparks.

"One taught me swordsmanship. He taught me the basics of wielding a sword, how to flee, how to pursue, and the fundamental knowledge a mercenary needs."

Offen, the mercenary of the underground city.

"And the other taught me how to live. Not only how to live, but what I should pursue in life."

"And what was that?"

"Honor and pride. And stars."

Ivan, the knight of the underground city.

"He taught me what a knight is. What pride is. That sometimes there are things more important than life."

"He sounds like a good teacher."

"Yes. He was an excellent teacher."

Najin lowered his eyes.

Flames flickered in his downcast gaze.

"I must avenge them both."

"..."

"I must take revenge on those who made them that way, who trampled them, who tried to trample me. With my own strength, without borrowing anyone else's."

Only then would it mean anything.

Ivan had said he would stake his life on Najin's star. His honor on Najin's life. Only when Najin brought down the religious order would Ivan be proved right. No one else could do that in his place. It was something only Najin could do.

Najin always carried that weight in a corner of his heart. Without revenge, he could never be free. Somehow, he had to bring it to a close.

"Your enemy must be strong."

"Strong indeed."

"Strong enough that you must become a Sword Master to face them?"

"Yes. My enemy is also a transcendent being."

"I see."

The Helmeted Knight let out a long breath.

He sensed it instinctively. That was ground he must never trespass upon. It was the boy's most sensitive point, the fire he carried in his heart. A realm no one else had the right to interfere with.

"Well, everyone has their reasons."

He had something like that himself.

The Helmeted Knight, too, had a goal he needed to accomplish in this land. He exhaled at length. Then, as though he had decided something, he looked straight at Najin.

"Since you mentioned the victor's rights earlier, do you know the rules of a duel?"

"I do."

"Including the rule that the victor may make three demands of the defeated?"

"The rule proclaimed by Baermann, the Honorable Duelist."

"That's right. You know your stuff."

The Helmeted Knight pointed at himself, then at Najin.

"I'm the victor of this duel, and you're the loser. You don't dispute that, do you?"

"Of course not."

"Good. Accepting defeat is a knightly virtue as well. In that case, I should rightfully exercise the victor's rights."

After a brief pause, he said,

"The right to make three demands of you. I'll use one of them."

2.

The victor has the right to make demands of the defeated. The defeated have a duty to comply. Rights and duties. The more honorable the duel, the stronger those rights and duties become.

Thus, Najin accepted the Helmeted Knight's demand. Besides, it was hardly unreasonable.

The Helmeted Knight's demand was simple.

Travel with him for a while.

And the knight swore to Najin that he would not seek his life while they traveled together.

"Normally, I'd swear on my honor and pride, but I can no longer give those things the same weight I once did."

He tapped his helmet.

"I'll swear on this helmet. It bears not just my own honor, but the honor of the entire Order of the Golden Horn. That should make the oath weighty enough."

The horned helmet. The Horned Helm.

Najin gazed at it for a moment, then asked a question.

"You said the Order of the Golden Horn."

"Yes."

"Could you tell me more about that order?"

"Of course. I could talk about the Golden Horn all day."

Murmuring that Najin had provided fine wine, so he would provide a fine story in return, the Helmeted Knight began his tale.

"The Order of the Golden Horn. A small, elite order of thirteen knights. We all wore horned helmets. The most honorable among us wore the brightest one. The Horned Helm. This very helmet."

He ran his fingers over it.

"We shone. Brighter than anyone. We had no reason to envy the stars in that night sky. With cross-star spears upon our shoulders, we raced across battlefields. We sounded our golden horns and trampled the Empire's enemies. We were always honorable, always proud."

Even now, he could hear those sounds when he closed his eyes.

The sounding horns, their footsteps marching in formation, the hoofbeats, the clattering armor. The Helmeted Knight spoke as though singing.

"The Empire chanted our name. We always won, and won gloriously. It felt as though our thrusting spears could reach beyond the horizon, could pierce not only the enemies of the Outer Lands, but even those of Camlann."

He looked at his spear.

"That technique I showed you earlier—every knight of the Golden Horn could use it. One of us was the best at it, but all of them could use it at least as well as I can."

Imagine it, he said.

"Thirteen men form ranks. Clatter! Their armor rings out loudly. Then they stamp down hard on the earth with a boom, taking their stances as one. Thirteen gleaming spears aim at a single enemy, then thrust forward without the slightest deviation."

It had been a magnificent sight. A sight he missed.

He let out a long, wistful sigh.

"Sound the horns. Pierce the Empire's enemies. Bring glorious victory to the Empire. Proud knights of the Golden Horn! We shall advance forever..."

He sang of a dream he could no longer dream.

Steeped in memories, his voice brimmed with energy. With life. But when he had finished his tale, it sank heavily.

"It's all in the past now, though. There was such an order. The strongest knightly order in the Empire."

"..."

"You look as though you have a lot of questions. I can understand. Why is an order that great never mentioned anywhere? That's what you want to ask, isn't it?"

"Honestly, yes. It is."

Najin nodded.

He felt truly sorry toward the Helmeted Knight before him, but today was the first time Najin had heard of the Order of the Golden Horn. It wasn't because he lacked interest in knightly orders. Quite the opposite. He was deeply interested in knights and their orders.

He had read countless books about them, all but memorizing the orders recorded in history books and their maxims.

Yet he had never heard of the Order of the Golden Horn. If what the knight said was true, and if the order had included someone so skilled, there was no way Najin should have been unaware of it.

"Do you know of Londinel, the Forgotten Kingdom?"

Najin nodded. He knew of it.

It was the homeland of Kirchhoff, the Sword Master he had met in the Outer Lands some time ago. Londinel, the nation erased from history and consigned to oblivion roughly three hundred years earlier.

"Londinel was wiped from history by the intervention of some fucking Constellation. Only a few lines of text could be left behind. But even those lines survived only because countless knights who belonged to Londinel at the time sacrificed their stars."

Because they had sacrificed countless stars.

Because they had willingly thrown away even their lives for their homeland. Because countless lives and countless stars had been sacrificed.

"Londinel barely managed to preserve even a record that such a nation had existed. But Londinel was a truly exceptional case. It was possible because there was an exceptional being named Kirchhoff. Most couldn't do that. The Order of the Golden Horn was no different."

The same circumstances as Londinel. The intervention of the same Constellation.

The onslaught of the authorities of Oblivion and erasure.

As though recalling that day, the Helmeted Knight laughed bitterly.

"You're free to believe it or not. The Order of the Golden Horn truly existed. At least until a hundred and fifty years ago."

Old armor. A helmet covered in scratches. He spoke while stroking its broken horn.

"Even if everyone else has forgotten, I remember. I alone remember. The cheers of victory. The sound of horns. My comrades' laughter. The Golden Horn's maxim. I alone remember them."

"And," the Helmeted Knight continued, lowering his hand, "there will be many like that in these Outer Lands. Forgotten heroes of old. People erased from history. And more than enough who've gone mad in the end."

"..."

"The Lost aren't just walking corpses. Those who have forgotten. Those who have been forgotten. Those who have lost. In the Outer Lands, we lump all sorts of people together under that name. In that sense, perhaps I'm no different from the Lost myself."

CRACKLE

The campfire's flames began to die down. Its wood was nearly spent.

"The Lost. Those who have lost."

Forgotten, and robbed of a place to belong.

"So I'm curious. How will you live in this land? You let me become intoxicated by my old glory, however briefly. Now I'm interested in what conclusions you'll reach after encountering the countless Lost here."

POP, CRACKLE

"That's why I asked you to travel with me."

POP

One last spark leaped up. The campfire went out. When its flames died, silence remained. In that silence, Najin and the Helmeted Knight looked at one another.

A shining star, and an eroded star.

"Let's get up."

The campfire was out. Breaking the silence, the Helmeted Knight rose.