People often said you could tell what kind of life someone had lived by looking at their sword aura. Najin agreed to some extent, though only if the person had reached at least the rank of Sword Seeker.

A Sword Seeker’s aura contained their mental image—a landscape engraved upon the heart. The scenes they considered most important or most memorable naturally took root within it.

For Najin, that meant stars. For Klaus Aten, it was the grassland across which he had raced with the Blue Wing Cavalry. For the commander of the ducal House Arbenia’s knights, it had been a thorn tree.

Then what was the mental image of the man before him?

That was easy to tell. His sword burned red. Those burning flames were both his sword aura and his mental image. The aura seemed modeled on the starfire blazing behind him. Najin could even feel heat from the aura rippling like flames.

Sword aura imbued with a mental image often shared that image’s properties. Aura kindled with flames in mind naturally possessed the heat of fire. It was the same principle that made Najin’s star-like aura so effective against devils.

WHOOSH!

Najin frowned at the rush of heat as their swords collided. He started to retreat reflexively, then hesitated. It was hot, certainly, but...

'I can take this, can’t I?'

It was more bearable than he had expected.

The heat was undeniably intense enough to melt bricks... yet for some reason, Najin could resist it. Direct contact would be dangerous, but he could endure the heat produced when their swords clashed.

“That’s the story your stars hold,” Merlin whispered to him.

“You resisted the Witch of Flickering Flames’ fire, then leaped into the mouth of a dragon unleashing its Breath. And even as the flames burned your entire body, you still managed to shatter its heart, didn’t you?”

Those were the stories held within Najin’s stars—the great feats he had accomplished.

“Surely you can withstand this much fire?”

She was right. Instead of retreating, Najin stepped forward. Flames swelled right before his face, but he ignored them. You’re the one who’ll back down, not me. If this was a contest of strength, he would not lose ground.

SCREEEECH!

As their auras collided with a deafening screech, Najin’s eyes narrowed at a sense that something was wrong. He had been pressing down hard on the man before him when he abruptly took the strength out of his sword, changed his stance, and stepped back.

SWISH!

With nothing left to press against, his opponent’s sword sliced through empty air.

Najin moved aside and lowered his sword point, his face deeply contorted. Insult and displeasure were written across it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Najin spat.

“Why pretend to be one of the Lost when you aren’t?”

Najin pointed at the man’s eyes with his free hand. His right eye was unfocused, but the left was perfectly clear. Yet he was viewing the world through the clouded eye rather than the sound one. It meant he was trying to surrender himself to instinct despite being able to move of his own will.

What was the point of this?

When the man offered his sword salute, he had been a rational human being. But the moment he swung his sword, he became one of the Lost, surrendering himself to instinct. He could have remained human, yet had chosen to face Najin as one of the Lost.

Najin found that deeply offensive.

Wasn’t that just running away?

The man stared silently at Najin as he stood with his sword lowered. Then he closed one eye altogether—not the clouded eye, but the clear one—and lunged at Najin like a beast.

Najin let out a disbelieving laugh.

So that was how he wanted to play it.

They had not chosen such a troublesome approach just to fight the Lost, bereft of their sense of self. This frontal assault was not their only option. The Helmeted Knight and Najin had chosen it despite having alternatives, as a gesture of respect and courtesy toward their opponents.

It was a declaration: We will challenge you as worthy equals, not as the Lost.

It was stubbornness bordering on foolishness. Yet that was precisely what made the choice romantic. Their opponent could not possibly fail to understand that. If he still insisted on behaving this way...

Najin had an idea of his own.

Najin tightened his grip, taking hold of his sword in an entirely different way than before. Drawing the blade low, he muttered inwardly. 'Let’s see if you can keep this up after seeing this.'

2.

Schlein Weigelmann, Guardian of the Starfire.

Commander of the Order of the Starfire Guardians.

The world considered Schlein an upright, proud knight who understood honor. But Schlein himself did not think he was so very proud a knight. He merely fulfilled the duty assigned to him.

Guard the starfire.

Keep the flames burning.

That was his duty. He was not so enamored of chivalry that he sang of pride and honor, but neither did he lack it so completely that he would abandon his duty. That was the kind of man Schlein was: an ordinary man who simply did his best in the role he had been given.

[“Why must we guard the starfire?”]

Schlein had once asked a senior knight that question. Far from taking offense at his junior’s audacity, the older knight had answered with a laugh.

[“I don’t know why we guard it either.”]

His retired senior spoke as he sipped his drink.

[“You’ve heard that fire’s been burning for two hundred years, haven’t you? That’s a lie. It actually went out once about a hundred years ago, and once while I was commander, too.”]

[“What? What do you...”]

[“It isn’t some sacred fire. There’s no star dwelling in it, either. It’s just ordinary fire.”]

[“Then why do we guard it?”]

[“Because people regard it as starfire.”]

He set down his cup.

[“For hundreds of years, the people here have regarded it as starfire. They’ve found comfort in a flame that never goes out, even in a blizzard. Even if it’s nothing special... to these people, it is starfire.”]

[“And,”] he added, thumping his chest with his fist, [“it’s the pride of our order.”]

The drunken older knight spoke as though singing.

[“As long as the starfire burns, we shall never yield. Like the flames that burn eternal, so too shall our pride endure forever. Guardians of the starfire, rise!”]

The maxim, declaimed in a drunken ramble, carried no weight. It was far removed from nobility or solemnity—a flippant statement without the slightest gravity. Yet, for some reason, those words took root deep within Schlein’s heart.

And to Schlein, they were a curse.

A curse that would bind him forever.

He realized that one day, roughly ten years after he became commander.

[“Ah...”]

That day, the land guarded by the Order of the Starfire Guardians fell to ruin.

The cause was simple. The Boundary of the Outer Lands shifted and swallowed their land. Trapped within the Outer Lands, the territory’s inhabitants either became monsters or were devoured by them. Apart from the knights who could withstand the erosion, every last one of them died.

[“...”]

The surviving knights’ eyes were hollow.

How could knights who had failed to protect what they were meant to protect retain honor or pride? They had failed in their duty. Could those who had preserved neither honor, pride, nor duty truly be called knights?

The moment they began to doubt themselves, the knights began to erode. As his comrades started turning into the Lost one by one, Schlein had to make a choice. He was their commander.

Schlein looked toward the starfire brazier.

The starfire, which should have been blazing fiercely, had gone out.

Looking at the extinguished starfire, Schlein made his choice.

He would kindle the flames.

He used his sword aura to light the extinguished brazier. The starfire blazed once more. Schlein raised his sword, wreathed in the burning starfire, high into the sky. Holding it aloft where the knights slumped on the ground could see it, he shouted.

[“The fire is burning.”]

Perhaps he was shouting at himself.

[“As long as the starfire burns, we shall never yield.”]

Schlein could not tell whether those were the starfire’s flames or his own sword aura modeled after it.

In truth, he had no need to know.

[“Like the flames that burn eternal, so too shall our pride endure forever.”]

That was not what mattered.

[“Guardians of the starfire, rise.”]

What mattered was how those who saw the fire interpreted it.

[“Let us march.”]

Bearing the starfire, Schlein marched deep into the Outer Lands. The knights followed him. They had nowhere to return to anyway. If they had failed to protect their people, failed to fulfill their duty, they would at least discharge their responsibility through struggle. They chose to be knights.

And so time passes.

Ten years, fifty years, a hundred.

Their journey does not end.

Schlein looks back. His comrades are there, transformed into the Lost. Unable to withstand the passage of time, they have succumbed. A hundred years was far too long to live singing of ideals.

They have no honor or pride left.

Duty and responsibility are the lashes that drive them now that they are Lost.

They merely walk as though drawn by the starfire Schlein kindles.

Even after becoming the Lost and losing their sense of self, they could not forget the starfire’s flames. While the starfire burned, they followed Schlein’s commands. While the starfire burned, they were knights.

'...'

But now even Schlein’s sense of self was beginning to fade. Every star he had possessed had eroded away.

Still, Schlein kindled the fire.

If he too became one of the Lost—if he let the starfire go out—his comrades, the Order of the Starfire Guardians, would degenerate into nothing more than a band of Lost. That was the one thing Schlein could not accept.

Schlein kindled the fire.

Abandoning his honor and pride, he hunted humans. He did not hesitate to employ cowardly means. He believed he had to preserve his sense of self, even if that was what it took.

Schlein kindled the fire.

He ate hearts. He killed countless people. By killing the innocent, Schlein lost his honor and pride. But there was something more important to him than either. Duty. Only the duty to guard the fire remained, eating away at him.

———— kindled the fire.

He could no longer remember even his own name. No matter how many hearts he consumed to prolong his life, it was only a temporary measure. He could not escape erosion. Schlein’s mind was hazy. Around then, he began to think that he would rather become one of the Lost.

That he wanted to let everything go.

But duty bound his body like a curse. In the end, he kept hunting. At some point, he began to act like one of the Lost more often than not. He surrendered his body to instinct rather than his own will. Often, he entrusted his self to the half of him that had already become Lost.

That way, he did not have to agonize or feel guilt.

The man who had walked a path of suffering for so many years began choosing the easy way.

Time passes, and passes again.

He continued to kindle the fire.

And now, two hundred years later, he looks at the opponent before him.

A strong opponent. The starlight held within his heart was intense as well. His stars, shining with such strength and brilliance, were beautiful. They were not stars a Lost like him could dare to steal.

But Schlein had to kindle the fire.

In truth, he no longer knew why he had to kindle it or why he had to guard it. Only the obligation to do so lashed his body onward.

'Ah.'

Schlein groaned.

The boy’s stars were too dazzling. They seemed to ask him, Is this right? The pain of it made him close his eye. Surrendering his body to instinct, he swung his sword.

CLAAANG!

Their swords collide, and sparks fly. Even as his body shakes, he does not open the eye he has closed. Like so many people, Schlein closes his eye and turns his gaze away, refusing to face his own ugliness.

SCREEECH!

But the boy will not let him.

The boy takes his stance.

The moment Schlein sees it, he has no choice but to open his closed eye.

“You’re finally looking at me.”

The boy smiled.

At some point, the boy and Schlein had exchanged positions. Standing with the starfire behind him, the boy brought his sword to its flames. The starfire blazed at the tip of his blade.

Then the boy offered a sword salute.

It was the salute of the Order of the Starfire Guardians.

Schlein’s eyes widened. It was not merely the salute. The approaching boy’s stance, footwork, grip, and even breathing were identical to those of the Starfire Guardians. This was not imitation, but reproduction.

WHOOSH!

The boy swung his sword. The moment he did, the flames left his blade. Of course they did: his sword aura was not fire. The starfire left its tip, but to Schlein’s eyes, the boy’s sword seemed to burn.

With a single sword, the boy reproduced the Starfire Order’s swordsmanship. With proper form and honest strokes, he broke through head-on as a knight should. The boy swung his blade, making all the things Schlein had lost long ago shine again.

He willingly imbued his own sword with what the Order of the Starfire Guardians could no longer put into theirs.

The sight is dazzling. Looking at it feels as though it might blind him. Yet it is a light he wants to watch even if it costs him his sight. A sword of the Starfire Order filled with starlight. What a dearly missed sight it is.

In the boy, Schlein saw past glory.

The past when the Starfire Order had shone. The glorious past when they had all held their heads high with pride. As he recalled that past, he was human, not Lost.

“Ha.”

At last, Schlein burst into laughter.

With both eyes wide open, he met the boy’s sword. He retreated and readjusted his grip. Unlike before, the boy did not immediately pursue him.

Instead, he leveled his sword at Schlein.

“Najin.”

The boy gave his name.

Schlein knows what that means. He too was once a knight. He remembered his own name, forgotten for so many years.

“Schlein.”

Schlein Weigelmann.

3.

Schlein’s stance changed. A sword wielded with firm resolve rather than instinct was sharp. The blade drove in fiercely, like flames spreading across a field. By the time Najin realized it, the space where he could plant his feet had narrowed.

CLAAANG!

Their swords collided. Sparks flew as Najin’s aura and Schlein’s canceled each other out, and steel struck steel. With each exchange, cracks formed in Schlein’s armor.

Sliding far backward with a scraping rush, Schlein grabbed his tattered armor and tore it away. Casting off the cumbersome armor, he faced Najin.

The heat of battle had risen enough.

They had exchanged enough blows.

Neither spoke, but both assumed their stances as though each had read the other’s intent.

An attack that would likely be the last.

As they prepared it, flashes of light blazed from their sword auras. Two stars shone atop the ancient fortress.

“Well.”

The light caught the eye of the Helmeted Knight as he swung his spear below. Shaking off the Lost, he looked up at the top of the ancient fortress. Gazing at the star scattering light there, he gave a wry smile.

“That’s one hell of a show you’re putting on.”

Starlight bright enough to blind.

Beneath it, the Helmeted Knight muttered,

“You’re going to find that quite a nuisance.”

He knew because he had faced it himself.

The sword aura that boy kindled, the starlight he scattered, would never let his opponent turn away from reality. It thrust what they had forgotten, lost, and let go of before their eyes, forcing them to open them.

Do not run. Do not look away. Come at me proudly, head-on. If you were ever a knight, show at least that much pride. If you will not show it, I will make you.

That damned greenhorn forced his opponents to become knights. He made those who had already given up dream again. He offered them one last chance to proclaim their honor and pride. Did that greenhorn know how cruel a thing that was?

'Poisoned liquor. The cruelest poisoned liquor imaginable.'

For the Lost, it was a viciously poisonous drink.

Yet at the same time, it was a damned fine one.

Though the price of its intoxication might be steep, no one could deny how wonderful it tasted. The Helmeted Knight tipped his spear slightly toward where Schlein stood, as though raising a glass in a toast.

“Have a drink, Schlein.”

Even if it was poison.

He would never be able to resist drinking it.