Krünbel thrust his spear.

A simple sentence, but given the weight carried by the name Krünbel, it was anything but light. Krünbel was a warrior who had attained transcendence with a single spear. The words “Krünbel thrust his spear” carried every bit as much weight as “A Sword Master swung his sword.”

A storm raged when he stamped his foot down. When he extended his arm, it coiled around the spear shaft. And the instant that spear pierced straight through the air, the storm erupted from its tip.

Battering Ram.

Krünbel's strongest strike. Even if his spearhead no longer held a mental image, even if he was no longer a transcendent being, that technique had lost none of its luster. He had merely lacked a weapon capable of withstanding it.

But this moment was different.

In his hand was the cross-star spear.

Forged by the Empire's master artisans and imbued with the great feats Krünbel had accomplished, the spear had been his very symbol. Back in its master's hand, it fully withstood his technique. Its cross-star-shaped blade shone for him.

The technique, thus perfected, defied comprehension. Just as transcendent beings defied the understanding of others, so too did the technique Krünbel unleashed. The lightning-fast thrust divided a second into fragments, splitting even those fleeting instants. For a moment, it outstripped the Helmeted Knight's reaction speed.

KRRRRRRRASH!

The storm approached, tearing up the ground and literally grinding everything in its path to pieces.

The Helmeted Knight reacted belatedly, but it was already too late. He grabbed a nearby spear shaft and swung it into the storm, only for the shaft to shatter. Caught in the tempest, he was flung aside.

As though it were telling him to get out of its way.

The storm had never been aimed at the Helmeted Knight. Its target was Najin, standing behind him. Though the Helmeted Knight had diminished its force a little, Krünbel's Battering Ram possessed power comparable to a transcendent being's strike. It was not a technique Najin could withstand as he was now.

Najin clenched his teeth.

But his eyes—and his reaction speed—were a match even for a transcendent being's.

Besides, he had seen the Helmeted Knight perform Battering Ram time and again. Deflecting or evading it was impossible, but blocking it might just barely...

'Ah.'

Yet the instant his sword aura collided with the storm, Najin realized how arrogant that thought had been. He had been mistaken. There was no way he could block it.

THOOM.

Najin's feet left the ground. The moment the storm touched his sword aura, it unraveled into fine threads and scattered. The fingers gripping his sword broke. The arm braced against the flat of the blade to withstand the technique twisted with a crunch.

KRRRRRRUNCH!

Everything was being ground away. His sword aura, his body, everything in the storm's path. Swept up and hurled backward, Najin saw that only finely ground dust drifted where the storm had passed. And if he could not endure it, he would end up exactly the same.

He gritted his teeth and refused to release his sword. His heart pounded wildly as he poured sword aura into the blade without pause. If that aura scattered completely, his sword would surely break and his body would be pierced.

'Hold on, hold on, hold on...'

Najin's sword aura won the seemingly endless tug-of-war. As the storm dispersed, it shoved him one final time. He slammed into a boulder with a crash.

RUMBLE.

The collapsing rubble battered Najin's head. His arm was broken, and blood streamed from his eyes and nose. When he choked out a trapped breath, dark blood came up with it.

His insides seemed to be a wreck.

Even breathing was an ordeal. Just one strike. A single strike had reduced his body to tatters. As he blinked through his blurred vision, blue hair swayed before him. It was Merlin, his guide.

She was gnawing at her thumb. Her eyes wavered violently, and she kept raising her hand toward the sky, then lowering it again. She seemed to be wrestling with something. Najin smiled bitterly at the sight.

'Merlin.'

-Oh.

Their eyes met. Only then did Merlin's wavering gaze settle.

'I'm not dead yet. I'm fine.'

-You, you really...

'What are you going to do if you're already like this?'

-You're really driving me mad, you know? Absolutely mad.

Merlin groaned. Barely managing to steady her breathing, she dragged a palm down her face. Her voice was trembling badly. She was refraining from interfering out of respect for Najin's choices, but that did nothing to ease her anxiety.

Unlike with Arthur, whose brushes with death she had shared, now she could only watch Najin teeter on the boundary between life and death.

'Still, I think I'm starting to understand.'

-What?

'I think I understand what I need to do.'

Najin closed his eyes for a moment and recalled what he had just seen. In his mind, each of Krünbel's movements began to come apart and reassemble.

The Battering Ram the Helmeted Knight had shown him.

And the Battering Ram Krünbel had unleashed.

Suddenly, Najin understood the difference between them. He began sorting through the principles and movements of the Battering Ram he had learned from the Helmeted Knight, and how Krünbel had modified them.

Even a transcendent being's technique... If he watched the same technique over and over, especially now that he had tried reproducing it himself, he felt he could understand it. Najin opened his eyes. A smile rested on his lips.

At last, he felt he was beginning to understand.

2.

Parrying Krünbel's spear, the Helmeted Knight put distance between them and began running. Damn it, he should have reacted faster. He ran toward Najin. It had definitely been that boulder.

“Cough, ghk...”

Najin was there, coughing up blood. Just as he had feared, the boy was a wreck, in no condition to continue fighting. With a groan, the Helmeted Knight reached out to him, intending to take him and flee.

But Najin did not take his hand.

“Please move aside.”

That was all he said.

“Ghk, ptoo.”

Coughing up blood, Najin slowly rose. Each movement brought sickening crunches and grinding sounds. Yet he seemed entirely unconcerned as he stamped his foot to set his bones, then began setting his shoulder and fingers.

No, could that really be called setting bones? It was closer to assembly. Relying on his formidable regeneration, Najin was putting his body back together.

“Move. Stop blocking my view.”

“What?”

“I can't see my opponent.”

With blood rushing to his head, Najin abandoned all courtesy and gestured at the Helmeted Knight, telling him to get out of his way.

“You're going to fight again with your body in that state?”

“Why shouldn't I? He's fighting without a head.”

“It's reckless.”

“There's always a hair's breadth between recklessness and a great feat.”

“You're...”

The Helmeted Knight had been about to say more, but the moment Najin lowered his sword, he fell silent. Najin did not seem to have noticed, but his sword aura had taken on a different form from before.

“I'm finally starting to understand.”

Najin swept his hair back.

“So please move aside.”

Eyes shining platinum stared directly at the Helmeted Knight. Fire still burned within that gaze, which seemed capable of drawing him in. Najin spoke with his eyes.

Do not interfere.

The duel was not over, and he had a duty to answer the best his opponent had offered.

“Ha.”

The Helmeted Knight gave a disbelieving laugh.

“You're mad.”

“You only just realized?”

With his lips curling upward, Najin walked past the Helmeted Knight. The knight could not stop him. He had been forced back by the presence radiating from a fledgling who had never even experienced transcendence. He had to acknowledge that fact.

TAP.

Planting both feet on the ground, Najin glared at Krünbel. Krünbel, too, was still watching him. His spear pointed at Najin rather than the Helmeted Knight, and he also seemed eager to settle this duel.

Yes. That's how it should be.

Whether you are one of the Lost, a forgotten star, or a fallen star is none of my concern. At least while you cross blades with me, you are a knight. Even if you refuse to be one, I will make you one.

Najin drew a deep breath.

Then he shouted.

“Krünbel!”

Calling his opponent's name, Najin raised his sword. Its tip aimed at Krünbel's heart.

“Come.”

Najin smiled.

His lips curled upward, his bloodshot eyes fixed solely on Krünbel, the boy made his declaration. Come. With the strongest strike you possess.

“This time, I'll smash it head-on.”

There was no knowing whether Krünbel understood Najin's declaration. He probably did not. But the meaning in Najin's movements and the heat in his voice reached him. Slowly, Krünbel took his stance.

A perfect stance. Fierce spirit. Pressure bearing down on the entire area.

Even before that overwhelming presence, Najin refused to yield. Instead, he held his head high and took his stance. Challenging an enemy stronger than himself head-on was an utterly arrogant and reckless choice.

But there had always been a hair's breadth between recklessness and a great feat.

Only those who challenged without yielding, even at the crossroads of life and death, attained transcendence. Najin challenged the enemy before him without taking a single step back.

Najin's first star, the star of challenge, shone.

To challenge was to confront one's opponent head-on.

For its master, who sought to write a new great feat, the star gladly scattered its light. It imbued Najin's sword aura.

3.

Battering Ram.

The signature technique of the Order of the Golden Horn.

It originated with their ancestors, who had sailed the seas in the distant past. With the wind as their companion, those ancestors crossed the boundless ocean. A sharp horn always adorned their ships' prows, and this was also the origin of the Golden Horn.

Advance. Advance. Advance.

Across the sea, through the glaciers, we shall advance, ramming and shattering everything in our path with our horns.

The golden horns affixed to their prows had been their first spears, their first weapons, their means of piercing whatever barred their way. They named that utterly crude attack—simply crashing into the enemy with a ship's prow—Battering Ram.

That was the origin of the Golden Horn, and the beginning of the technique called Battering Ram.

Countless years passed. The tale and the origin of the Golden Horn were forgotten. Even the Order of the Golden Horn, which had inherited their will, was erased from history...

THUD.

But here stood a living witness to that history.

His name was Krünbel. His epithet was the Knight of Silence, the name bestowed on his star was the Star of the Horn, and he belonged to the Order of the Golden Horn.

Krünbel gripped the cross-star spear.

He had admired the Order of the Golden Horn since childhood. Their cries as they charged beneath the Empire's banner had captivated him, and the cross-star spear their commander carried had stolen his heart.

Krünbel trained himself, became a knight, and joined the Order of the Golden Horn. He accomplished many great feats, won his commander's recognition, and became his deputy commander. The commander gladly bestowed on Krünbel the cross-star spear, which ordinarily only the commander could wield.

Though the commander excused himself by claiming he was better with a sword than a spear, Krünbel knew what handing over the spear meant.

You will be the next commander, Krünbel.

That was what he was saying.

Those had truly been glorious days. Krünbel marched onward, blowing his horn. Following his commander, he advanced endlessly. Endlessly, endlessly...

But the end always came.

「Why must death be noble?」

The woman smiled.

「Life is a comedy, a farce from birth to death. And your humble servant, this person, this woman, I myself, I, cannot understand why death must be noble and still.」

The woman laughed madly.

「Why aren't you laughing? Why aren't you dancing?」

The woman gestured.

「Laugh. Let us sing. Let us dance. Let us make merry. Play your instruments. Loudly! Life is a comedy, and even death is nothing but a laughingstock. Beneath this hell, revelry shall be the only thing of worth!」

The clowns danced. Laughter, singing, ridiculous gestures, the sounds of instruments...

THUMP.

Krünbel's head fell. But though his head had fallen, he did not stop. He had no intention of being caught up in that clowning. Pressing his severed head back against the stump, he charged.

The Order of the Golden Horn does not stop. March onward. Advance. Pierce the enemy. We shall never break.

His head fell again and again. With his head crushed, his body burning, his flesh reduced to dust, he marched onward. Severing the strings that sought to drape themselves over his body, he roared. To cast off the clowns' laughter and the sounds of their instruments, the Star of the Horn blew his horn.

Blow the horn. Advance. Pierce the enemy...

He forgot what any of it meant. Forgetting himself, he became one of the Lost. His six shining stars fell and turned black.

Yet still, he cried out.

'Blow the horn. Advance. Pierce the enemy.'

The Star of the Horn blew his horn.

The Knight of Silence stamped his foot into the ground.

Krünbel thrust his spear.

Battering Ram.

At least in the instant he thrust his spear, he was a knight. Because the person at whom its blade was aimed wished it so, Krünbel could be a knight. For the meaning of a duel was determined by the opponent one clashed with.

Najin charged straight into the oncoming storm.

His eyes read its trajectory. His legs drove against the ground, propelling him forward. His raised sword flashed pure white, making Krünbel's spear shine.

Let us put it to the test.

Whether my sword will cleave your storm, or your storm will pierce me.