The star that mocked knights, the Star of Scorn.

Quixote, the Knight of Revelry.

This knight had not merely made a bargain with a devil for power. He had sworn true allegiance to one, and the world had given him a name.

Jester. A jester who danced for a devil.

It was a word antithetical to a knight, a name meant to mock Quixote, yet he liked the insult. He considered himself a jester. A jester who danced absurdly for one woman alone. To him, the word was not an insult but the highest praise.

Laugh. Dance. Sing.

For her.

For my one and only mistress.

The jester knight had dyed his armor in every color. Yellow, green, red, blue... Reminiscent of a child's scribbles, it was garish and utterly ridiculous. Nor was that the only ridiculous thing about him.

A helmet adorned with peacock feathers, a military banner pieced together from rags, a donkey-like mount, a mask split in half.

Every element that made up the man called Quixote was ridiculous. Was he a jester imitating a knight, or a knight imitating a jester? Whatever the answer, everything about him mocked the very concept of knighthood.

"Run with all your might, Rocinante!"

He drove the donkey forward with exaggerated gestures. Resembling a donkey but seemingly twice the size of a horse, the magical beast snorted and galloped. Its speed was astonishing. Quixote charged, closing dozens of meters in an instant.

From atop the donkey, Quixote thrust his lance. Unlike his exaggerated, ridiculous movements, the power of that lance charge surpassed anything Najin had imagined.

BOOOOOOM!

The moment Quixote's lance struck the Helmeted Knight, a shock wave erupted. The air burst and the ground split apart. The Helmeted Knight was lifted into the air, and even Najin, who had not touched the lance, was swept away by the shock wave and sent tumbling across the ground.

It was as though a bomb had exploded rather than a lance struck. A high-pitched ringing filled Najin's ears. Blood ran from them. His eardrums had ruptured. When he barely managed to lift his head, Quixote stood over him, looking down.

"Oh, Sancho! Sancho, why are you here?"

Quixote smiled at Najin. With a smile of utmost familiarity, he reached out a hand.

"Come, let us ride, Sancho. Is there not a monster over there? A giant. There is a giant! A knight must fight giants and sing for his lady. Come sing with me."

Najin immediately summoned his sword aura and swung to knock Quixote's hand aside, but Quixote brushed his sword away as effortlessly as catching a child's wrist.

"Come now."

Quixote's hand was about to seize Najin.

"Fuck off, you filthy jester."

A fierce surge of sword aura swept in. Fired from far away, it cleaved the ground and slammed into Quixote. As Quixote was driven back, the Helmeted Knight approached with his sword pointed at him.

"That boy is my squire. Didn't you kill your own squire, Sancho, with your own hands? What, are you finally regretting it?"

"What are you talking about? Sancho is right here."

Quixote ran his hand over his lance. Affectionately stroking the star lance forged by melting down a Constellation, he curled his lips into a smile. Sancho had once been the name of the squire who served him, but to Quixote now, it was no longer a squire's name. It was an expression.

A young star. A star that had yet to lose its innocence.

Raising the lance forged from Sancho, Quixote laughed madly. Cackles. Guffaws. Sneers. Able to express his feelings only through laughter, the jester laughed loud enough to shake the world.

"My lady wants you," he said.

"My mistress wants you."

The jester sneered, pointing his lance at the Helmeted Knight. The knight answered that sneer with silence. It was not the jester's mockery he wanted to hear.

TAP.

The Helmeted Knight came to stand beside Najin.

"Najin."

No answer came. The knight looked at him. Najin stood with his sword raised and his eyes wide. His shoulders and arms were far too tense, and tiny veins stood out in his staring eyes. He seemed so overwrought that he could no longer hear anything around him.

The Helmeted Knight gave Najin's head a light tap.

"Relax. Put that much tension into your swing and you won't cut even what you could normally cut."

"..."

Najin turned to the Helmeted Knight. His helmet concealed his eyes, but Najin could feel his gaze—and the meaning it held.

"Najin."

"Don't."

"Three times..."

"I said don't."

Najin cut him off.

"Not twice. Do you understand? I won't let it happen twice."

The Helmeted Knight knew what he meant by twice. Najin had told him about Ivan. He had heard what had happened to Najin's first master, how that man had met his end.

And he knew how closely this moment resembled that one.

"So," Najin spat through clenched teeth, "don't give me any bullshit about using your third demand here. Just get ready to fight."

"What are you talking about? I wasn't planning to use that yet."

"... What?"

"Three times. I'll block him three times. While I do, aim for his left side. Strike from his blind spot. I don't think there's any other way to create an opening."

Just as he finished speaking, Quixote charged again. It was closer to teleportation than a charge. In the blink of an eye, he was right before them.

"If you understand, move. Quickly."

At the Helmeted Knight's glance, Najin kicked off the ground and leaped sideways. The knight blocked Quixote's lance as it reached him. Every joint in his body creaked at the impact, but he endured.

One strike, two...

Each thrust of Quixote's lance unleashed a shock wave that gouged the ground and shattered pieces of the Helmeted Knight's armor. Meanwhile, Najin slipped around to Quixote's flank. The sword aura on his blade blazed fiercely.

The third strike.

The Helmeted Knight did not meet the third thrust with his sword. He caught it with his hand. The shock wave shattered his gauntlet. His fingers broke, and flesh was ground away. Stopping the lance at the cost of one arm, he reached out with his other hand.

GRAB.

It was not Quixote he seized. Catching the back of Najin's neck as the boy lunged at Quixote, the Helmeted Knight raised a foot and stamped down. Then he swung his arm with a whoosh and hurled Najin away.

He threw him toward their original destination: the stellar domain where the Helmeted Knight had defeated the Emperor of Revelry and which he had wrested from her.

A place that had become forbidden ground for the Emperor of Revelry.

Stars associated with revelry wore away rapidly merely by setting foot there. Quixote was no exception. Once Najin escaped there, Quixote could pursue him no farther. The Helmeted Knight knew that.

'We can't both escape.'

Then whom should he save? The answer was easy. Far too easy. The Helmeted Knight smiled as he hurled Najin toward the forbidden ground.

"Go on ahead."

With those final words, a shock wave sent the Helmeted Knight flying in the opposite direction. Najin glared at him with wide eyes. The knight did not answer that gaze.

He had to save at least one of them, didn't he?

The star on the brink of death had made his choice. Now it was time to pay for it. The Helmeted Knight rolled and slid across the ground, then rose.

2.

Hurled away by the Helmeted Knight, Najin passed through an opaque barrier and tumbled down a slope. He drove his sword into the ground to slow himself, came to a stop, and clenched his teeth.

The bastard had lied.

What was all that about aiming for his flank on the third strike? Had he intended this from the start? Grinding his teeth, Najin walked back up the slope. He had no intention of doing what the knight wanted. His head burning, he acted on impulse.

TAP.

Najin stood before the boundary, intending to pass through the opaque barrier he had just crossed and return to the Helmeted Knight. But it would not allow him out. He collided with it with a thud and frowned.

It did not budge even when he pushed with his hands.

Why? Hadn't there been no resistance at all when he entered? Najin drew his sword. Summoning sword aura, he struck the boundary, only for his blade to bounce harmlessly away.

"Fucking hell..."

Grinding his teeth, Najin struck the boundary again.

A deafening boom rang out, but the boundary remained unscratched. Najin's eyes grew bloodshot as he stared at it. He turned to his side.

'What is this? What is it? Why...?'

—... It's forbidden ground.

'I'm asking what that means.'

—It's a kind of stellar domain. It has rules, and you can't leave unless you obey them.

Najin shouted in agitation, demanding to know what those rules were, demanding she tell him how to get out immediately.

—I don't know. And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you.

Najin's eyes widened at Merlin's words.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

—Calm down.

"How am I supposed to calm—"

—I said calm down.

Merlin brought her face right up to Najin's. Her blue eyes reflected his bloodshot ones.

—Do you think going back there now will change anything? Honestly?

'...'

—This isn't like you. You're far too worked up.

'The situation. Look at the situation. How could I...?'

Najin groaned. As his face twisted, his intense emotions reached Merlin as well. She knew what he was feeling and thinking.

"It's the second time. The second time."

It was a situation that had left Najin traumatized. Ivan, who had been like a master, a father, and a friend to him, had sacrificed himself to save Najin. And Najin had been unable to do anything, even knowing that.

Because he had no strength. Because he lacked the skill. Because there had been no way for the Najin of that time to save Ivan.

Much time had passed since then. Najin had advanced beyond Sword Expert to become a Sword Seeker, reached Sprouting, and acquired three stars. Now that he was so much stronger, he had thought he would never have to face the same situation again.

He was wrong. Utterly wrong.

Najin was still weak. Even with three stars, nothing had changed from that day.

"What do you mean, this isn't like me? What have I been doing all this for?"

—...

Merlin clenched her teeth as well. She did not want to say these things either. She, too, was angry at this situation. She felt much as Najin did. But a guide had to show the way, not merely empathize and share his anger.

—The Knight of Revelry is a Constellation with seven stars. He's as powerful as the Sword Masters you met on the continent, perhaps even more powerful. What can you do against him?

Merlin forced him to face reality.

—If you go back there now, you'll only get in the way. The Helmeted Knight will try to protect you while he fights.

'But!'

—I know. I know too!

Merlin spread her hand before him.

—Then what? Should I descend there myself? Smash him for you? Say so if that's what you want. I'll do whatever you want.

Eleven blue stars shone in her hand.

Najin could feel that Merlin was not making an empty offer. If he wished it, she truly would do it. She had that power. Descending in her true form, killing Quixote, and saving the Helmeted Knight would be all too easy for her.

But what then?

Even if Merlin saved him, the Helmeted Knight had little time left. At most, a day or two. And the price of buying those two days? The destruction of the Outer Lands and the continent.

The moment Merlin acted, the Boundary would waver and a gap would open in Camlann's seal. The accursed things of Camlann would tear that gap wider and pour out, and the Witch of the Abyss would seize the chance to intervene in this land. To bestow upon humanity the destruction delayed for a thousand years.

The Outer Lands and Camlann would merge, and the continent would follow.

Countless people would die.

They would suffer fates worse than death.

In the end, Najin could not choose. The price was far too heavy for a moment's impulse. At the same time, he felt disgusted with himself.

He was furious with himself for being unable to do anything, for trying to weigh the Helmeted Knight's life against the fate of the world, for being unable to choose readily even when a way to save the knight existed...

His grip tightened.

Najin's sword hand trembled. He had thought he had changed, but nothing had changed. He felt as powerless as he had on the day he fled, leaving Ivan behind.

'A way. There has to be some way...'

As Najin desperately searched for a way, someone lightly tapped his shoulder.

3.

The Helmeted Knight thought that the world truly never went as one wished.

'What utter shit.'

He had wanted at least to choose his own end, but the world would not grant him even that. It whispered in his ear: Who ever got to end like a hero? This was what death was. An end was miserable and unremarkable.

Quixote's lance pierced his body. His armor shattered, and blood flowed from his shriveled skin. The Helmeted Knight was surprised that his body still held so much blood.

Ah...

He groaned as he struggled against Quixote. He hated how wretched he had become. Hated it utterly. His former self could have beaten that jester easily. He could have ripped the jester's fucking mouth apart and won gloriously. But he could no longer do so.

Because he had weakened. Because he had worn away. Because he was broken.

The Helmeted Knight could no longer wield his sword as he once had. He could no longer win. Yet in his mind, he was still glorious and radiant. The gulf between reality and imagination tormented him.

'Damn it, damn it...'

The Helmeted Knight clenched his teeth. He was afraid. The miserable end awaiting him was now right before his eyes. Terrified of that end, he shuddered.

He knew instinctively that he would lose. This was an opponent he could not possibly defeat.

Desperate to give that defeat meaning, he repeated to himself: Yes, he had saved his pupil, hadn't he? A master who sacrificed his life for his pupil. Wasn't that a decent enough end? That much...

No. He could not be satisfied with an end like this.

He wanted to accept it and close his eyes with dignity, but the Helmeted Knight still had lingering desires. They drove him to struggle pitifully.

He rolled ignominiously across the ground. He flung dust to obscure Quixote's vision, however slightly, trying to create an opening. In a manner unbefitting a knight, repeating the very dirty tricks he had despised most, he struggled to survive.

He could not die like this.

He could not end like this.

I still have an unfulfilled dream.

I cannot die here...

But the world was not so accommodating that wishing could make it so. Quixote's lance thrust forward, punching a hole through the Helmeted Knight's body. Pouring blood, he retreated. His staggering steps threatened to send him falling at any moment.

He no longer had the strength to stand.

Just as he was about to fall to his knees...

"Kneeling again, you damned fool. Should a knight's knees bend so easily?"

Someone caught the Helmeted Knight and supported him. He turned to his side. Bernstein stood there.

"... Bernstein? How are you here?"

"Didn't you say your destination hadn't changed? So I was waiting."

Bernstein helped the Helmeted Knight upright. As he did, he said,

"All of us pursued our paths with our eyes on you alone. You cannot end like this. Absolutely not."

Bernstein smiled bitterly. He did not bother to say that he had spent the past month investigating what the knight had done in the Outer Lands, that he had traveled to verify his claims, that he had finally recognized the truth he had shut his eyes and ears to for a hundred and fifty years...

Instead, he said only one thing.

"Isn't that right, hero of the Empire?"

Monster. Coward. Traitor. Fugitive.

Not those insults, but hero.

Calling the Helmeted Knight a hero, he took up his sword.

"A hero deserves a fitting end. This is not your final destination. I can't let you close your eyes in a place like this. If I did, I could never face my comrades who were there."

Bernstein raised his sword.

"So go."

Stars rose above a single blade. Five old, worn stars shone over Bernstein's head. Stars that could no longer shine blazed one last time, as though answering their master's will.

"To the place you must go."

Bernstein's sword aura burned his stars. Fueled by those stars, it blazed like the sun.