As the two Sword Masters set foot on the ground below, a long tear opened in the sky. Not figuratively—the sky truly split apart. Countless stars shone beyond the torn sky.

Yuel and Kirchhoff were only the beginning.

The Emperor of Revelry was a ten-star Constellation, regarded as the strongest in the Outer Lands apart from the Round Table. The hyenas would never pass up a chance like this, when such a Constellation had exposed her weakness.

Light flashed!

The stars shone as countless Constellations attempted Descent. Even those whose standing would ordinarily have been too low to attempt it set foot in this land through the passage opened by the Martyr of the Thorn Vines.

The Martyr of the Thorn Vines, patron deity of the Order of Starblood, had ascended long ago and could not descend here herself. The process of her Descent was far too complicated and time-consuming. But by expending the starlight she had gathered in the form of faith over hundreds of years, she could open a passage.

A passage for the stars to travel through.

A justification for the stars to descend to this land.

Constellations gathered beneath the beacon she had lit. Not all of them were heroes, nor did they all harbor noble intentions. A few such heroes might be among them, of course, but most were crows coveting the Emperor of Revelry's stars.

That was fine.

The Martyr of the Thorn Vines cared nothing for the motives of those attempting Descent through her passage. Her purpose had not changed a thousand years ago, three hundred years ago, or now.

『Kill the devils.』

『Slaughter every last devil in this land.』

Kill the devils. So long as that purpose aligned, it did not matter who you were. We would all be comrades united in a single cause.

WHOOOOSH!

Dozens of constellations appeared in the sky stained by the Emperor of Revelry's paint. Dozens of Constellations descended to this land to kill her. As these immense beings descended, the surrounding space began to creak.

Dozens of Constellations had gathered behind the two Sword Masters.

The pressure they exerted defied description. This was a force capable of erasing an entire nation without a trace. Beings whose presence made space itself creak leveled their weapons at the Emperor of Revelry.

Dozens of spears, blades, bowstrings, staffs... Amid the shining stars and weapons of every imaginable kind, the Emperor of Revelry's response to them all was simple.

"Ha! Hahaha! Hahahaha!"

She laughed. She burst into loud, ridiculous laughter like a jester. Laughing, she tilted her head to one side and raised both arms. Then she brought her angled palms together with a sharp clap.

Silence fell that instant.

The laughter stopped. The jesters' music ended. The voices of the Constellations who had descended here vanished, and even their breathing subsided. No one could break that unnatural silence.

With a flutter, an enormous curtain spread across the sky in the silence. A curtain dividing the audience from the stage. A black drape obscured the heavens.

SNAP.

At that instant, the connection between the stars overhead and the Constellations standing on the ground was severed. Cut off from their stars, they were reduced from Constellations to mere humans possessing great power. As the Constellations reeled at their sudden fall, the Emperor of Revelry clapped once more.

CLAP!

The sound rang out, lingering.

The music that had stopped began again. The jesters resumed their dancing and burst into laughter loud enough to sweep the world away. Their laughter was louder and more raucous than before.

Light flashed.

Then the Emperor of Revelry's stars shone.

Flash after flash after flash...

Stars were embedded in the black curtain, the artificial night sky the Emperor of Revelry had created. They were stars she had collected, stars that had chosen to live in her shadow. The jesters who danced for her alone answered their mistress's call.

To confront dozens of Constellations, hundreds of jesters set foot on the ground.

Leading those jesters was Quixote, the Star of Scorn. He smashed through the weakened boundary of the forbidden ground and appeared with Bernstein's head impaled on his lance.

Even as the flames Bernstein had kindled at the cost of his own life burned all over his body, Quixote never stopped laughing.

"Let us go, Sancho."

His lance shining, Quixote charged.

Hundreds of jesters followed behind him.

All of them were subjugated to the Emperor of Revelry, so none were immune to the effects of the forbidden ground. Even as their souls and flesh wore away, they charged.

To protect their master, their lady, their princess, their royal daughter, their sovereign, their liege, their knight, their lover, their commander, their wife, their child, their convictions, they willingly walked into certain death.

To the jesters, the Emperor of Revelry was quite literally everything. She was their most precious being, irreplaceable by anything, someone for whom they could offer even their lives. Brainwashed into believing this, they willingly burned away their lives at a single gesture from her.

"Hahahaha."

The Emperor of Revelry laughed and laughed.

As though the jesters offering their lives for her were ridiculous, as though their disgraceful spectacle delighted her beyond measure, she lavished mockery on her jesters.

For them, it was the highest praise.

Nourished by their mistress's derisive laughter, the jesters marched.

2.

Ordinarily, the Emperor of Revelry shut herself away in her own domain and never ventured outside. She was a being who schemed behind the stage, not someone who stepped onto it.

Yet now she had taken the stage.

She had exposed her weakness on a stage that was not her domain, one that put her at a disadvantage. Countless Constellations rushed at that weakness like moths to a flame... but there was one thing they had overlooked.

Weakened and exposed though she might be, the Emperor of Revelry was still the Emperor of Revelry. The fact that she was a ten-star Constellation had not changed.

"Hahaha."

The laughter never stopped, nor did the jesters' march. The attacks of transcendent beings swept the jesters away, but they sprang back up and hurled themselves at those beings again.

The jesters were already close to being the Lost.

One could not kill again someone who had already died.

Drinking in the Emperor of Revelry's starlight and reviving over and over, the jesters mocked the Constellations. If you thought to fight us with numbers, you were fools. From the moment the black curtain covered the sky, this place had become a stage.

A play starring the Emperor of Revelry.

In that play, the many Constellations were mere supporting actors. Even dozens of supporting actors together could not equal a single line, a single soliloquy, from the lead.

"Kill her!" "No, this side first..." "We have to get rid of the curtain overhead first!" "Fuck, I'm telling you, aim for that bitch first! As long as she's alive, they'll keep...!" "Oh, for fuck's sake!" "Everyone get out of the way! I am fire, and the battlefield..." "Aaaaaaaah!" "Quixote! It's Quixote! Fuck, it's the Star of Scorn!" "Are you sure she's weakened?" "You said she was weakened! How the hell is this..." "Ah, aaaaah!" "Where's the Order of Starblood's champion? We need to join up with her first..." "My head, my head? Huh?" "Fuck, they broke through! This side! This side first!"

On this stage, they could not even be supporting actors. They were bit players, or mere props decorating the stage. The Constellations' shouts were reduced to nothing but noise.

Perhaps they had spoken lines of greater nobility and dignity. But bit players existed only to make the lead shine. On the stage the Emperor of Revelry had created, their lines echoed in distorted form.

"I shall open a path. Follow me."

One Constellation said those words, but what emerged was:

"Run, run! Fuck, I told you we couldn't win!"

The voice that sounded carried an entirely different meaning. The Constellations could not distinguish truth from falsehood. Once dozens of them began acting separately, the advantage of numbers was all but gone.

"It connected!" "Huh?" "But why..." "Wait, did it actually work? Her star is rising again..." "This is insane." "Fuck, I told you that shit wouldn't work!"

Even if a lucky strike reached the Emperor of Revelry, she merely plucked off one of her stars and handed it over to them. Even after surrendering one, she still had hundreds of stars. All she had to do was replace it with another.

No lead ever met their death at a bit player's hands, so their spears and blades could never deal the Emperor of Revelry a fatal wound.

"..."

But that was not true of everyone.

Some Constellations had not been reduced to bit players. Unlike the opportunists who had descended in pursuit of the Emperor of Revelry's stars, they had entered this battlefield with an unshakable sense of self. They had reasons why they had to kill her.

Keeping their mouths shut, they silently cleared away the jesters. They made a path to charge toward the Emperor of Revelry. They were supporting actors who had risen above bit parts. The supporting actors opened the way.

Along that path, figures worthy of becoming this stage's leads began to run.

The Star of Heavenly Slaughter, Yuel Razian.

The Star of ■■, Kirchhoff.

Their stars were not obscured by the Emperor of Revelry's black curtain. With their light undimmed, they raced forward, sweeping the jesters aside. Kirchhoff stamped hard against the ground, his eyes wide. Blue sword aura surged over his blade.

SLICE.

The moment Kirchhoff brought down his sword, the sky split soundlessly. One section of the Emperor of Revelry's black curtain was cut away, and the stars hidden behind it shone on the ground again. While the Constellations, reconnected to their stars, unleashed their fury, Kirchhoff kept swinging his sword.

Each swing dyed the battlefield blue. Kirchhoff's sword aura resembled blue flower petals. With every swing, blue flowers bloomed across the battlefield. Amid those flowers in full bloom, Kirchhoff shouted:

"Look at me, Emperor of Revelry."

He spat the words through clenched teeth. A blue flower, Londinel's national flower, bloomed at his sword's tip.

"Londinel stands strong here. Londinel has not been forgotten. At the tip of my blade, Londinel lives and breathes."

The Emperor of Revelry could not distort those lines.

He had earned the right.

Her gaze turned toward Kirchhoff and Yuel Razian, who was wreaking havoc beside him.

Six stars, and one star.

By star count alone, Yuel and Kirchhoff were not particularly impressive Constellations. But stars did not necessarily signify absolute strength.

Of course, it was true that the more stars a Constellation possessed, the stronger they became, and that possessing many stars meant wielding many powers, granting an advantage in combat. But combat was always relative.

Many powerful beings in this world defied star counts. Kirchhoff was one, as were Yuel Razian, Karon, and Gerd. Most of the Constellations called heroes were such examples.

SCREEEEEEEEEECH!

The sword's cry, resembling a human scream, drowned out the jesters' laughter and even buried the Emperor of Revelry's laughter beneath it. Sword aura traversing the battlefield grazed her mask.

CRACK.

A piece of the mask broke off. The Emperor of Revelry's mouth, exposed beneath it, was not smiling.

3.

Sitting on the ground, Najin watched the battlefield blankly. Not because he had lost his will to fight, but because there was nothing he could do now.

This was the Battlefield of Stars, a battlefield of transcendent beings.

On this stage, Najin, who had yet to reach transcendence, could not be a lead, a supporting actor, a bit player, or even a prop decorating the stage. He was merely a spectator.

Someone who could not even step onto the stage.

Someone who could only watch helplessly.

The rage that had turned his mind white subsided. All that remained was burned-out ash. Najin laughed. The laughter escaping his lips was hollow. He could not tell whether he was laughing or crying.

His master had been insulted. His final moments had been defiled. The one responsible was right before him, yet there was nothing Najin could do.

GRRRK.

He ground his teeth. With his head bowed, his tightly clenched fists trembled.

"..."

Merlin looked down at him.

Watching the boy seated on the ground, she bit hard into her lip. She shared the emotions Najin felt. She wanted to descend here immediately, tear off that jester's head, and lay it before him... but she knew that could not be the answer.

"Najin."

Merlin called his name.

He slowly raised his head. Bending down to meet his eyes, she reached out a hand.

"Get up."

There was nothing he could do.

But he must not remain sitting there.

"Whether you plan your next move or find something you can do here, anything is fine. Do what you want to do," Merlin said.

"I'll help you."

Najin opened and closed his mouth repeatedly.

Then, suddenly, he caught sight of Alderan kneeling beside the Emperor of Revelry. She held Alderan's helmet and was whispering something in his ear.

Najin did not know what she was whispering. He did not know what that act meant, either. But even in this desperate situation, protected by Quixote, the Emperor of Revelry never stopped whispering in Alderan's ear.

Najin found what he needed to do.

He slowly stood.

'Merlin.'

"Yes, tell me."

'Did you see where my sword fell?'

Merlin nodded.

She pointed in a direction. Najin staggered that way, then grasped the sword he had dropped.

"..."

Merlin realized what he intended to do. She squeezed her eyes shut, then let out a long breath.

"You're going to do it?"

'Yes.'

"Can you see?"

'Not very well.'

"I thought so."

'Could you show me the direction?'

"Of course. That's a guide's job."

Merlin wrapped her hand around Najin's sword hand. Acting in his stead, becoming his eyes, she indicated the direction in which the sword must swing. Najin slowly raised his blade.

His wounds opened, and blood burst out in a flood. His face paled, but he did not stop.

Sword in hand, he took his stance.

Through his blurred eyes, Najin did not look at reality. He looked within himself, toward the direction Merlin indicated.

He pictured Alderan Basaglia, the Empire's foremost warrior.

Among the stars of transcendent beings filling the night sky, Najin's stars shone. Few though they were, they flashed pure white with a light that did not yield to the others. For an instant, every Constellation and jester turned their gaze toward him.

Even the Emperor of Revelry stopped whispering into Alderan's helmet and looked at Najin.

The Constellations were drawn to the starlight created by an insignificant boy. They saw it: a boy who had yet to reach transcendence imitating transcendence.

First Horn.

A sword raised so high it seemed to pierce the heavens.

Triumphant Return.

Najin brought down his sword, shining pure white.