Najin, a free knight.

Jowel's eyes widened at the young man's introduction. He knew that name. In fact, how could he not? News of the Nova who had set the continent abuzz had spread even to the distant battlefields of the Outer Lands.

["Remember that fellow who became the youngest Sword Seeker? What was his name—Najin?"]

["Of course I remember. How could I not? That once-in-a-generation genius who became a Sword Seeker at eighteen."]

["I hear he's earned two stars now. Both at once, at that."]

["Oh, come now. How is that possible? A lie has to sound plausible before anyone will believe it. Talk some sense."]

["..."]

["... You're not joking?"]

He remembered having that conversation with a comrade a few days ago.

The part about being a free knight was unexpected, but Jowel supposed such achievements warranted that title.

As he recalled the conversation, a gust of wind stirred his hair. Forgetting even to keep running, he reflexively looked back.

Had something just gone past him?

Only then did he realize that Najin had swept past him. The young man was charging into the throng of Lost pursuing him.

"Wait, you..."

Jowel instinctively reached out toward Najin, intending to stop him. Yes, the young man was a once-in-a-generation genius who had gained two stars at eighteen, but wasn't he still a Sword Seeker, just like Jowel? There were rather too many Lost for one Sword Seeker to face.

More than thirty Lost, at the very least.

And magical beasts and monsters mingled among them.

They were certainly not enemies a lone Sword Seeker could handle. Jowel's gaze wavered. Should he help? Should he charge in too? The knight in him cried that he must, but Jowel the man, stripped bare after throwing away his armor and sword, could not bring himself to move.

He hesitated, torn between the two, but soon realized there was no need for that struggle.

A flash.

Najin vanished amid the Lost for a brief moment before a light flashed, too bright for their bodies to conceal. The instant it shone—

SHAAAAAAK!

The Lost split apart.

Ten of them were cleaved in two at once. Those halves split again, then into quarters. By the time the light had flashed some five times, their bodies lay in dozens of pieces.

Swordlight—the flashes made by sword aura trailing a wash of light—flared several times a second. With every flash, the dismembered Lost crumbled.

Jowel's eyes went wide.

What was he seeing? Wasn't that young man supposed to be a Sword Seeker? To Jowel's eyes, that was no Sword Seeker. They were supposedly at the same level, yet he could barely even follow Najin's movements.

Fast. Absurdly fast.

And not merely fast—every movement was efficient.

The Lost could only be killed by piercing their hearts. Knowing this themselves, they fought desperately to protect them. These warriors had all been at least Sword Seekers in life; when they devoted themselves to guarding a single part of their bodies, breaking through that defense was no easy task.

SWISH!

As though well aware of that, Najin did not bother cutting where it was difficult. He sliced through gaps between joints, tore through calves, and slashed legs to upset their balance before driving his sword into their hearts.

The finishing blow was the simplest of thrusts: a light extension of his sword, then a withdrawal. Against an opponent whose defenses had collapsed, that was enough.

And the entire process happened so quickly that missing a moment of his movements made it seem as though the Lost were simply being minced.

'What in the... '

It did not take even a few minutes to butcher the thirty-odd Lost and monsters. Having literally ground the throng to pieces, Najin gave his sword a light flick.

"Whew."

He let out a short breath and sheathed his sword.

Then he headed back toward Jowel, stopping along the way to pick up the sword lying on the ground—the one Jowel had thrown away during his flight.

Najin looked at Jowel, his gaze asking whether it was his sword.

When Jowel slowly nodded, Najin gathered the sword and the discarded armor and brought them over. As Jowel accepted them, he could not bring himself to meet Najin's eyes.

"Ah, thank you."

He could not help feeling ashamed and small. His eyes darkened as he looked at the dirt-covered sword and armor.

"Well..."

"It's Najin."

"No, I know your name. How could I not? Besides, you just told me..."

Then what? Najin looked at him as if inviting him to say whatever was on his mind. Barely managing to meet his gaze, Jowel parted his lips.

"You have my thanks for saving me. I am Jowel, a knight of the Nost unit, which guards the Northern Limit Line."

"... The Northern Limit Line?"

"Yes. Where it meets the Boundary of the Outer Lands."

A strange expression crossed Najin's face. Then he nodded, as though satisfied with the explanation.

"Yes, a pleasure to meet you, Sir Jowel."

"Well... you—no, forgive me. What brings you to a place like this, Sir Najin? If you need any information or a guide, please don't hesitate to ask. I'll do everything I can to help."

Even as he spoke, Jowel felt small.

He knew that the young man before him had simply saved him, that he would expect nothing in return, and that he had no need of Jowel's help.

Yet Jowel insisted on asking whether Najin needed anything, whether there was anything he could do to help. His paltry pride had put those words in his mouth.

He regretted them as soon as he had spoken. He should have said nothing. Why do this when he could simply bow his head and thank him? Was he ashamed to accept help without repayment merely because he fancied himself a knight?

His expression grew a little darker.

And Najin...

"..."

He stared at Jowel without a word.

His eyes narrowed. After a moment's thought, he waved his hand from side to side in front of Jowel, then snapped his fingers a couple of times before his eyes, as if checking for a reaction.

"Hmm?"

Jowel tilted his head at this odd behavior. Only then did Najin reply, "It's nothing," and smile at him.

"Sir Jowel? Do you happen to have anything to eat?"

"... Hmm, anything to eat?"

"Food or drink. It's been quite a while since I last ate."

"I do have some field rations."

"That sounds good."

Najin nodded, fetched firewood from somewhere, and struck a fire. Watching him uncertainly, Jowel gingerly sat down opposite him.

CRACKLE, CRACKLE...

Jowel warmed the field rations and something to drink over the blazing campfire. It was a meager repayment for saving his life, but Najin tore into the jerky as though perfectly satisfied.

"Nice and salty. It tastes quite good."

"Does it?"

"Yes, and this is rather..."

Jerky, dried-out field rations, and soup. Savoring them as though they were a feast, Najin looked at Jowel.

"How long have you been in the Outer Lands, Sir Jowel?"

"A year or two, I think."

"Not very long, then."

"Indeed. I'm still a newcomer. Unlike the other knights in my unit, I'm not accustomed to life here. Nor can I seem to adjust."

Jowel smiled bitterly.

"Truthfully, I feel as though I'm wearing clothes that don't suit me."

"Don't suit you?"

"I dress myself in armor and call myself a knight, but armor that never felt heavy on the continent feels terribly heavy here in the Outer Lands."

His armor was heavy. Jowel had set the armor he had discarded, and Najin had retrieved, beside him, but had not put it back on.

"Would you mind if I unburdened myself for a moment? I do feel guilty taking up the time of such a fine knight as you, Sir Najin..."

"We're fellow knights, aren't we? By all means."

"Thank you."

Jowel let out a long breath and began.

"The truth is, I felt ashamed as I watched you earlier."

Embarrassment. Shame. And a sense of his own insignificance.

"I understand you're eighteen, Sir Najin. Is that right?"

Najin flinched. His lips moved briefly before he nodded.

"Yes, that's right."

"So young. No, not merely young—a child. Still a child. I'm ashamed to say that I am 122 this year."

The 122-year-old knight felt ashamed of his circumstances, and of complaining to a boy more than a hundred years his junior. To conceal that shame, Jowel praised Najin.

"To venture into the Outer Lands at such an age—that takes remarkable resolve. Frankly, I admire you."

"Do you?"

"Of course! It can't have been long since you became a Sword Seeker, and yet you've already reached such heights. You truly are an example of a hero."

"Thank you for saying so."

Jowel chuckled and rubbed his arm.

"Though I'm nothing compared with you..."

Looking into the blazing campfire, Jowel recalled his past.

"I made quite a name for myself on the continent, too. Accomplished a few respectable deeds. Earned a star along the way, and even left a line bearing my name in the history books."

That was how it had been on the continent.

There, Jowel had shone. He had never felt small or ashamed. With a clear conscience and his shoulders squared, he could proclaim himself a knight.

"So even when I volunteered for this battlefield in the Outer Lands... I thought I could shine here, just as I had on the continent."

Spreading both arms wide, he proclaimed theatrically,

"Who am I? Jowel, Sword Seeker and knight of Drevu! Before my young lord, the heir to House Drevu, I swore that I would live as a knight here, too. That I would bring greater glory to Drevu's name."

"But," Jowel added with an abject smile.

"Reality wasn't so forgiving. In this land, I'm worth less than a common soldier. Far from shining, I'm growing stained and soiled. I can no longer bring myself to introduce myself as a knight of House Drevu. Instead of bringing glory to its name, I seem only to sully it."

He murmured as he watched the crackling fire.

"I'm afraid. I'm afraid of everything in this land. Of the Lost, who won't die even if you cut off their limbs or sever their heads. Of the monsters that devour starlight. I'm afraid of the devils, of the stars in that night sky, and of the transcendent beings who might appear before me at any moment. Afraid, and afraid again."

Jowel groaned.

"What frightens me most is that there is no beautiful end in this land."

He pointed to the crumbled corpses of the Lost.

"Whenever I think that they are what awaits me, the fear is unbearable. Every night I regret it, wondering whether I should have met an honorable death on the continent, had I known it would be like this."

Jowel looked at Najin—at the young man who shone, unlike him.

"Even just now. I said I would serve as bait in my comrades' stead, delivered that grand speech, and resolved to meet a glorious end, yet..."

He bowed his head.

"I was overcome with fear. I screamed like a coward and threw away my armor and sword. I became nothing but a coward, rather than a knight. A truly wretched sight."

When he raised his head again, envy showed in his eyes. Perhaps it was also a sense of inferiority.

"I envy you, Sir Najin."

"Me?"

"Yes. I, too, wanted to be a shining knight like you. A hero who could make his presence felt even here in the Outer Lands."

Hearing that left Najin considerably taken aback.

He had never imagined anyone saying such a thing.

Thinking about it, he had risen to a position where others might admire him, yet he had never realized it. He had always run looking ahead, looking upward, never turning to look behind him.

"I wanted to be a hero like you."

But if he looked back, he was already someone's dream, someone's goal. That realization felt unfamiliar to Najin.

"That's... rather unfamiliar to me."

"Unfamiliar? What do you mean?"

"In truth, I envied knights who had been formally granted their titles, like you, Sir Jowel. That was my dream."

Jowel blinked.

"Me?"

"To me, crawling along at the very bottom, every knight seemed to shine. Of course, some weren't worthy of being called knights... but you're not one of them, are you?"

"You're wrong. Didn't you see me? Screaming and fleeing like a coward?"

"What's wrong with screaming a little?"

Najin shrugged.

"Buying time for your comrades. Making yourself bait and running... Isn't that a noble choice?"

"I only did it because I wanted a glorious end."

"A glorious end. If you acted that way because you wanted to die as a knight, that makes you all the more a knight, doesn't it?"

Jowel let out a breath.

"Didn't I look wretched?"

"Not at all. Not in the slightest."

"I stripped off my armor and fled. At the last moment, I found myself wondering what honor and pride were worth. I doubted the worth of being a knight."

"What value is there in blind faith? Surely it's precious because, even as you doubt and question it, you cannot give it up."

"It has value because you don't give it up, even as you doubt it..."

The old knight pondered the young knight's words.

"A fine... a truly fine way to put it."

He smiled bitterly.

"Having lived a hundred years longer than you, I ought to be teaching you. Instead, I'm the one learning."

"What does rank or seniority have to do with learning?"

"That's true as well. Thank you for listening to an old knight's complaints. My heart feels a little lighter. May I ask one last question?"

"By all means."

"Sir Najin, I mean... as a free knight, a knight among knights, what do you think of me? May I still call myself a knight?"

The campfire crackled and flared.

Looking into Jowel's eyes, aglow with the colors of the flickering flames, Najin smiled.

"Of course. You are every bit a knight."

"Hahaha! To think I'd receive recognition from a hero. Thank you. My heart feels a little lighter now."

Jowel burst into hearty laughter.

"I'm ashamed to have taken up so much of such an important man's time. I should start packing up..."

"Sir Jowel."

Najin called him back as he started to rise. His platinum eyes gazed at Jowel.

"Did you say you feared what comes after death?"

"Yes. Becoming one of the Lost, forgetting myself and turning into a beast—that is a terrifying thing."

"I'd like to ease that fear a little."

"How could you do that?"

Najin clenched his hand tightly, then opened it.

Five stars circled in his palm.

Challenge, dragonslaying, breakthrough, Indomitable, and...

"Funeral Rites."

The star of Funeral Rites.

"That is the name of one of my stars."

"Funeral rites? Isn't that the act of carrying a body to its grave?"

"Yes. It also means guiding the dead to where they rightfully belong."

"Haha. You sound just like a ferryman of the dead."

"I imagine the work is similar. The one difference, perhaps... would be giving their end its final flourish."

The star of Funeral Rites glowed softly in Najin's hand. Jowel found himself gazing at it in a trance. Its starlight felt peaceful, warm, and comforting.

"Sir Jowel."

"..."

"Sir Jowel, knight of Drevu."

"Ah, yes. Did you call me?"

"I'd like to take you somewhere."

"Me? Where?"

"To the place where you ought to close your eyes."

Jowel struggled to understand Najin's words.

Take him somewhere? Why? What did that mean? Something didn't fit. It felt like gears turning out of alignment. Come to think of it, something was strange.

'Stars. Five. Why? Weren't there two? Only a few days ago, I heard that this young man had earned two stars.'

A sense of wrongness. Frowning, Jowel suddenly looked down at his hand. His eyes widened.

The hand he saw was rotten and decayed.

It was not the hand of a living man.

"..."

Jowel's gaze wavered. Blinking, he looked at Najin. Holding the star of Funeral Rites in one hand, Najin was pointing at Jowel's face with the other.

"You can take off the mask now."

Jowel felt at his face.

"You don't need to hide behind something like that, do you?"

A mask covered his face.

A ridiculous jester's mask.

As he touched the mask, which had not yet fully adhered to his face, Jowel could not help letting out a laugh.