The sun had set, and the night had deepened.

The battle had dragged on longer than expected. In the lightly shadowed forest, the demon hunter Jerold drew ragged breaths. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and several blade cuts marked his forearm.

From his forearm to his wrist. From his wrist to the back of his hand. From there to his fingers, and from his fingers to the sword hilt...

Blood flowed. Watching it trickle down, Jerold let out a long breath. What a vicious bastard. He never gave up his flesh for nothing. It was as though he would never be satisfied unless, for every piece of his own flesh he surrendered, he tore away a handful of theirs.

"Whew..."

Breathing hard, Jerold glanced to his side.

Klaus Aten stood there. His clothes, too, were stained dark red with blood. He had been wounded. Jerold could not quite make sense of this situation.

'Wasn't he a Sword Expert?'

Merely close to becoming a Sword Seeker.

Hadn't they been told the target was a Sword Expert? But what Expert in the world could hold out against two Seeker-level opponents? By any reasonable standard, it was impossible.

"..."

Jerold looked ahead.

Najin stood there, his sword hanging low as he panted. He had lost incomparably more blood than either Jerold or Klaus. There was a hole in his side, and wounds covered his body.

Their injuries merely slowed them down a little; his made it difficult to move at all. At most, could he manage another exchange or two?

It would be decided soon. Naturally, they would win. But to Jerold, it would be an unpleasant victory. Two Seeker-level fighters against a single Expert, and they had to win by wearing him down?

'Damn it...'

He truly did not want this.

If only it had been settled in the first ambush. If only that young man had died before crossing blades with him revealed what kind of person he was.

A sordid, ugly victory was no different from defeat.

Even so, he had a reason he had to win. Jerold kicked off the ground. At the very least, he would finish the young man with his sword before he collapsed from blood loss. Fierce sword aura rose over Jerold's blade.

This would be the end.

Closing the distance in an instant, Jerold swung at Najin, who could barely hold himself upright. Najin did not move even as Jerold began his swing. He must have exhausted even the strength to react. That was what Jerold thought.

The greatsword tore through the air.

At the fleeting instant before it cleaved Najin in two, the wind pressure stirred his hair. His eyes appeared between the shifting strands. Meeting those eyes at close range, Jerold involuntarily caught his breath.

Sunset-colored eyes, calm and composed.

Unlike his battered body, those eyes were utterly still. Then Najin moved. His lowered sword flashed into motion, scattering afterimages. It was so fast that it was hard to believe he had reacted late. A strike worthy of being called swift slammed into Jerold's greatsword.

CLAAAAANG!

Sword aura collided with sword aura.

At the moment of impact, Jerold had no doubt of his victory. Every clash of sword aura thus far had favored them. Najin had been hard-pressed to twist his sword's trajectory and evade. Jerold expected the same this time, but...

KIIIIING!

This time was different.

A tremendous recoil. The force was powerful enough to make Jerold's hands tremble around the hilt. His eyes widened, his face filling with shock.

Unable to withstand the recoil, Najin was driven far backward, but he was not the only one pushed back. Jerold's greatsword had rebounded in the opposite direction without completing its arc.

And so had the military boots he had planted on the ground.

Jerold stared wide-eyed at his legs, which had retreated a step. How? No, more importantly, the sword aura that had shone just now was surely...

Jerold Oton.

Klaus Aten.

Both stared at Najin with wide eyes. Driven some distance away, Najin slowly raised his head as he panted. A smile rested on his lips.

"... Got it."

Najin murmured softly.

The answer whose outline he had only dimly glimpsed. The one step he had been missing. At last, he had grasped it.

CRACKLE.

A crumbling sound came from Najin's sword aura. It sounded like a chrysalis breaking apart.

2.

He had been born where no stars could be seen.

Born in the depths, he had lived like garbage. He had been a sinner from birth, forbidden even to dream. To the boy, the underground city of Atman was a prison.

An enormous prison.

A prison he had believed he would never leave.

Even after leaving that prison, the boy remained a prisoner. He considered himself one. That was why he thought he had to change. A prisoner could not become a hero. A knight had to be someone who shone.

Though he had finally gained his freedom.

Though he had crossed the line.

Though he had broken the bars and escaped the prison.

The boy remained bound by something. His speech and expression had grown stiff, and tension crept naturally into his shoulders. He had concluded that he was a worthless hound at his core, a sinner from birth, and thus had to rebuild himself from the ground up.

A rejection of himself.

Even after leaving the prison, he had unconsciously considered himself a prisoner, still fastening shackles around his own ankles. Belatedly, the boy realized that. And because he realized it, he laughed.

'I had it wrong.'

The boy—

'I had it wrong from the very beginning.'

Najin let out a long breath.

The underground city, Atman.

His damned hometown, and the prison that had confined him. A place he loathed, an origin he wanted to hide—but now he had to acknowledge it.

Najin closed his eyes. When he did, he saw the underground city. Yet the city was not all darkness, as he remembered it. Two stars were there.

One high above, and one down below.

There, where no stars could be seen, were the stars the boy had dreamed of. Looking at the lower star, Najin smiled bitterly. Who was the first knight he had ever admired? Ivan. Ivan, knight of Atanga.

The knight who had planted a dream in him.

The mentor who had pushed him forward.

He had told him to cross the line and run far beyond it. To run freely. That he was free now. Those were the last words of the knight he served. If he failed to honor them, how could he proudly call himself Ivan's squire?

'I was mistaken, Ivan.'

Najin raised his sword.

The moment he did, Jerold and Klaus could only fall silent. Neither could take even a single step toward him. Approach carelessly, and they would die. That intuition flashed through both men's minds.

The flow had reversed.

The air around them churned.

Yet in stark contrast to those turbulent currents, the pure-white sword aura settled into stillness. No violently surging sword aura remained. Scattering a soft light, it was utterly tranquil.

Najin lowered his sword. The white sword aura crumbled, like a chrysalis breaking apart, or tangled threads unraveling and scattering. As the sword aura dispersed, darkness returned to the forest.

Najin's eyes were still closed.

Through those closed eyes, he looked within himself. A space barely ten paces across. But now that space was heaving violently. The landscape began to expand.

Buildings rose along its perimeter.

The cityscape Najin had walked through, the alleys where he had lived by rummaging through garbage—filthy, dark places, but undeniably the places he had lived—appeared one after another.

Najin rejected none of them.

He merely smiled at the pure-white star shining in the city's center. Ivan, you taught me so much. You really were right.

「Relax a little, you brat.」

「Smile more, too.」

「How can you stand living like that? Isn't it exhausting?」

I keep tensing my shoulders. I end up thinking this is how I have to be. I try to act solemn. Even now, I am doing it. Your life and honor rest on my shoulders. And it isn't just you, is it? Offen, old Hogel, everyone who helped me—their weight rests there too.

It is so heavy.

I end up thinking I cannot go on living this way.

I drew Excalibur. I must become a hero. Merlin, that great Constellation in the night sky, watches over me. She whispers that I will become a hero. Yes, I should become one. Naturally, I find myself thinking of King Arthur.

I must become like Arthur.

That is what I end up thinking.

More dignified. A little more knightly. A little more, a little more, a little more... Without realizing it, that was how I had come to think. My expression grew rigid and my speech stiffened. The underground city's hound that I was gradually faded.

But how could my true nature ever disappear?

I will not deny it. Just as you did not, Ivan. Above all, didn't I make a promise?

'I swore where no stars could be seen.'

To inscribe a star in the sky.

That oath has value precisely because I made it where no stars could be seen. I have no intention of diminishing that value. Though born in a place without stars, I dream of them, and I will hang my star in that sky at last.

"Whew..."

Najin let out a long breath.

The tension left his shoulders, and his posture softened. His breathing, too, naturally grew lighter. His mental image had expanded far into the distance. Najin slowly rose to his feet.

Merlin stood there.

She held a small birdcage in her hand.

She threw it toward Najin. An exceedingly crude birdcage. Looking at it, Najin smiled. And smiling, he swung his sword.

He swung it lightly.

A remarkably fluid, natural movement. When he swung, sword aura did not surge forth. Nor did it draw upon the flow. Only the tip of the blade shone.

The sword's tip gleamed.

A pure-white star had formed upon it.

In reality, his sword cut through empty air, but within his mental image, it cleaved the birdcage. The cage split so very easily. Watching it crumble, Najin opened his eyes.

The chrysalis had broken.

The birdcage had shattered.

The boy had achieved emergence.

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

Light flashed in midair as though exploding. Beginning at the tip of Najin's blade, points of light linked together. Link after link, the light formed a shape like a constellation.

Sword aura, completely dismantled and reconstructed.

It was no longer the sword aura of a Sword Expert. Nor was it sword aura that merely held fragments of a mental image. It had taken an entirely new form. Fully embodying his mental image, it was sword aura that belonged to Najin alone.

The boy's eyes shone platinum as he opened them.

Sword Seeker.

A seeker of the sword, one who walked its path.

Having completed his emergence, the boy had ascended to the realm of Sword Seeker.

3.

"Emergence..."

Klaus murmured without thinking.

Emergence. A process one had to undergo to reach the realm of Sword Seeker, or its equivalent. He, too, had once undergone something similar.

The sensation of the landscape of his mental image expanding, of the aura wrapped around his lance being completely reconstructed. Klaus had experienced that sensation in the midst of a battlefield. Remembering the past, he looked at the present.

Before him stood a young man who had just completed his emergence. As though entranced, Klaus watched the constellation circling Najin's sword tip. Sword aura shaped like a constellation. Had sword aura of that shape ever existed in history?

Although every Sword Seeker's sword aura was different, there were always some similarities. But Klaus had never seen sword aura of this form before today. Neither had Jerold, who had fought countless powerful opponents.

The sword aura Najin brought forth shone brilliantly even in the dark forest. A radiant constellation drove away the darkness.

A constellation drawn by a human sword. Faced with sword aura unlike any he had ever seen, the corners of Jerold's mouth twitched. He tightened his grip on his greatsword and laughed. He knew instinctively. The battle had turned. Advantage and disadvantage had reversed.

Standing before him was a Sword Seeker.

A powerful fighter who had undeniably reached that realm.

Jerold was not the only one laughing. Klaus, too, let out an incredulous laugh. Emergence, in a situation like this! Trials might force people to grow, but most trials killed them. Yet this young man had overcome his trial and grown.

'Amazing. Truly.'

Forgetting even that he was in a duel to the death, Klaus felt pure admiration. At the same time, he felt cold sweat running down his spine.

A swordsman who had been perfect in every respect except sword aura had now acquired formidable sword aura as well.

From now on, rather than making him bleed with each attack, they would have to take care not to have their own bodies torn apart. The situation had reversed, but the course of the battle itself had not changed in the slightest.

One strike.

A single strike would decide the outcome.

Klaus steadied his breathing. His mental image surged and wrapped around his lance. Jerold planted his foot hard. His mental image infused the greatsword that had torn countless demons to death, more intensely than ever before.

One strike.

A fleeting instant would decide the victor.