Warriors who have honed themselves say that a single strike—an exchange in which each gives everything to decide victory and defeat—is the end they long for above all else. Yet they also know that such an end is seldom granted.

That is the nature of duels, of battles, of fights with lives at stake. When opponents differ in strength, an exchange of full-power blows cannot happen in the first place. Even when they are evenly matched, things rarely turn out any differently.

Mind games, petty tricks, traps, minor mistakes.

These decide the winner and loser, who lives and who dies. It is absurd. So many fights end before one can even use all the techniques honed over a lifetime. The smallest things end up deciding victory and defeat.

And so, settling a fight by exchanging full-power blows is the sort of thing found only in heroic tales. Reality is not so accommodating.

But at this moment—at this moment alone—it had become reality.

Klaus Aten breathed a sigh of awe. As he unleashed a lance charge with all his strength, a shiver ran through his entire body. When he took a step forward, the swordsman opposite him took a step as well.

They were charging toward each other.

There was not the slightest artifice in their charge. No concession, no compromise, no retreat. Only full strength! Nothing existed here but a charge at full speed and a blow delivered with everything they had.

What a beautiful sight.

For a knight and a warrior alike, this was the finest possible ending.

'Come! Come at me with everything you have! Everything!'

Klaus Aten, commander and vanguard of the Blue Wing, burst into laughter. Thanks to this lone swordsman, the final charge of his life could be this beautiful.

WHOOSH!

And so, a lone cavalryman thrust his lance. Tearing through the air and cleaving the wind, it drove forward. Meeting that lance as it flew straight ahead was the sword swung by a lone swordsman. The longsword wreathed in constellations neither aimed for the lance's flank nor struck down from above.

Without retreating, it met the tip of the oncoming lance head-on, with nothing but full strength.

For that was the sword of Atanga. It was the tribute and respect an Atanga knight offered an opponent acknowledged as a worthy rival. Najin swung his constellation-wreathed longsword horizontally. The instant blade and lance tip collided, light burst in every direction.

KRRRRRANG!

Aura bearing the mental image of cavalry racing across a battlefield collided with sword aura bearing the mental image of a star risen over an underground city. At the moment of impact, clusters of stars burst forth. The swirling aura made the air tremble.

In a fleeting instant, less than a second, dozens of collisions occurred. These were collisions not between steel and steel, but between aura and sword aura. The erupting shock waves tore Klaus's and Najin's skin. Blood sprayed.

SPLASH!

Amid the spraying blood, sword and lance surged forward. Aura and sword aura tore at each other, stripping one another away, as though they were merely obstacles to the clash of lance and blade. At last, for just an instant, both were stripped from the steel.

In the moment before those bare patches could be filled again—in that instant split into yet another instant—the lance and sword passed every obstruction and met each other. Their meeting was brief. And victory and defeat were always decided in a single moment.

THUD!

A heavy footfall echoed. At the very last moment, Najin took one more step forward. And so his sword advanced one step farther. That decided the outcome.

TICK, T-T-T-T-TICK...

In the slowly unfolding scene, Klaus saw Najin's blade split the lance tip and advance. The beloved weapon that had accompanied him his entire life was meeting its end.

SHICK.

Najin's sword traced a perfect arc. Having split the lance in half as it advanced, the longsword cleaved the hand Klaus had wrapped around it. The blade traced its path first, and constellations blossomed in its wake.

Spraying blood. A lance cleaved in two.

Constellations flashing fiercely before his eyes.

'An utter defeat.'

At the final moment, Klaus burst into laughter, feeling just as Jerold had. It was a flawless strike, beyond all improvement. The sword of Atanga shattered an enemy's full strength head-on. Truly, Klaus reflected, it befitted a sword art reserved for knights among knights.

If the sword of Atanga was to put the final period on his life, was that not a rather satisfying life?

The blossoming constellations exploded. Caught in the repulsive force, Klaus flew backward, coughing blood, before his back slammed into a massive tree.

THUD!

He closed his eyes as he vomited blood.

2.

A blink.

Klaus Aten slowly blinked his eyes.

His body felt heavy. His mind was sluggish. He should have met his death. Was there something after death in this world? If so, would he be heading to heaven or hell? Surely hell...

It was while he was pondering these deeply philosophical questions that he heard a voice.

"Here, like this? No, explain it properly. I'm not a mage. So..."

The voice drifted around his ears.

It was far too prickly to belong to an angel, but did not sound wicked enough to belong to a demon. More importantly, it was familiar. He blinked with a groan.

"Ah, there we go."

SIZZLE!

The sound of burning skin.

Pain pierced even his dulled senses, and Klaus's eyes flew open. His mouth gaped, and a scream burst out.

"Aaaaaaargh!"

"Uh, did I do that right? It's supposed to hurt? Tsk..."

Pain that forced his eyes wide open.

With his mind cleared in an instant, Klaus looked ahead. Najin was there, looking down at him. He had been talking to himself as though conversing with someone, but blinked when he saw Klaus open his eyes.

"Oh, are you coming around?"

"What are you doing...?"

"Nothing much. Just what needed doing."

Najin tapped the back of his own neck.

"You know the brand on your neck? Leave it alone, and it'll explode again, won't it? I've seen quite a few bodies explode, but it's not a pleasant sight."

The brand? Did he mean the one the order had placed on him?

Klaus hastily felt his neck. He could no longer feel the brand that should have been there.

"How?"

"The greatest archmage and an alchemist versed in all things lent me her aid... is what she wants me to say. I had help from someone rather impressive."

Najin shook a potion bottle in front of Klaus. It was a potion made with Merlin's knowledge and Dieta's support.

"It makes the brand recognize you as 'dead' and 'think' it has activated... apparently. The order will now believe you're dead."

Klaus blinked as he mulled over Najin's words. It was difficult to keep up with the situation. Yet he understood what Najin was telling him.

"Why... did you leave me alive?"

The boy had chosen to spare him—an attacker who had ambushed him.

Klaus could not understand why.

"Because there's no particular need to kill you."

"What...?"

"Clearly, the order has something on you. They might have hostages, or your honor might be at stake... From what I saw with my own eyes, you were disgusted with yourself for being the order's hound. Am I wrong?"

Klaus did not deny it, and Najin continued.

"And you've failed your mission. The order believes you're dead. If they were holding hostages, they may have decided to kill them. I'm sorry to hear it. But I'm afraid I can't let you kill me for their sake."

He spoke calmly.

"But I can make you an offer."

"What offer?"

"I'll give you a chance to take revenge on the order."

Revenge.

"My name is Najin. I'm eighteen, and today, right here, I reached the realm of Sword Seeker. What do you think of my skills?"

"A cruel question."

Klaus smiled bitterly.

"You're strong. Absurdly so."

"Yes, and I intend to grow stronger still."

"For what purpose?"

"To hang a star at the highest point of that night sky. And to bring down the order."

Najin grinned.

"I will become a Sword Master. I'll become strong enough to bring down the order single-handedly. Because I must reclaim my master's honor—the honor of the knight I served—from them."

An outlandish goal.

Yet Klaus, who had faced Najin's sword, could not laugh at it. It felt real.

"I will bring down the order. I'll drive my sword into the heart of High Priest Orlan, who looks down on the world from atop his lighthouse."

"But," Najin added, "I won't stop anyone from following me along the way. If their revenge is justified, I'd even be willing to let them have one of Orlan's arms."

"One arm..."

"Yes. Sorry, but that son of a bitch's heart is mine."

Klaus burst into laughter.

"And so you'll spare me? Me, who tried to kill you, when you don't even know what the order might have offered me?"

"Yes."

"What about me do you trust?"

"Your pride."

Najin answered, and Klaus fell silent for a moment.

"I saw pride in you. I felt the pride of someone who wishes to remain a knight. That's something a hound cannot possess. That is what I trust."

"Besides," Najin said with a shrug, "even if I'm wrong, it doesn't matter. If you want to keep clinging to the order, challenge me again. I'll face you. As often as you like."

He tapped his sword hilt.

"Though I doubt I'll be able to spare you as I did today."

"An arrogant attitude, but I can hardly call you arrogant. Not after being defeated so utterly."

Klaus smiled bitterly.

He had lost completely. He did not think he could win even if he tried again. As he gave that rueful laugh, Najin held out a hand.

"Choose. Will you die by my sword and meet your end here..."

Or else—

"Will you choose the path of revenge against the order?"

Klaus looked at Najin's outstretched hand.

There was no one being held hostage on his account. His comrades were already dead. Klaus had cooperated with the Order of Star Radiance only because they alone could remove the stigma of heresy placed upon his comrades.

Because the Order of Star Radiance had placed it there.

Though he hated and cursed them, he had no choice but to obey. A mere defeated commander could not bring down the Order of Star Radiance.

'But...'

Klaus looked at the boy before him.

To lose a duel fought with one's life at stake and yet survive. Nothing could be more disgraceful. But there was something he had to accomplish, no matter how far he fell.

"Whew..."

After a brief silence, he let out a long breath. A bitter smile rested on his lips.

"The victor has the right to show mercy and to make an offer..."

Klaus recited the rules of a sacred duel.

Najin was the one who continued them.

"And the defeated has the duty to accept it."

"Indeed. That is what a duel is."

"Then?"

"I accept. With gratitude."

Klaus took Najin's hand and slowly rose. Using the potion Najin gave him to stop the bleeding, he let out a long breath.

"What about the others?"

"They should still be alive."

Najin indicated them with a sideways glance.

Jerold lay there, barely clinging to life, along with several Experts.

"They might not all agree to my offer. Persuade them or dispose of them, as you see fit. I'll leave it to you."

"You're asking me to take on a difficult role."

"Because you were the strongest."

Najin spoke, and Klaus laughed.

"Then I have little choice. I'll do what I can."

Having answered, he slowly exhaled.

He steadied his breathing and raised his arm, though his body barely obeyed him. His wounds reopened, and blood poured down the arm. Ignoring the pain, he struck it against his heart with a heavy thud.

Blood sprayed. Through it, Klaus's voice rang out.

"Thank you for elevating an ambush devoid of honor or pride into a duel. Thank you for shattering my full strength with nothing but your own. Thank you for showing mercy to the defeated, and for granting me a chance at revenge."

His gratitude.

"I, Klaus Aten, do not forget a debt of kindness."

He slowly knelt and bowed his head.

"The last cavalryman of the Blue Wing will answer your call at any time. On the day your blade turns toward the order, I shall charge against them ahead of all others. I swear it on the honor of my fallen comrades."

"I'm afraid I'll be the one out in front. I don't think I can give you the vanguard's role."

"A pity. Then I shall follow one step behind you."

The last cavalryman of the Blue Wing smiled. For his lance could now rest in the hands of someone who understood honor and pride.

3.

"Take those who share your intentions and go to this location. The Dieta Trading Company should be able to help you."

Along with potions to erase the brands, Najin handed Klaus several documents. Accepting them and listening to the explanation, Klaus stroked his chin.

"There is one problem."

"What is it?"

"Those deployed on this mission were hounds like me... with no direct ties to the order. But I doubt that slippery bastard neglected to station even a single watcher."

Klaus clicked his tongue.

"There will be watchers. It's very likely someone is observing this from afar. They may already have witnessed me joining you. And for now, the order has branded me a heretic. In that case..."

"They could accuse me of associating with a heretic. Religious pressure after an armed ambush?"

"Indeed. That is closer to the order's true nature, in fact."

"Well, I've given that some thought too..."

Najin chuckled.

"But news of this won't reach the order."

"What? What do you...?"

"The person helping me is far more capable, thorough, and frightening than you realize."

Dieta, The Snake That Swallows Gold.

The net she had cast did not end here. Roselin Ascalo had never been the only mercenary at her disposal.

"They've probably been dealt with by now."

* * *

The watcher sent by the order had been nailed to a tree, his arms and legs severed. Dangling from the trunk, he stared ahead with trembling eyes. A woman stood there, laying out and tending to an assortment of torture implements.

She had detected his presence in an instant and subdued him while he observed the battle from a distance. The watcher knew her name well.

A White Horn adventurer of Cambria.

Bashen Corte, a former inquisitor.

A mercenary under exclusive contract to the Dieta Trading Company.

A woman who loathed the order with a passion and shared a bitter history with High Priest Orlan. She let out a long breath and glared at the watcher. In the twilight forest, her scarlet eyes gleamed like a beast's.

"Seven," she said.

"There were seven watchers in all, including you. I killed four. No need for too many mouths. I meant to leave two alive to cross-check their testimony, but..."

Bashen rolled something in her hand.

It was a plucked-out eyeball and a severed mouth.

"One fought back, demanding I kill him instead. So I did. That leaves two: one blind man whose eyes have been plucked out, and you, still relatively intact."

The watcher felt a chill crawl down his spine.

Bashen Corte had been an inquisitor. That meant she knew dozens—hundreds—of ways to torture people and make them talk.

"You don't need eyes to speak. Can you read braille? It's mandatory for the order's priests. Then you won't need ears either. No need to listen to anything. Ah, but with your arms cut off, that won't be easy."

Muttering, Bashen approached the watcher. She seized his hair and thrust her face close to his. Madness swirled in her beastlike scarlet eyes.

"Either way, you don't seem to need your eyes."

Bashen reached out.

A scream echoed through the forest.