I Pulled Out Excalib Chapter 163

The Knight Who Removed His Helmet (3)

Using Battle Ram with a sword instead of a lance made it a bit weaker than the Hornblower’s, but that was only in relative terms. The storm Aldaran conjured with each thrust of his sword was terrifyingly powerful noheless.

Kagagagagak!

Seeing the ground and boulders shredded into fine particles on contact with the gale, one could easily estimate its destructive force. Besides, for Aldaran, it wasn’t even a secret move—he could unleash it in rapid succession, almost easily enough for just probing or harassing his opponent.

Najin managed to split the first Battle Ram, but it threw off his stance.

The second one followed, and he couldn’t fully parry it. Swinging his blade in a clumsy arc accomplished nothing against the technique of a Sword Master.

Tchuk!

Caught in the storm, he was knocked far back and coughed out the breath he’d been holding, blood gushing from his mouth.

His trembling fingers closed around the hilt of his sword, he let out a hollow laugh.

‘He’s strong. Incredibly, absurdly strong. Even without using Sword Aura, that’s his power?’ Najin had known Aldaran was a monster, but it still defied imagination.

That is what a Sword Master was. His stars had fallen, his mana was sealed, and his consciousness had gone hazy.

Still, Aldaran remained the Empire’s hero and a Sword Master.

Spitting the blood from his mouth, Najin immediately fixed his stance.

There was no time to rest. For Aldaran, Battle Ram was merely a way to open distance and create an opening; he could sense that the true threat would come after.

Flash.

Sure enough, his instincts were correct.

The instant Aldaran’s blade flashed from a distance, a series of slashes converged on him. One, two, three… eight strikes arrived in staggering succession.

Najin’s limited future sight didn’t help much there. His eyes didn’t literally see the future, they only read the opponent’s preliminary movements and extrapolated from there, skipping the middle steps to predict the outcome.

Srrkk.

Unfortunately, a Sword Master’s actions often consisted of nothing but cause and effect.

When Najin tried to skip the middle to anticipate the future, Aldaran simply eliminated the middle, turning that predicted future into the immediate present.

Aldaran swings, the slash forms; the slash lands—no room for an in-between. The moment his blade flashed, the murky arc was already right in front of Najin’s nose.

Najin flung his body aside.

One slash tore past him at point-blank range. As he rolled across the ground, he swung his sword to split the second slash, but that opened a gap, and the third slash closed in. With his stance broken, he somehow blocked it, only for his posture to crumble when the fourth and fifth came…

‘This can’t go on.’

All he could do was keep falling back while Aldaran continued his onslaught. That would only lead to a tiring retreat and eventual defeat. Blocking each strike, he recalled the man’s teachings.

“Give up on trying to defend against every technique perfectly. That only works on someone weaker or equal to you. Against someone stronger? Be bold.”

Aldaran had taught him many things: how to survive in the Outland, the basics of battle, the mindset of a swordsman.

Remembering those lessons, Najin put them into practice.

“Endure some damage and charge in.”

“Create bold openings. Give up what you must and protect only what you must. You can’t protect everything. This isn’t anything special. You’ve done it unconsciously, but doing it by instinct and doing it with understanding are different.”

He accepted the risk of injury and used the recoil of his Sword Aura to twist Aldaran’s slashes off track as he plowed through them with his own body, forcing a head-on approach. He was wounded and bloodied, but he didn’t let it stop him.

‘Yes, like that.’

Najin closed the distance. It was already an unfair fight to begin with, and his only chance of improving the odds was to get in close. Aldaran had methods to strike from dozens of meters away, but Najin didn’t.

‘I need to pull him into my field.’

Even if it wasn’t exactly advantageous, at least being in close quarters might level the field somewhat.

As those lessons from the past floated through his mind, Najin found himself strangely amused. Memories of his battle against Ivan near the time he escaped the Underground City returned. Ivan had truly tried to kill him but also genuinely taught him the sword in the process, and he gained Ivan’s swordsmanship from that.

This wasn’t so different.

Aldaran wasn’t intentionally trying to kill him, but in his dimmed state of mind, pouring forth his full power could easily end in Najin’s death. A single misstep, and the boy’s life would be taken by Aldaran’s blade.

Najin couldn’t allow that to happen.

He had no intention of letting his master suffer the dishonor of killing his own disciple. On the contrary, the greatest honor for a master would be to meet his end at the hands of a student who surpassed him. He intended to grant him that honor.

He leaped forward, scattering blood in his wake.

“Learn from what you see, then surpass it.”

“Seize insight at the brink between life and death. Surpass your limits.”

As always, he needed to grow right there, right then, or he would never beat that man.

Kaaaang!

At last, he forced his way up close, clashing swords with Aldaran at near point-blank distance. Eyes wide, he focused on Aldaran’s every movement—to learn; to surpass.

Kang, kaang!

Blades clashed, sparks jumping between them.

Aldaran deftly deflected the recoil of Najin’s Sword Aura, instantly thrusting at Najin’s neck.

Swords tangled, a resounding cacophony echoing across the wasteland.

Sskak!

Time and again, each blade grazed the other’s flesh. One moment’s slip, and Najin would be decapitated. That precarious, tightrope-like combat never let up. If anyone saw it, they would never believe it was a simple spar between master and pupil.

They’d be half right—it was indeed a spar between master and disciple, but also an honorable duel.

“Left, right… each strike is chaining into… Ah, I can’t block that one. Move aside. Next…”

It was a rematch against an opponent he’d already lost to, and a duel meant to grace the final days of a knight moving toward death.

Najin threw himself into it completely, nearly forgetting to breathe as he searched for a way to win.

Of course, there were plenty of ways to achieve victory in a fight. He could stall for time and wait for Aldaran to lose control, and then, when the Sword Master burned his life force to exhaustion, strike at the right moment for an easy triumph.

That would be a victory in a fight, not a victory in a duel, which had to be honorable and fair.

Only a head-on victory carried meaning, and Najin believed it wasn’t impossible.

‘There is a chance. It’s slim, but real.’

Aldaran had torn out his own heart and sealed away his Sword Aura, deliberately balancing the scales. He must have done that believing Najin would be able to defeat him under those conditions.

Of course, as things stood, it still wasn’t enough.

Aldaran had set the stage on the assumption that Najin would grow right there and then. The scale wasn’t even yet; it still tipped in Aldaran’s favor. To level it, Najin had to advance further.

‘Seriously…’

Najin let out a shaky breath and chuckled.

‘He really is the most demanding teacher.’

‘Grow now, surpass me now, or die by my hand. You wouldn’t burden your master with such disgrace, would you?’ That seemed to be Aldaran’s silent dare, and Najin laughed at it.

To answer his master’s firm faith that his disciple would grow, he swung his sword.

‘Challenge and break through.’

Responding to its wielder’s will, the boy’s star burst in a brilliant white blaze.

Aldaran Vasaglia felt his consciousness growing ever fainter. He had lingered for a very long time on the boundary between the dead and the living. Although the memory of who he was had returned, he knew he had little time left.

His body and soul had exceeded their limits and were disintegrating. He was just a flame burning fiercely before it went out for good. Before long, that flame would devour him entirely, leaving only ashes.

Despite knowing that, Aldaran stoked the fire even hotter so he could shine one last time, if only a little more gloriously.

Aah…

His consciousness blurred, his judgment waned.

He began to forget who he was fighting. Whenever that happened, the person in front of him glowed bright—brighter than anything.

A shining star, an utterly radiant glow…

That light held Aldaran’s scattering mind together. He recalled, ‘Yes, that is my disciple.’ With that in mind, he swung his blade.

‘More, more, more… Keep chasing me. Sharpen your blade further, move faster.’

Matching Aldaran’s expectations, Najin’s sword strokes became neater and keener.

Aldaran broke into a laugh.

Just as he’d anticipated, Najin was growing.

All the boy needed was a perfect example. A good teacher for him wasn’t one who could lecture theory gracefully, but a swordsman who could present a flawless example. That would help him more than a hundred well-chosen words. Seizing what was left of his consciousness, Aldaran showed his perfected swordplay.

Kaaaang!

Each time their blades collided, each time sparks flared, Najin mirrored Aldaran’s movements as if reflecting him. Until then, he had never mastered the Triumph Sword. It wasn’t just the ultimate technique, but every move had some flaws.

That was inevitable. Aldaran’s moves had been flawed while in his diminished form, and Najin had naturally learned a flawed version.

Then…

Aldaran had returned to a Transcendent. Displaying his perfected technique, he filled the gaps in Najin’s form. The tilted scale leveled out.

Bleeding, thrown back again and again, rolling across the ground—Najin got up each time and charged back in. Desperate to close the gap, even if it cost him blood and bone, he followed Aldaran’s movements. In that process, he grew stronger.

Aldaran was glad to see it. Teaching a disciple like that was truly gratifying. As his mind dimmed, he recalled his last lingering desire.

A final wish…

He had been forgotten by everyone.

That pained him. It tormented him to think that his deeds, the sword style he had built; even the Golden Horn Knights, had all slipped into oblivion.

He didn’t fear death. He only feared dying without leaving anything behind.

He had always wanted to leave something of himself behind, a successor who would remember him and carry on all that he was. It seemed impossible, so he had given up on that dream.

Najin made him dream again.

“Aldaran Vasaglia’s disciple…”

The strong wine he’d once savored…

“…and a squire of the Golden Horn Knights.”

He had said he would awaken from that dream and pay the price, but that no longer seemed possible. Better to drink the liquor until it killed him. Better to dream until the end.

‘Would you do that for me?’

He didn’t say it aloud. He didn’t ask. He only swung his blade.

‘Of course I will.’ Matching his stance perfectly, Najin answered.

Aldaran smiled soundlessly at that reply. ‘Then I will carve it into your memory. Eight hundred years of the Empire, the blade of the Empire’s First Sword, all that I am…’

Aldaran’s consciousness scattered completely; all that remained was a single knight.

He assessed his condition. He couldn’t use Sword Aura, and he couldn’t summon mana. Even so, there was a swordsman before him—likely a Sword Seeker, judging from his skill. His blade arcs were sharp.

The boy bore a certain resemblance to himself. It felt like gazing into a mirror.

He hadn’t fully caught up yet, but with each clash, the boy grew stronger.

If he backed away, he would surely claim victory. Creating distance from such a relentless opponent wouldn’t be easy.

Besides, wouldn’t that be improper? He was a knight. Though he had lost his memories, he hadn’t forgotten who he was: Aldaran Vasaglia.

The hero of the Empire pressed the boy back. Blood splashed, the boy was hurled away, but he never retreated.

‘Such a proud adversary.’ The knight grinned contentedly and tightened his grip on his sword.

He didn’t know why, but he felt compelled to teach the lad something. To give him his best. Perhaps it was respect for an opponent so worthy? He couldn’t say.

He didn’t need to. It wasn’t important.

He was locked in a duel. Eager to settle the outcome, the knight raised his sword.

He didn’t recall it, but it was the very place where he once claimed a glorious victory. There, he had cut down the Carnival King’s core and dropped half her stars. Though he no longer remembered that feat, the sky had not forgotten.

The fallen, shattered stars glimmered.

They provided no special power. Once fallen, they could only shine faintly. Their light illuminated the knight. Sword lifted high toward the heavens, he gave his utmost.

Taking a stance with his blade brandished as if thrusting into the sky, bearing the name First Horn or First Sword, it looked like he was hoisting a battle flag in its lofty elegance.

The flags draped around him fluttered in the wind.

Aldaran Vasaglia was always at the vanguard. If the Empire was a ship, then he was its hornlike prow, the first blade to strike. He was also the first name called whenever one spoke of the Empire: the Empire’s First Sword, its First Horn.

From that iconic posture came the ultimate secret of the Triumph Sword.

Aldaran never gave it a grandiose name. He simply used the word that symbolized him: Triumph.

The Empire’s First Sword brought his blade down.

The First Sword—Triumph.