It Is a Knight's Duty, No, a Privilege! (1)
Ramming Charge. Najin's spear beat Don Quixote's lance by a step. A storm erupted from the tip.
Boom!
The cabin blew apart. Don Quixote was hurled through the flying debris and hit the ground rolling. He hadn't seen the counter coming, and taking the Ramming Charge head-on made his body convulse.
"Sancho."
Don Quixote raised his head with a creak.
"What is the meaning of this?"
He looked unharmed. Najin had meant to run him clean through, but that clearly wasn't going to do it. He exhaled sharply and swung his spear in a wide arc.
Whoosh.
Debris and dust scattered. Najin spun the spear once and drove it into the ground.
"What's going on...?"
Rocinante came running at the sound of the commotion. He spotted Najin and his eyes went wide, head tilting.
"Who are you?"
Until now, Najin had stood on this stage as "Sancho." Not anymore. He'd been given the role of Free Knight. He stood here as Najin, not Sancho. The costume was all that had changed, but to Rocinante he'd look like an entirely different person.
"..."
Najin turned and looked behind him, toward where Sancho was supposed to be. If he had taken on a role separate from Sancho's, then Sancho had to exist here as a separate entity too.
But Sancho wasn't there.
'In that case...'
That tells me enough. Najin understood the situation. And what Sancho wanted.
"Rocinante."
He said it shortly.
"That's not what matters right now."
He jerked his chin toward Don Quixote, who had been laughing like a madman since the start.
"Shouldn't our priority be bringing milord back to his senses? That's how I see it."
"...Can't argue with that."
Rocinante groaned.
"Why must heaven burden us like this? Cold-hearted as ever. Still, I understand what you're getting at."
He dragged a hand across his face and tightened his grip on his staff.
"What do you need from me?"
"Good, straight to it. Since we're moving fast, let's keep it that way."
Najin pointed at Rocinante's staff.
"I'll leave it to you."
A brief exchange of glances. No long conversation needed. Rocinante tapped Najin on the back with his staff, a clean, crisp knock. Najin closed his eyes and opened them. He breathed in and let it out.
Quickened breathing. Quickened pulse. A single second of silence.
No adjustment period needed.
Over months of travel, Najin had grown accustomed to Rocinante's acceleration. Still, he opened his eyes slowly. He reached into his coat pocket, took out a hair tie, and pulled his loose hair back.
Violet, the musician.
When he tied the one she'd left behind, Violet whispered in Najin's ear. That this laughter felt wrong. That such unpleasant mockery didn't suit him.
She was right.
This laughter didn't suit him. It suited no one here.
"Rocinante."
Najin raised his sword.
"I'll leave my back to you."
It had always been Don Quixote who struck first, Sancho who followed, and Rocinante who gave support. That hadn't changed much. The only difference was the direction the blade now faced.
Don Quixote creaked to his feet and threw himself at Najin. He charged like an animal, the field erupting beneath him. Najin watched him come and lifted his foot.
Crack.
He stamped the ground and dropped into a low stance.
- Think you can handle this?
'When have I ever done something because I could?'
Najin smiled dryly at the question. It wasn't about being able to. It was about having no choice.
"..."
Najin watched Don Quixote through narrowed eyes. He closed the distance at frightening speed, lance forward. The man was strong. Horrifyingly so. Najin knew it.
Star of Scorn, Quixote.
He hadn't fully become the Star of Scorn yet, they said, but that was cold comfort. Before the Star of Scorn, Don Quixote as the Star of Jovial Tales was no pushover either. In some respects, the Star of Jovial Tales was the more troublesome opponent.
'The man who led dozens of Stars to La Mancha.'
Dozens of Constellations had named him their captain, rallying behind him with respect. That was Don Quixote, the ingenious gentleman of La Mancha.
Even if the Carnival King had interfered in his journey, that didn't make everything Don Quixote accomplished a lie. The interference had been limited to particular stretches of the road. Every feat, every adventure he had lived through, was real.
'That's exactly why even the Carnival King waited until the very last moment.'
That was the kind of Transcendent he was. Mad as he might be becoming, his strength hadn't faded. The lance charge he had repeated thousands of times across his travels was as devastating as ever.
Shriek!
Don Quixote came screaming through the air. That same lance charge that had run giants and demons through in a single thrust bore down on Najin, and he didn't move. There were lines a knight couldn't retreat behind. This was one of them.
Spear and sword clashed.
The shockwave where Sword Aura met aura, combined with the windblast, gouged a hollow in the field. The ground cracked, shaking like an earthquake. The dust settled. The result wasn't what anyone expected.
Don Quixote was the one pushed back.
He slid backward. Najin held his ground. Unexpected, but that didn't mean Najin had won the exchange.
"Cough, ugh."
Najin coughed up blood. The arm he'd swung the sword with was torn open, bleeding freely. Don Quixote walked away unharmed while Najin bled. Even so, the corner of his mouth tilted up.
"Hff."
He stepped forward. Not just a step, but a full charge straight at Don Quixote. No need for pointless talk about whether his opponent was stronger, whether winning was impossible.
Clang!
Don Quixote's lance and Najin's sword crashed together. They crashed again and again, filling the air with noise, and Najin wouldn't let that noise die.
Clang, claaang!
He fought tooth and nail. Hammered the lance, raked his blade along its side, dragged out Sword Aura to make even louder ringing.
Clatter, clang, claaang!
The growing racket swallowed Don Quixote's laughter. The eerie cackling pouring out of him, the Carnival King's mockery echoing across all of La Mancha, Najin buried it all in the crash of lance against sword.
Crack. Don Quixote's lance caught him and sent him flying. Najin rolled once across the ground, came up, and threw himself at Don Quixote again.
Being pushed back was natural.
His opponent was a Transcendent. Najin defeating Don Quixote, at this point, was impossible. He knew that. Of course he did.
'If this weren't La Mancha.'
If this weren't the Star's Tomb.
'That would be completely true.'
But this was the Star's Tomb.
The La Mancha that Don Quixote had found.
And right now, Najin wasn't the only one fighting Don Quixote.
Acceleration.
Rocinante's magic strengthened another degree. Rocinante had confirmed Najin could keep pace, and pushed the acceleration higher. Flashes of light burst from behind, pouring magic toward Don Quixote in rapid succession.
Shriek!
Don Quixote tore through the magic and kept coming. Najin smiled faintly. Even with support, he could barely track the man's movements. Horrifyingly strong.
'But.'
He had no intention of just taking a beating. Catching Don Quixote's lance, Najin slid back.
Thud.
Where he slid, the Lance of the Crossed Star was driven into the earth. He seized it, wrenched it free, and in the same motion slid into a full spin.
Ramming Charge.
The spin flowed into the charge, storm erupting from the spear tip and slamming into Don Quixote, but he didn't give an inch. As if he knew nothing but the charge, trusting his armor, he plowed through the storm and kept coming.
But where the storm scattered.
Triumphal Sword.
Najin stood waiting with his sword hanging low.
He'd been waiting for exactly this. Najin swung his sword. The foundational stance of Imperial Swordsmanship. A clean line of Sword Aura drew through the air in a single stroke.
Slash.
Half of Don Quixote's helmet was sheared away. The Sword Aura carried on and cut across his face. For the first time since the fight began, blood flew from Don Quixote. Caught in the Sword Aura, he was sent crashing back.
"Ahahahahaha!"
He laughed as he went sliding.
Then looked straight at Najin.
"Do not stand in my way."
A madman's eyes. Lost so deep in delusion that reality couldn't reach him anymore, they fixed on Najin.
"I must go to her. She is waiting for me! She, the most beautiful and noble creature in all the world!"
The hallmark of a Transcendent, the exclusive domain of those who had transcended.
Imagery brought through Sprouting, Blossoming, and Full Bloom all the way to Transcendence itself.
Don Quixote's stage spread open across La Mancha.
The landscape around him began to warp and twist, strange and broken scenes unfurling in every direction.
'Here it comes.'
Najin steadied his breathing. As La Mancha transformed into something hellish, another nightmare layering over it, he held his center.
So as not to be swept away in the crashing tide.
So as not to lose himself.
Don Quixote, becoming the Star of Scorn.
The domain he had spread looked like a child's scribbled drawing. Windmills smeared with clashing colors were scattered everywhere. Tens of thousands of sheep bleated in strange, discordant cries. And above it all, something stranger than any of it echoed down from the sky. Laughter.
Mockery. Laughter that existed purely to ridicule.
Eyes looked down from the sky. Eyes smeared with paint. The Carnival King's eyes.
Kekeke, kyehehehe, ahahaha!
A world daubed in paint. Like a child had smeared color in every direction without care. The Imagery the Carnival King had warped and ruined, Don Quixote had claimed as his stage. On that stage, Don Quixote was nothing more than a clown.
"Ahahaha, ahahahahaha!"
Laughing until his lungs might burst, until his throat went raw, he raised his lance. Across it, blue, red, yellow, auras of every color were slapped on like paint with a wet smack.
Bang.
The moment he kicked off the ground. Even with Rocinante's support, reflexes and everything else running hotter than normal, Najin couldn't track Don Quixote's movement.
All he could do was twist his body.
Crack.
The reflexive twist saved him. Don Quixote's lance tip, aimed at his heart, punched through Najin's side instead. Don Quixote blew past and skidded across the field. He wasn't on horseback, yet a loud whinny rang out across the field.
Ridiculous. Overdone.
But Najin couldn't laugh. A hole had been punched through his side, and the blood pouring from it was smeared with paint.
"Run, run, run!"
Don Quixote wheeled around and charged again. This time the thigh. He pivoted and drove the lance home in an instant, punching through the forearm. The holes in Najin's body kept adding up. Paint poured from the gaping wounds and soaked into his clothes.
......To a Constellation, a domain is a stage built for itself alone.
Why do Transcendents treat those who haven't transcended as ordinary people? This was why. The stages Transcendents built, made exclusively for them, were where they operated in an entirely different class.
A domain where one's Imagery was made real.
A domain dyed completely in one's own colors.
A Transcendent's strength came from absolute belief in themselves. This stage was a world built for them alone.
And Don Quixote was a master of it.
He had reached Transcendence without refined technique, without ultimate forms, without the subtle art of cleaving through the sky. What he had was unshakeable self-belief, and painting everything around him in "his colors alone" was his specialty.
「The world lacks laughter!」
「Let us embark on adventures worth laughing about!」
Shouting those words, he had painted the world around him in laughter. Ridiculous, yes, but the kind of stage that made you laugh in spite of yourself.
Warped and broken as it was. Diminished as it was.
His domain was still formidable. Enough that no one below Transcendence could resist it.
"Gugh..."
Skewered on the lance like meat on a spit, Najin was shoved forward as Don Quixote drove it into one of the windmills standing like backdrop scenery across the stage.
Crash!
The windmill crumbled, and Najin tumbled with it to the ground. Five stars earned, and Excalibur's regenerative power had grown with them, but even that couldn't keep pace with the wounds piling up now.
Lightning burst across his vision. The agony was so bad his sight flickered in and out.
"Cough, ugh..."
Swallowing blood, Najin pushed himself back to his feet.
-......
Unlike usual, Merlin was silent. She watched him with worried eyes and said nothing. Saying without words: this is a trial you must overcome on your own.
For that silence, Najin was grateful.
It let him focus inward.
"Hff..."
He let go of the hand pressing against his pierced side. Ignoring the blood running free, Najin closed his eyes. Even as Don Quixote came charging at him, defenseless, sword hanging loose, he focused solely on what was within.
"Ahaha, ahahahahaha!"
Don Quixote's laughter grew thin.
When it was barely audible anymore.
Najin opened his eyes.
Crack!
The sword he swung struck Don Quixote's lance for the first time since the stage had opened, knocking it off course. Don Quixote's eyes went wide as he was shoved back.
"Milord."
At the tip of Najin's sword, a star shone.
Indomitable.
His body was in a state where collapse would have been reasonable, but Najin's fourth star, the most unforgiving of teachers, wouldn't let him fall.
"Didn't milord say it himself."
Challenge and Breakthrough shone in turn. The space lit by the stars was ground Don Quixote's domain couldn't touch. A patch no bigger than what one person could stand on, but for Najin right now, that was enough.
"A knight."
Najin thought back.
The journey he had shared with Don Quixote, playing the role of Sancho.
The words Don Quixote had cried out along the way.
「A knight is, Sancho!」
That was something Don Quixote had muttered over and over, like a habit. The knightly code he'd read about endlessly in tales of chivalry, an ideal most knights could never live up to, he'd proclaimed it proudly wherever he went.
"Dreams the impossible dream."
An ideal so lofty that even the author who penned it, let alone most knights, could never hope to reach it.
"Conquers the unconquerable foe."
Don Quixote had believed in it. More than believed, he had lived it. He pressed forward no matter who laughed at him.
"Bears unbearable sorrow, and dies for a noble cause."
He had turned the impossible dream into reality.
"Has faith, and reaches for the star."
Toward the knight who had reached that star at the end of his journey, and yet had forgotten every last bit of it, Najin raised his sword.
"That is the knight milord spoke of. Is that not the knight milord dreamed of being?"
"Sancho."
"Have you forgotten?"
"Sancho, let us have an adventure! A merry adventure awaits us. Come, come, there's no time to dawdle here!"
Najin breathed out.
"If you have forgotten."
The fistful of space carved out by his stars. Within it, starlight sprouted. Too many stories were folded into these stars to stop at mere Sprouting.
After Sprouting, Najin had broken through countless obstacles.
Never bowing before trials.
Never ceasing to challenge.
Nourished on those stories, the starlight bloomed.
"Then I will make you remember."
Najin's stars Blossomed.
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