Chapter 137

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The Lost One (4)

Helmet Knight described honor and pride as a strong drink: intoxicating when consumed but agony-inducing when it wears off.

“…” Najin fell silent, gazing at Helmet Knight.

The knight’s eyes were hidden beneath his helmet.

He had always been adept at reading others’ thoughts and emotions through their eyes, and found himself unable to discern anything from the man.

He had no choice but to approach it differently.

“Are you saying honor and pride are useless?”

“No, I never said that. Didn’t I say they’re like a strong drink? Alcohol is an essential part of life.”

“Excuse me?”

“Can you imagine a life without booze? Nothing’s drier than a life without a bit of drinking. You need to take a sip now and then and get a little drunk to make life bearable.”

Helmet Knight spoke with feigned ease. “But you can’t stay drunk forever. Eventually, you have to sober up, and when you do, you’ve got to pay for what you drank.”

The question was: with what? Those who lived on the continent said they would pay with their lives, but the Outland would pose the question again: is that all?

“The deeper you indulge, the worse the hangover. I don’t know how you lived back on the continent, but here’s some advice: sober up a bit. Otherwise, life will only get harder.”

Helmet Knight gestured with his scarred hand toward the Forgotten Ones wandering the Outland. The lifeless figures continued their eternal struggle, unable to let go of their weapons, even in death.

“They were knights once, too. They just couldn’t remain knights forever.”

A death devoid of honor or pride… That, Helmet Knight claimed, was the final fate awaiting those who lived intoxicated by honor and pride.

After following Helmet Knight for quite a while, Najin arrived at a peculiar place—the area was littered with large rocks, their forms unnaturally jagged.

They weren’t stones that had naturally risen from the earth or been weathered down over time. Instead, they looked as though they had been hurled there from somewhere else.

Among the massive stones, Helmet Knight came to a stop. He picked up a random rock from the ground, set it down, and sat on it.

“Have a seat.” He glanced around before gathering some stick-like objects from the ground and piled them together to start a fire. n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

The “firewood” turned out to be severed human arms, a detail that might have been unsettling, but the fire burned perfectly well.

Crackling… pop… crack…

As the flames flickered, Helmet Knight finally spoke. “You said you’re from the Empire.”

“Yes.”

“How much do you know about its history?”

“Enough.”

“That’s good. Do you know about the Dawn War?”

Najin nodded. He was familiar with it. Researching Yuel Razian had brought him to that particular war. After all, that was where she had first been sighted.

“That was the war sparked by a rebellion from within the Empire’s Pillars, correct? I know about it.”

“How long has it been since that war?”

“One hundred and fifty years.”

“One hundred and fifty years, huh?” Helmet Knight murmured to himself. “That’s a long time. After the war, what became of the Empire?”

“The Empire emerged victorious. Sir Gerd, who led the Royal Guard at the time, executed the rebellion’s leaders and secured victory.”

“Gerd? That guy?” Helmet Knight’s tone carried a hint of surprise. “Well, that’s unexpected. He wasn’t exactly known for being a good fighter. Then…? What happened to Gerd after that?”

“In recognition of his achievements, Sir Gerd was made one of the Empire’s Pillars. Initially, he held the lowest rank, but now, he’s called the First Blade of the Empire.”

Helmet Knight fell silent for a moment. The silence didn’t last long. Soon, a rattling laugh echoed from his helmet. “Did I hear that right? Gerd, that guy, became the First Blade of the Empire? The first of the Pillars? He must have become a Sword Master and earned stars, too, I’d bet.”

“He did.”

“How many stars does he have?”

“Seven.”

“Ha! Seven, you say? Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Do you know Sir Gerd?”

“I know him well. He wouldn’t remember me, though.” Helmet Knight chuckled softly.

He continued asking Najin about the outside world. Most of his questions were centered around the Empire: ‘Is the Empire at peace?’, ‘Who’s the current Emperor?’, etc.

“It’s been enjoyable hearing about the outside world again. I’ve asked a lot of questions, so it’s only fair you get to ask me something. Just don’t ask about me.”

“What are the Crows?”

“Ah, that?”

Both Graf and Helmet Knight had referred to Najin’s pursuers as “Crows.” Najin was curious about the term. Even Merlin had muttered, “I think I know what it means, but the term’s different from my time…”

“They’re hunters,” Helmet Knight explained. “Hunters who target newcomers to this land. They’re also scavengers who live off the scraps left by others.”

“Hunting?”

“Yeah. There’s no easier way.” Helmet Knight stared into the fire as he spoke. “This wretched land wears people down endlessly. Once they’re worn out enough, they become Forgotten Ones. If you don’t want that miserable fate, you’ve got to fight back, but there aren’t many ways to do that.”

He raised two fingers. “You can achieve great feats, earn stars, and constantly prove yourself…” He folded one finger down and smirked, “or you can hunt others for their stars. Sure, you could aim for those constellations in the night sky. Hunting them would grant you both achievements and stars, but do you think that’s easy? Facing transcendents is a damn hard job.”

“Then…”

“Yes.” Helmet Knight extended a finger, pointing at Najin. “They hunt people like you.”

“…”

“If they consume the starlight in your heart, they can delay their own wear and tear. It helps stave off becoming a Forgotten One. Those who hunt newcomers or weaklings for their stars are called Crows here.”

‘So that’s why they’re called Crows. They’re scavengers that live off the corpses of others.’

“Pathetic creatures.” Helmet Knight’s voice was low. “They’re weak, so they stick together, moving in groups. That’s the dumbest thing they could do. Even swallowing one rookie’s star wouldn’t be enough, and yet they divide the spoils among themselves. They even squabble over how to divide the starlight before the hunt.”

He sneered. “Who actually sticks to those agreements? They’ve already lost their pride and honor. They sold their souls just to survive another day. Do you think they’d keep their promises?”

When a hunt ended, Crows turned on each other. There was barely any starlight to share, and splitting it further left nothing.

Helmet Knight chuckled. “You can’t trust any of them. They’re all ready to stab each other in the back and run. That’s why they’re not called ‘Hunters’ but ‘Crows’. It’s a derogatory name.”

“Then what about the real hunters?”

“The real ones? True hunters don’t need anything fancy. They hunt alone.”

Helmet Knight laughed. “They trick their prey by pretending to help them. They come up with excuses, disguise their intentions as goodwill, and lull their prey into a false sense of security. They wait for the moment when it’s just them and their prey, without any pesky Crows in the way.”

His laughs echoed. “And then, well, you can guess the rest.”

Helmet Knight raised his head. His helmet gleamed faintly in the firelight as he fixed his gaze on Najin. Though his eyes were hidden, Najin could feel the weight of his stare.

The voice that emerged from him was cold; Najin imagined the hidden eyes must have been just as cold. “Whether it’s kindness, goodwill, or whatever else, it’s all bait to lure the prey into lowering their guard. Once the prey is off guard, the hunter sinks their teeth in. That’s the real way hunters work.”

“I see.”

“I’m debating right now whether I should take your heart or offer you a little more goodwill.”

“That seems obvious.”

Helmet Knight spoke flatly, and Najin replied in the same tone. The knight’s gaze lowered slightly, as if taking interest in Najin’s calm response. “Did you not understand me? I’m deciding whether or not to kill you.”

“I understood.”

“Then why are you so calm?”

“I’m just impressed by your courteous declaration of intent.”

“What?”

Najin shrugged. “You’re basically saying, ‘I’m going to kill you, so what do you think?’ right in front of me. What kind of hunter announces their plans so openly?”

“Maybe it’s confidence that I can kill you regardless of how much you prepare.”

“That’s possible…” Najin slowly stood up, “but isn’t there another way to describe this?”

“Another way?”

“You inform your opponent of your intent to attack, you give them time to react—whether to flee or prepare for a fight, and you wait for them to act. Doesn’t this sound familiar?” Najin remarked as he slipped his fingers between his glove and wrist.

He slowly removed the glove, holding it in his hand. “All that’s left is to throw down the glove and exchange names.”

He dropped his glove onto the ground. It was a well-crafted leather glove, a gift from Knight Argo of Atanga. As the glove struck the ground, a crisp snap echoed through the air.

“I’m Najin, squire of Ivan, a Knight of Atanga.” Najin placed a hand on his sword hilt. “I accept your challenge.”

He grinned at Helmet Knight.

The smile was contagious.

Recognizing what Najin’s actions meant, Helmet Knight began to laugh.

‘You call this a hunt? I call it a duel. Whether to accept it is up to you.’

By throwing down his glove and stating his name, Najin had broken the dynamic of hunter and prey. The relationship was no longer one of superiority and inferiority but one of equality.

Helmet Knight rattled his helmet in laughter. “You’re out of your mind, aren’t you? You’re really treating this as a duel?”

“Helmet Knight…” Najin addressed him—not as a hunter, but as a knight, “you said honor and pride are like strong drinks?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Have a drink with me. I’ll at least keep you company.”

A pause. Then, laughter. “That’s not a bad offer.” The knight slowly rose to his feet. “Apologies, but I can’t tell you my name. I’ve lost it.”

“Is that so?”

“But not introducing oneself before a duel is rude.” He raised his lance. Even if his name was lost, he had another way to introduce himself. “Do you know of the Golden Horn Knights? They’re sometimes called the Horned Helms.”

“I don’t.”

“Then remember the name. The Golden Horn Knights.” He aimed the lance at Najin. “I was the first captain of the Golden Horn Knights and the master of the Horned Helms. This helmet is my proof of existence. Its story, and the story it holds, is my name.”

Helmet Knight tapped his helmet with the shaft of his lance. The clang echoed alongside his laughter.

“Najin,” He called Najin by his name—not boy, brat, or any other title. That was the respect owed to a dueling opponent. “I’ll let you make the first move.”

Najin stood, facing Helmet Knight.

The knight had said he would grant him the first move, but Najin didn’t charge in immediately. The crackling of the fire stretched long and slow.

Time itself seemed to drag.

Crackle… pop… crack…

The short burst of spitting embers felt as though it stretched into seconds—perhaps longer. In that extended moment, he studied his opponent.

He saw a powerful foe. Undeniably so.

Among all those who had pursued Najin in the Outland, none compared to that knight. Not even close. In fact, very few people he had met on the continent could match him, either.

Sword Masters—those at the level of transcendence… Only individuals of that caliber could stand on equal footing with the man. The pressure radiating from Helmet Knight was comparable to the awe-inspiring presence of a Sword Master, but was the knight truly a transcendent?

No. He was not.

Najin narrowed his eyes. There was something unusual about the man’s aura. Where had he felt this before? It didn’t take long to recall.

The Witch of Flickering Death, Ermina.

He had encountered her upon first stepping into the Outland—a being who had lost all her stars and whose circle had been shattered, no longer a transcendent.

The sensation from Helmet Knight was similar—not quite transcendent, but far too formidable to be anything else.

A transcendent once but no longer.

He steadied his breathing. His rational mind screamed at him. It was an unwinnable fight. Escaping immediately would be the smart choice. This man had declared his intent to hunt him, to take his life. Wasn’t that enough reason to flee?

‘Run now. This man is dangerous. The odds are slim. He’s hiding something.’ The conclusion was logical, grounded in reason, but his instincts led him elsewhere.

‘Fight. Duel with honor. Show him your best.’

That was what the man wanted—Najin’s instincts were telling him so.

There was no logic behind it. It wasn’t rational; it was impulsive, but he had always trusted his instincts over reason. If he had followed reason alone, his journey would never have begun. It was his instinct that had driven him to draw Excalibur.

As always, he decided to trust his instincts.

It wasn’t blind faith. He would pay the price for his trust.

‘With what?’ Merlin’s voice seemed to ask.

‘With what I hold in my hands.’

The aura of his blade glowed with killing intent.