WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Ilafy

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ I Pulled Out Excalibur

Chapter 139

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The Lost One (7)

A truly beautiful duel leaves no regrets.

Such duels are free from variables, luck, or external interference with only skill and ability determining the victor—sacred contests. Cherished by countless knights, they are beautiful even in their conclusion.

The loser graciously acknowledges their defeat; the winner basks in the sweetness of victory.

There is no room for doubt in the result of such a duel—no space for excuses, no openings for regret.

The clean resolution brought a satisfied laugh from Helmet Knight, echoing long and loud.

It was like rain gracing parched earth or chilled wine quenching the exhaustion of a long march—Helmet Knight felt as though a long-standing thirst had finally been satisfied.

“It’s been a while since I’ve felt this drunk. Truly, it was a good fight. For someone so young, you’re quite skilled.”

“I could say the same for you,” Najin replied. “That technique… What exactly was it? The moment I blocked it, I found myself airborne.”

“Ah, that? It’s a technique of the Golden Horn Knights. It’s simple, honest, and upright. The strongest things often are.”

“I see. ‘Stay true to the basics?’”

“You get it. That’s exactly right.” The murderous atmosphere from earlier had dissipated entirely.

The two men dragged themselves back to the campfire, chatting as they went.

Najin limped, and Helmet Knight’s body creaked audibly with each step, but they were minor inconveniences.

The surrounding rocks were all shattered, the ground scarred with deep gouges, a splint covered Najin’s arm, and Helmet Knight’s armor bore fresh dents. Even those things were trivial matters.

“How old are you? You don’t look a day over thirty, even being generous… To reach such a level at your age is remarkable. Your skills show the refinement of someone who’s been swinging a sword for decades. Have I misjudged you?” Helmet Knight tilted his head with a thoughtful hum. “Really now, how old are you? Your ability is on par with someone well past fifty.”

“Eighteen.”

“Got it. Eighteen. Eigh—what?” Helmet Knight’s head tilted further, his helmet rattling. “You’ve got to be joking. I don’t appreciate lies.”

Najin rummaged through his belongings, eventually pulling out a certificate given to him by the Emperor himself. The document, enchanted for preservation, bore his credentials and age. He handed it over.

Helmet Knight took the certificate, letting out a long sigh.

Though his face was hidden, Najin could feel the knight’s incredulous gaze seeming to say, ‘Are you insane?’ It wasn’t an unfamiliar look.

“You’re out of your damn mind.”

“I hear that a lot.”

“Reaching that level at your age is surprising enough, but to have already set foot in the Outland? That’s astonishing. Isn’t it too soon?” Helmet Knight’s voice turned serious. “People come here when they can no longer live on the continent. They are worn down, spent, and have lived for at least a century. This place isn’t for someone like you.”

“I’ve heard as much.”

“Then why? You’re talented, no doubt, but it’s still too early. You could’ve trained longer on the continent. Even I’m stronger than you, and this land is full of people stronger than me who’d hunt you down without a second thought.”

“I know.” Merlin had warned him. Others had as well. ‘Stay longer on the continent. Gain more experience. Be patient. Don’t rush.’

He hadn’t listened.

“Then why? Why come here so soon?”

“Because this is the fastest way.” It was the shortest path, the right path; the path that King Arthur had walked. “I need to become stronger. Quickly. I can’t afford to waste time.”

“How strong?”

“The level of a Sword Master, at least.”

“Ha. Do you think transcendence is easy?”

“It’s not. That’s why I’m here—because it’s difficult; because it’s a lofty target. Isn’t that reason enough?” Najin looked up at the sky.

The stars glittered far above him, so far out of reach. They were the very stars that would intervene the moment he drew Excalibur.

In the Outland, even the stars of the Round Table would come into play, but it wouldn’t change anything. Their intervention would bring chaos, and he would be swept away in the current.

If the stars of the Round Table were to get involved…

Merlin had told him to save their intervention as a last resort.

He gazed at the distant, shining stars marking the edge of the Outland: Merlin’s star, and the stars of the Round Table.

Thanks to Merlin’s explanation, he understood their role. Knowing that, he had no choice but to leave them as a final option.

In the end, it was simple… Even though he had grown stronger—even though others admired his skill—he remained dependent. There was a goal he could only achieve through independence.

“Why the rush?”

“I have a reason.”

“Can I ask what it is?”

“You’re the winner, aren’t you? A loser must answer the victor’s question.”

Crackle… pop…

The campfire spat embers into the night.

“I have two teachers,” Najin began, staring into the flames. “One taught me how to wield a sword, how to swing it, how to run away, how to pursue, and the basics of being a mercenary.”

The mercenary of the underground city, Offen, had been his first teacher.

“The other taught me how to live. Not just how to survive, but what to strive for.”

“And what was that?” Helmet Knight asked.

“Honor. Pride. Stars.” The knight of the underground city, Ivan, had been his second teacher.

Najin continued, “He taught me what it means to be a knight, what pride is, and that, sometimes, there are things more important than life itself.”

“Sounds like you had good teachers.”

“They were extraordinary.” Najin’s gaze darkened, and flames flickered in his eyes. “I have to avenge them.”

“…”

“The ones who ruined them, who trampled them, who tried to break me—I will take my revenge on them using no one’s strength but my own.”

Only then would it have meaning.

Ivan had told him, “I’ll stake my life on your star. I’ll stake my honor on your life.”

Only when Najin destroyed the Order would Ivan be proven right. No one else could accomplish that—it had to be him.

He carried that weight in his heart. Without vengeance, there could be no release. He had to see it through.

“They must be strong,” Helmet Knight observed.

“They are.”

“Strong enough that you need to be a Sword Master to face them?”

“Yes. They are transcendents.”

“I see.” Helmet Knight exhaled deeply. He instinctively understood it was a realm no one should intrude upon—it was Najin’s reverse scale, the flame in his heart. It wasn’t something anyone else could meddle with.

“Well, everyone has their reasons.” Helmet Knight, too, had his own reasons and goals he had to fulfill in the Outland.

With a long sigh, he seemed to come to a decision and fixed his gaze on Najin. “Earlier, you mentioned the victor’s rights. Do you know the rules of a duel?”

“I do.”

“You understand the winner can make three demands of the loser?”

“That’s the rule proclaimed by the honorable duelist, Baermann.”

“Exactly. You’re well-versed.” Helmet Knight pointed first to himself; then to Najin. “I’m the winner. You’re the loser. No argument there?”

“None.”

“Good. Accepting defeat is a knightly virtue. I shall exercise one of my rights as the victor…” There was a moment’s pause. “I’ll use one of my three demands.”

The victor has the right to make demands of the loser, and the loser has the duty to comply. The more honorable the duel, the stronger these rights and duties become.

That was why Najin accepted Helmet Knight’s request. Besides, it wasn’t an unreasonable one.

The demand was simple: he was to accompany Helmet Knight for a while. In return, Helmet Knight swore not to target his life during their time together.

“Ordinarily, I’d swear on honor and pride, but I no longer hold those as dearly as I once did.” He tapped his helmet. “I’ll swear on this helmet instead. It’s not just my honor, it carries the honor of the Golden Horn Knights. That makes it weighty enough, don’t you think?”

It was otherwise called the Horned Helm.

Najin gazed at it for a moment before asking a question. “You mentioned the Golden Horn Knights.”

“That’s right.”

“Could you tell me more about them?”

“Of course. I could talk about the Golden Horns all day.”

“You’ve shared good wine, so I’ll share a good story.” Helmet Knight muttered before beginning in earnest. “The Golden Horn Knights were an elite order of thirteen. Every member wore a horned helmet, and the most honorable knight bore the most radiant helm—the Horned Helm. This one.”

He ran a hand over his helmet. “We shone brighter than anyone. The stars in the sky couldn’t compare. Carrying the lances of the Crossed Star, we stormed battlefields, sounding our golden horn to crush the Empire’s enemies. We were always honorable, always proud.”

His voice took on a nostalgic, song-like tone as he recounted, “The Empire chanted our name. We always triumphed, and we did so gloriously. Our lances seemed to pierce the horizon itself, skewering not just the Outland but even the cursed foes of Camlann.”

He gazed at his lance. “The technique you saw earlier wasn’t just mine. Every member of the Golden Horn Knights could use it. Some wielded it better than others, but all of us were proficient.”

“Imagine it,” he said, “thirteen knights, perfectly aligned. Clang! The sound of armor fills the air. Thud! We strike the ground in unison, taking our stances. Thirteen gleaming lances aim at one target, thrusting forward without a single error.”

It was a breathtaking sight and a memory he dearly missed. Helmet Knight sighed wistfully. “Blow the horn. Pierce the Empire’s enemies. Grant glorious victory to the Empire, proud Golden Horn Knights! We march forever forward…” He sang of a dream that could no longer be.

Vitality and life infused his voice, but when his tale ended, it grew heavy, weighed down by time and loss. “That’s all in the past now. Such a knightly order once existed, the strongest in the Empire.”

“…”

“I can see you’ve got questions. You’re wondering why a knightly order like that isn’t recorded anywhere, aren’t you?”

“Honestly, yes… I am.” Najin nodded.

As extraordinary as the Golden Horn Knights sounded, he had never heard of them. It wasn’t for lack of interest—he was well-versed in the history of knights and knightly orders; he had read countless texts and memorized their maxims.

Still, he had never come across the Golden Horn Knights.

“Do you know of the fallen kingdom, Londinel?”

Najin nodded. The Outland Sword Master Kirchhoff had once told him about it. Londinel was a kingdom erased from history roughly 300 years prior, destroyed and forgotten.

“A damned constellation intervened, erasing Londinel from history. Only a few scraps of text remain. Even that was possible only because countless knights sacrificed their stars for it.”

Stars were offered; lives were given. Those sacrifices allowed a fragment of Londinel’s record to remain.

“They barely preserved that much. Londinel was a special case and had someone extraordinary like Kirchhoff. Most aren’t so lucky. The Golden Horn Knights weren’t.”

His order suffered a similar fate with the same constellation’s intervention—the power of erasure and obliteration.

Helmet Knight’s smile turned bitter, as if recalling that day. “Believe it or not, it’s your choice, but the Golden Horn Knights existed. At least until 150 years ago.”

He touched his battered armor, his scarred helmet, and the broken horn atop it. “Even if everyone else forgets, I remember. I remember the cheers of victory, the sound of the horn, the laughter of my comrades, the Golden Horns’ creed. I alone carry those memories.”

Lowering his hand, he added, “The Outland is full of such people… Forgotten heroes and erased figures. Among them, many have gone mad.”

“…”

“The Forgotten Ones aren’t just walking corpses. They are those who have lost everything, their places in history stolen. In that sense, I might as well be one of them.”

The campfire began to die as the wood burned out.

“The Forgotten Ones are those who have lost everything.” They were those forgotten by history—those who’d lost their place. “That’s why I’m curious. How will you survive in this land? You, who gave me a fleeting taste of my former glory. How will you face the many Forgotten Ones here? I look forward to seeing your resolve.”

Crackle… pop.

“That’s why I asked you to accompany me.”

Crack.

The final ember flared and died. The campfire went out, leaving only silence.

Najin and Helmet Knight looked at each other—a shining star and a worn one.

“Get up.” Breaking the stillness, Helmet Knight rose to his feet.