WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Ilafy

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ I Pulled Out Excalibur

Chapter 157

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The Essence of 300 Years (7)

A deal with a demon … The idiom, solidified into a common expression, carried the following meaning: “An act that avoids immediate danger to invite greater destruction.”

It became an idiom for a simple reason: deals with demons truly were like that. Every single person to make a pact with a demon met ruin; humanity’s long history proved it, and even before written records, humans bargained with demons and perished.

Still, humans continued to make deals with them.

Even if outlawed, even if countless stars warn against it, even if demon-pact makers were brutally executed, and even if their horrific ends were widely publicized … someone, somewhere, would inevitably strike a deal.

The cycle never ended.

The reason is equally simple: Humans lived in the present, not the future. Escaping imminent danger outweighed the fear of future ruin. For the sake of the present, they would discard tomorrow without hesitation.

Najin gazed at Helmet Knight.

His expression remained unreadable. Even if it were otherwise, Najin wouldn’t have bothered. He lightly asked, “If you made a deal with the Demon King, the price couldn’t have been trivial.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Have you paid it already?”

“Half of it. The remaining half is being paid now.”

“Have you gained anything?”

“Not yet.”

A cryptic exchange ensued. Najin didn’t press further.

“Disappointed?”

“No.”

“Making a deal with a demon … doesn’t that disqualify you as a knight? Knight King Arthur once said knights should slay demons, never compromise with them, but he also emphasized that the final sentence holds greater weight than all others,” Najin recited. “Are you a knight?”

“No. Sadly, I am not.”

“Do you, at least, strive to be one?”

“I am trying.”

“Then that’s enough.” Najin smiled. It was a smile that could cleanse one’s soul.

At a glance, it seemed carefree, but Helmet Knight knew better. The boy wasn’t thoughtless. Quite the opposite—he had pondered, agonized, and arrived at an answer.

That answer …

“Then that’s enough. The rest doesn’t matter.” The details—how he bargained with the demon, knelt before it, begged for his life—were irrelevant. Why? “Because you strive to be a knight.”

‘The person I’ve observed is exactly that.’

For some reason, Helmet Knight felt his armor grow lighter. The helm that always weighed heavily on his head felt airy; even his laughter spilled out effortlessly.

“Well, I’ll be …” Helmet Knight scratched his helm. “I thought you were lucky to meet me first in this damned land … Turns out I was wrong. Completely wrong.”

He let out a hollow chuckle. “It was the opposite.” Muttering to himself, he exhaled deeply, as if finding resolve. “Can’t let a stroke of luck after 150 years slip away. Fine, it’s late, but I’ve made up my mind.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve decided to take you as my disciple. Didn’t you declare me your master in front of Bernstein? A knight must never lie. Let’s make that declaration true.” Helmet Knight gestured.

Understanding, Najin knelt on one knee and bowed.

Helmet Knight drew the sword at his waist—still bound by chains, but that hardly.

The blade lightly tapped Najin’s shoulder. “From today, you are my disciple. My squire and apprentice.”

“Regrettably, you’re my fourth master and second lord. Is that acceptable?” Najin asked.

“Tch. That happened on the continent, no? This is the Outland. Don’t they describe it as the underworld or the far shore? It’s a wholly different world. We start fresh here.”

Najin laughed incredulously. “That’s a fair point.”

“Good. Then, as your master …” He flexed his hand repeatedly, as if confirming something. Finally, he spoke. “Thirty days. Grant me thirty days. I’ll teach you everything from my three centuries within that time.”

Thirty days. Helmet Knight promised Najin thirty days to impart three centuries of knowledge.

Even geniuses who condense a lifetime into moments only do so against ordinary foes; Helmet Knight was far from ordinary—he stood closer to Najin’s realm.

The Empire’s Hero. First Sword of the Empire, a Sword Master who became Transcendent …

He was the originator of Imperial Swordsmanship.

Fragmented as the details were, they left no doubt about his prowess. The title “First Sword” wasn’t bestowed lightly.

Among those called geniuses, only a rare few became a Transcendent. The experience of such a genius, accumulated over 300 years … Even Najin couldn’t absorb it easily.

“Kugh!”

“Wrong. Harder! Don’t waver. Preparing to retreat for the next strike is usually wise, but not here. Aim to end it in one blow.”

After accepting Najin as his disciple, Helmet Knight’s teaching shifted. He sparred directly, harshly correcting Najin’s posture, sometimes striking him with the flat of his blade.

“Atanga’s swordsmanship, huh? Your first strike is superb, but the follow-up is pitiful. Shattering the enemy’s technique means nothing if your next move lacks force. Stop relying on Sword Aura. Watch where your blade swings.”

Helmet Knight fixed flaws, filled gaps, and pointed toward better paths—using the very sword he carried. No longer a rusted scrap, but the chained blade at his hip.

“You’ve learned many styles. Good. Versatility means adaptability. Knowing and applying are different. I’ll teach you to wield them.”

The chained sword remained sheathed, yet Helmet Knight began swinging it.

“Yes. That’s the foundation of my swordsmanship. Not bad, eh?”

“Doesn’t this require the wielder to be monstrously strong? It feels … off,” Najin noted.

“Tch! It’s not for the monstrous—it makes you monstrous. I split a six-star demon in half with this! I stormed the Heavenly Whale’s palace and stole their wine!”

“Why steal?”

“They brew it well.”

“ …”

Days passed—one, two, a week …

Najin’s blade sharpened; Helmet Knight’s critiques dwindled.

He alternated between marveling at Najin’s swings and bursting into laughter. “Madman. This isn’t supposed to be learned so easily. If you strip away my 300 years, what’s left of me?”

Still, he showed no displeasure. If anything, he reveled in it. The faster Najin learned, the more he taught.

“Why do Transcendent and mortal swordsmanship differ? The same swing yields different results. Sword Aura bridges that gap.” Helmet Knight swung his blade.

“How you manifest Sword Aura transforms a single technique into hundreds. My style … compresses it to the limit. Like what you did to Bernstein.”

The chains binding his sword began to rattle. Though still sheathed, the blade quivered as if eager to unsheathe.

“Watch closely; then mimic.”

“I won’t understand, even if I do!”

“Then watch harder.”

“This is driving me crazy, seriously.”

“Since when was learning a Sword Master’s art easy?”

Another week passed.

By the 14th day, changes began in Helmet Knight.

14th day …

“ …” Mid-lesson, Helmet Knight stared blankly into space. He didn’t react to Najin’s calls; only after a pause did he resume, muttering, “Where was I?”

At first, Najin ignored it, but as these lapses grew frequent—multiple times daily—he couldn’t.

Helmet Knight noticed his own oddity but stayed silent. Najin didn’t pry.

20 days passed …

Najin spent more time applying lessons than learning and wielded Helmet Knight’s techniques against a powerful corpse—a former four-star bearer. After a grueling fight, he prevailed.

Before the fallen corpse, he turned to Helmet Knight, questioning his form and adjustments.

Mid-answer, Helmet Knight froze and walked past Najin—no, through him. He knelt before the crumbling corpse, reaching out.

Najin called out but received no reply, as if Helmet Knight were entranced.

“Ah …” He shuddered belatedly. Clutching his right hand with his left, he gulped air and turned to Najin, checking if he’d seen.

Though Helmet’s Knight face remained hidden, and Najin sensed his fear—of his own unconscious act, or his disciple’s scorn?

Likely both.

Najin hid his surprise, maintaining his usual gaze. “Was my swordplay so flawless that you have nothing to critique?” he quipped slyly.

“ …Hmph.” Helmet Knight forced a laugh and stood.

“Good. Splendid. When do you plan to learn my secret technique? It’s the last one.”

“I told you—I don’t get it, even when I see it.”

The incidents repeated.

Before corpses Najin felled or star-imbued beasts, Helmet Knight would halt. Each time, he gripped his surcoat, regaining composure.

Silences lengthened; he often stared vacantly before snapping back.

26th day …

With four days left, Najin had mastered most of Helmet Knight’s swordsmanship except one technique—the “Essence of 300 Years.”

It eluded him.

“Najin …”

27th day …

Helmet Knight suddenly pointed at Najin’s lance.

“That peculiar lane.”

“The Cross Star Lance?”

“Yes. Its former owner—what was his name?”

“ …Pardon?” That time, Najin couldn’t mask his confusion. He’d deflected past oddities with jokes, but not now … “Silent Knight Crunbelle.”

“Ah, right. That’s it. The Golden Horn Knights. This helm—Horned Helm, and I …” He trailed off, staring blankly. “What … was I?”