WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Ilafy

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ I Pulled Out Excalibur

Chapter 161

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The Knight Who Removed His Helmet (1)

“I am a knight.” The moment those words left his lips, Helmet Knight felt as though the chains binding his body loosened.

Whether it was merely a feeling or if something weighing him down had truly disappeared, he couldn’t tell.

“Ah,” he laughed.

It wasn’t just his body that felt lighter. The anguish filling his mind vanished the moment he uttered, “I am a knight.”

His narrowed vision expanded, and he began to feel uncomfortable with the helmet on his head.

He reached for the helmet.

The moment his hand touched the seam, he felt the fog in his mind dissipate.

As the haze cleared, forgotten memories began to return. Helmet Knight quietly closed his eyes at the change.

Why were the memories returning then? The curse placed upon him by the Carnival King couldn’t be so simple.

Was it because his life was nearing its end? Like a flame burning fiercely before it died, was it his final struggle?

Was it because he had found an answer and freed himself from the curse? Or perhaps it was because he had returned to the land where he had once achieved glorious victories. Maybe the sword marks left on the ground stimulated his memories.

Perhaps it was because he could trust himself, having found an answer? If not, was it because someone had remembered him? If so, that someone would undoubtedly be Bernstein. Should he have been grateful to him or to the boy before him?

Countless questions arose. Numerous hypotheses floated in his mind, but Helmet Knight chose none of them.

There was no need.

He simply felt gratitude. Gratitude to Bernstein, to Najin, and to everything that had brought him there.

He remembered himself.

Reflecting on his life, he undid his helmet.

He traced back his life.

The fog lifted from his memories, and he began to recall himself. He still couldn’t remember his name. Everything had its order. The first thing that came to mind was the phrase, “Hero of the Empire, Pillar of the Empire.”

The hero who saved the nation from chaos, the first pillar supporting the Empire…

Originally, the pillars of the Empire were referred to with the hanja for “pillar” (柱), but in recognition of his achievements as the leader of the Golden Horn Knights, the Empire broke its 800-year tradition. From then on, the pillars of the Empire were also referred to with the hanja for “horn” (角).

The First Horn of the Empire, the first pillar supporting the Empire and the first horn piercing its enemies. If the Empire were a ship, he was its prow, the sharp horn that shattered obstacles with its ramming charge.

The accomplishments he achieved as the First Horn of the Empire were truly endless. He hunted Fallen Stars, slew demons crossing the borders of the Outland, quelled the Empire’s civil wars, and saved the Empire from crisis time and time again.

“Hero…”

“It’s as if King Arthur returned.”

“He is the true wielder of Excalibur.”

“Hero! Truly, a great hero!”

“The first pillar of the Empire.”

Every citizen of the Empire knew his name. Not just the Empire, but everyone on the continent knew him. Whenever he carved a new star in the sky, the entire continent cheered. The world has always been enamored with the existence of heroes.

He lived hearing praises that he had returned like King Arthur, that he had achieved feats rivaling King Arthur’s. He strived to live up to those praises.

When he nearly pulled Excalibur from the stone, drawing the sword halfway from the rock, even the ancient heroes of the night sky must have been astonished. He could never forget those glorious days. Truly, they were happy times.

He always won. He always shone.

He believed he could continue to do so forever. Having grown up reading the chronicles of King Arthur, he believed he could write the “next story” that King Arthur had not. Like countless heroes, he dreamed.

“The Empire’s enemies are plentiful even in the Outland. There are many who threaten humanity. Therefore, as a hero… as a knight, I shall cut them down.”

That was the role given to him.

“I will win with honor, pride, and glory.”

That was the price for the praise he had received.

“You are a hero. You must be a hero. Between the Empire’s hero and my lover, you chose to be a hero. Then you must pay the price.”

“I love you. I love you, ■■■.”

“Please, do not regret this choice. I hope you die as a hero at the very end. If that is your dream, I hope you achieve it.”

“Now my life will be added to that dream. Since it is you who tramples my dream, I consider myself fortunate.”

Having sacrificed so much to be a hero, he had to pay an exorbitant price.

‘I…’

Defeated by the Carnival King, losing his comrades, forgotten and forgetting, he lost everything. Still, he wanted to be a hero. He wanted to be a knight. He had to be. He had sworn before so many—before the lover he had killed.

‘I must be a knight.’

That vow pained his life.

The self in his mind shone brightly, but the self in reality was pitiful and shabby—his armor rusted, the horn on his helmet broke, and his soul and body decayed.

‘I… I…’

He endured. He endured and endured, believing himself to be a knight.

Yes, he was a knight who knew honor and pride. He had to act as a knight.

‘What am I?’ As a mere human, he questioned himself. What value did it have? Could he accept the end?

What end awaited him?

To be forgotten by all, to have even the fact of his existence forgotten, to ultimately become a mere beast. Could he accept that end? Is being a knight worth more than such an end?

He couldn’t answer that question.

Indeed, it was too horrifying.

The glorious days, the achievements he had built, all were forgotten. The moment he died, even the remaining records would disappear. The curse placed upon him was such—it was the denial of his entire life.

If all the achievements and stories he had built disappeared, would he still be a knight? Could he be remembered as a knight?

Unable to answer the question he had posed to himself, he wandered the Outland.

‘Ah…’

All the stars had crumbled. His soul and body, unable to gain new stars, rapidly deteriorated. The Empire’s emblem engraved on his armor wore away. He transformed into something grotesque and became a being other than human. Like the beasts wandering the Outland…

He became a Fallen One, a Forgotten Star, a Fallen Star.

‘Ah.’ When he removed his helmet and looked at his reflection in the water, a hideous monster stared back at him.

The visage could never be called human, let alone a knight. It wasn’t just his appearance that was changing—he felt his inner self twisting grotesquely as well.

Someone kept whispering in his ear, “Kill the young stars. Kill the new stars that have just set foot on this land and take their stars. Hunt the weak stars. Then you can postpone the terrible end awaiting you. Perhaps you can even regain your glory.”

‘Yes, there’s a just cause, isn’t there?’

The honor of his comrades rested on his shoulders. If he died, they would become clowns. That could not be allowed. To abandon his honor and pride for their sake… wasn’t that praiseworthy?

‘Isn’t that what the Holy Flame Guardian Schlain is doing? I, too, can do that…’ Persuading himself was easy. Self-justification was all too easy. Acting on it was also easy. He was still a strong being.

‘Moreover, it’s a win-win situation.’

Then what reason was there not to do it? Simple… It was not something a knight would do. It was an act without honor or pride.

The younger version of himself would have firmly stated that such actions were unacceptable, but the old and weary version of himself couldn’t be so resolute.

‘Honor, pride… what do I gain by upholding them?’

By abandoning them, there was much to gain.

‘Then, there’s no need to cling to useless things like honor and pride, is there?’

‘If I kill a young star and take their star…’

‘Can’t I live longer?’

‘Can’t I prolong my life?’

When his thoughts reached that point, he widened his eyes. What was he thinking? He felt disgusted with himself at the thought that had momentarily crossed his mind.

Not just his outer appearance, but even his inner self was becoming a monster. ‘You’re truly about to abandon honor and pride, to become not a knight but a monster.’

Clank.

From that moment on, he kept his helmet on and firmly fastened the seam. He never removed it again. If he didn’t cling to “outward appearances” like the helmet, armor, and demeanor of a knight, he felt he could no longer call himself a knight.

Thus, he became the “Helmet Knight.”

Hiding his grotesquely transformed inner self, he wandered for 10 years, 50 years, 100 years, 150 years…

He simply wandered aimlessly.

At the end of that wandering, when even the armor and helmet could no longer hide the festering within…

“I am Najin, squire of Ivan, a knight of Atanga. I accept your duel request. This is a duel, isn’t it?”

The Helmet Knight faced a boy. The boy was a young star. Young, but he possessed a star that shone brighter than anything else. A star so dazzling it hurt the eyes of those who beheld it.

The boy’s star illuminated Helmet Knight’s.

“They say honor and pride are poison, don’t they?”

The boy’s star illuminated a star that could no longer shine on its own.

“Let’s have a drink. I’ll be your drinking companion.”

He got drunk on honor and pride. While with the boy, Helmet Knight could be a knight. Holding onto the dreams he had forgotten, the things he had lost, he embarked on his final journey with the boy.

He gifted a knightly end to the knight who had groaned under his duty; he performed a funeral for a Fallen Star who had lost himself, allowing him to shine one last time.

Sometimes chased by the fallen, sometimes hunting the fallen, and sometimes sharing trivial stories by the campfire.

Helmet Knight pondered the story the boy had told him—the story of a knight who shone in a place without stars.

He deeply immersed himself in the life of the knight named Ivan, seeing similarities with himself. At the end of the story, the words Najin spoke pierced deep into his heart.

“If you wish to be a knight, then aren’t you already a knight?”

Yes, indeed, those words were true.

Helmet Knight laughed. “I wish to be a knight.”

Laughing, he opened his eyes. “Then I am a knight, aren’t I?”

Najin answered that question. “Of course. You are already a knight.”

Helmet Knight laughed more joyfully than ever.

Clank.

The seam of the helmet came undone and fell away. Without removing the helmet, he looked at Najin.

“This is the third request, Najin…”

The final wish he had saved. A wish for himself, or perhaps for the boy before him.

“Duel me.” He made a wish to the stars. “Grant me an honorable end.”

Najin gladly agreed. With the fiercely burning campfire behind them, they prepared for the duel.

The rules of the duel dictated that the one who issued the challenge must first reveal their name.

Helmet Knight had not forgotten that rule.

‘Now I can reveal my name.’ The fog had lifted. All his memories had returned. Remembering himself, he felt confident.

Extreme close-up of Aldaran Vasaglia's cracked horned helmet face

“I am…” He gripped his helmet and remembered his name. “I am Aldaran Vasaglia.”

Aldaran Vasaglia clutches his cracked helmet before removing it

He recalled all the names by which he was known. As he thought of the words to introduce himself with, he smiled.

“The First Horn of the Empire, Sword Master of Britannia, leader of the Golden Horn Knights…”

He even remembered the name of his sword.

“The founder of the Triumph Sword.” Having remembered everything, he threw off his helmet.

Even without the helmet, he could consider himself a knight. No, by removing it, he became a knight again.

Aldaran's true monstrous face revealed — eight eyes and flame-black hair

When he threw off the helmet, he revealed the face of a monster, a grotesquely distorted face that could not, even in jest, be called human. He had eight eyes, multiple mouths on his face, and his head burned like black flames.

Truly, the helmet had hidden a monster’s face.

Najin did not see him as a monster.

He raised his sword and shouted, “I am Najin.”

If the opponent had revealed their name and affiliation, it was only proper to do the same. He knew the rules of the duel well.

“Squire of Ivan, knight of Atanga, disciple of Aldaran Vasaglia, the First Horn of the Empire…” He planted the lance he had carried on his back into the ground. “And a trainee knight of the Golden Horn Knights.”

Aldaran smiled with satisfaction. To his disciple, his junior, and the morning star, Aldaran shouted, “To an honorable duel.”

‘Please, grant me an honorable death.’

With those final words, death caught up with him. The rationality he had barely held onto grew faint. The flames engulfed his head, numbing his reason.

He did not become a beast like the Silent Knight. To the very end, he wanted to be a knight; a knight could not crawl on all fours and howl like a beast.

Even though half of him had become a Fallen One, Aldaran was still a knight.

He took his stance.

Standing on the boundary between the fallen and the human, between unconsciousness and consciousness, between beast and human…

He gripped the sword at his waist, his symbol, the symbol of the Empire’s hero. It was the sword he had been unable to draw because he could not consider himself a knight.

Aldaran Vasaglia drew the Triumph Sword.

Aldaran's chest armor detail with glowing gear-like constellation marks

Aldaran stands beneath a radiant halo with a fallen foe at his feet

Aldaran raises his victory sword under a starred sky over prone enemy

His swordsmanship had brought him victory in countless battles, making him a symbol of triumph. The sword had led an era, his very symbol.

The moment he drew the sword, stars fell from the sky—the stars Aldaran Vasaglia had possessed.

Eight shattered stars fell, scattering their last brilliant light.

At that moment, Najin’s eyes widened.

The information that had not connected, the puzzle pieces that had been obstructed by something, all fell into place.

Najin realized the one standing before him was not a wandering knight of the Outland, nor was he a Fallen One who had become a beast.

The one standing before him was the Sword Master of the Empire—a hero who had led an era.

Thud.

Najin gripped his sword. “Come.”

There was, perhaps, one final lesson.

To give that lesson, Aldaran Vasaglia raised his sword.

To receive that lesson, Najin gripped his own.

Two stars shone—one rising; one falling.