WETRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

Editor: Reeters

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◈ I Pulled Out Excalibur

Chapter 208

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Romanticist (3)

A vast, boundless ocean extended before them. Merlin had pointed at it and called it a “lake,” but that felt flat-out wrong to Najin. No one would call a rolling sea that swallowed the horizon a lake.

– Who says no one? In my day, everyone called it a lake.

‘Just how big is it, then?’

– Beats me. About the size of the Empire, maybe.

Najin gave up trying to understand. After all, where were they? The Outland, where common sense rarely applied. He already knew it was healthier to accept what he saw than to try to explain it away.

That meant they really did have to cross it. To find that blasted witch, Merlin insisted they needed to get over the water. Her certainty told Najin it was the right answer, yet that didn’t make taking the first step any easier.

How in the world were they supposed to cross?

If it were a normal sea, he could at least attempt to swim, but it was an Outland sea—several millennia removed from normal. Whirlpools spun, lightning struck upwards from the water, and deep-sea leviathans swam on the surface… It was a truly demonic realm.

“Star-eating beasts,” Anton Quixano muttered. The Transcendent sounded just as stumped as Najin and wore the same helpless look while staring at the waves. “Every one of those things out there chews on stars. You’ve seen the sky whales drifting above the clouds—the ones celestial meteors ride around on—yes?”

“I’ve seen them a few times.”

“Those out there are their ancestors, more or less.” Anton pointed at the creatures gliding on the waves, each shaped so grotesquely that merely describing them upset the stomach. ‘Can you still call a thing with hundreds of tentacles a whale?’

‘Well, whatever.’ With a sigh, Najin loosened his shoulders. “Whether she’s on the other shore or in the middle of that sea, this way feels right.”

“You have a solid reason?”

“The guide inside me says so.”

“Coming from a man many call insane, I still have to ask… Are you sure you aren’t actually mad?”

“Voices whisper in my head sometimes, but that’s not madness.”

“Oh, dear. Now I’m more worried.” Words aside, Anton didn’t show it. He followed Najin’s lead with stretching, then began ripping up nearby trees and grasses.

“What are you doing, sir?”

“What else? If we’re going to cross that water, then we need a boat first. Don’t tell me you planned to swim?”

“Do you know how to build a boat?”

“Kid, I’ve wandered the Outland for four hundred years. I’ve crossed a few famous great lakes. Now help out.”

Under Anton’s direction, Najin split logs. One Transcendent and a human nearly as strong—since the two of them meant business, the boat took shape in no time.

“Let’s launch her. Got an oar, Mr. Guide?” Najin raised the plank he had carved into an almost-oar.

Anton clicked his tongue and shook his head. “How could that flimsy board hold mana? What’s that thing on your back for?”

“This is a spear, not an oar.”

“Tools are what you make of them. Nice and broad. Perfect for rowing.”

Najin unstrapped the Cross-Star Spear, looking sour. He had never imagined using the weapon like that.

They slid the hull into the water and climbed aboard. Just before the first pull of the oars, Najin glanced at Anton. The older man looked utterly unbothered, and that struck him as odd. “I’m the one pointing the way, so maybe I shouldn’t ask, but aren’t you worried?”

“Worried? About what?”

“I’m sure the direction is right, but we have no concrete proof. What if I’m wrong?”

“Then you’re wrong.” Anton shrugged. “I’ve hunted her for four centuries, kid. I scoured every corner of the Outland and never found her. I’ve gambled my life on slivers of hope smaller than this—why not trust you? If you’re right, great; if not, that’s life.” He truly meant it, and his expression never changed.

Wearing a cheerful grin, he clapped Najin on the back. “And it’ll make for another story to tell her, won’t it? Hey, Guide—no, we’re on deck now, so I should call you Navigator.” Passing Najin, Anton planted a foot on the prow, bent low, and pointed across the distant sea with theatrical flair. “Set sail, Navigator! Row! The ocean awaits us!”

He was so boisterous that it bordered on ridiculous. Watching the would-be captain bellow like a stage actor, Najin couldn’t help but laugh. “That is the wrong direction, sir.”

The incoming waves smacked the bow while Najin rowed with force. Each time the mana-wrapped oar cut the water, the boat surged forward.

‘Crunbelle would have a heart attack if he saw this,’ Najin mused, glancing at the Cross-Star Spear serving as an oar. The weapon’s former owner would probably clutch his neck at the sight, but really, it was all in how you looked at it.

Wasn’t the spear made to open a path? Since it was pushing them onwards, the usage was not completely off. Anton, beside him, rowed with his own spear-like weapon.

A tiny sailboat on an endless ocean; two oarsmen. Those two also happened to be navigators, guides, captains, and first mates all at once. It was an absurd voyage, yet the boat powered ahead, slicing through the lethal Outland sea.

Sailing a small craft could be lonely and dull, but Najin felt neither since the captain on board simply would not stop talking.

“She had a magnificent chest.” Apparently, Anton believed that every stroke of an oar had to be followed by words slicing the air. He chattered blissfully. “I repeat: magnificent.” Was it so important that it deserved repeating? In a voice full of conviction, Anton went on, “I love every single thing about Lapis, but if I love one part a hair more, it’s her looks. Honestly, I think no one in the world is prettier.”

“You fell for her looks?”

“Not looks alone. Combining that blazing personality with that face? There’s an attraction that words can’t cover. Imagine it: a lady who looks like a dainty noble miss, yet the moment she opens her mouth, she spits curses that’d make mercenaries faint. She was the best,” Anton murmured. “Her hair was a pale lavender. Long, slender fingers… though calloused at every joint from gripping her staff so hard. She hid those calluses behind gloves, embarrassed, yet whenever she held my hand, she always took the gloves off.”

‘I’ll show you everything of me, only to you.’

That was what it meant. Anton’s expression glowed, free of tragedy or weariness despite his four centuries of searching.

“I am curious about one thing,” Najin said while rowing. “You parted from this witch Lapis more than four centuries ago, yes? And you’ve searched ever since.”

“Yep.”

“Yet you don’t look sad or tired in the least. Quite the opposite, really.”

“Ah, I see what you’re getting at. You want to know why I’m not wearing a dying-man mask like in some celebrated tragedy?” When Najin nodded, Anton burst out laughing. “Tragic, ruined men can be alluring, but Lapis told me, ‘You’re sinfully attractive when you smile.’ My lady’s words are law.”

“So that’s why you keep smiling.”

“It’s not an act. I’m simply enjoying every step. Whether it takes a hundred years, four hundred, or a thousand, I will meet her again. Who says the journey must be a tragedy?” Abandoning his oar for a moment, Anton spread his arms and spoke like an actor delivering a soliloquy. “Comedy or tragedy… such flimsy labels. Even the bleakest moment can flip depending on how you face it. If I laugh at it, it’s comedy, and I prefer comedy.”

“So laugh. Don’t cry, laugh loud! Sing a four-hundred-year comedy instead of a four-hundred-year tragedy.” With that, he gripped the oar again. “I despise my uncle, but the one thing of his I agree with is this: laugh. What reason is there not to? Life is a comedy!”

Najin twitched. “Life is a comedy.” He mulled over the words, and his face tightened. “I dislike that line.”

“Why? Do you hate comedies?”

“Because of the devil who utters it.” Najin’s voice cut cold. “Have you heard of the Carnival King? She says the same thing. Life is a comedy; everything is nothing but a farce, and she mocks existence.” His jaw clenched, and his hands bit harder into the oar. “I loathe it. I cannot bear the lives of people who fought with all their might being reduced to clownish antics.”

“Well, strictly speaking, she’s not wrong, but did you know? That is exactly what the Carnival King wants.”

“Excuse me?”

“Comedy wasn’t the Carnival King’s idea. That damned devil corrupted the concept.” Anton continued, “Comedy is not ridicule. Rather, it’s the spoonful of sugar in bitter coffee—the drop of laughter in a hard life that lets you keep going. How could anyone live every moment solemn and grave? Sometimes, you have to laugh lightly and blow the gloom away like opening a window in a stuffy room. That’s the goal of comedy.”

Anton took a breath before continuing, “So I laugh. I try to live cheerfully. That way, when I finally see Lapis again, I can give her my best smile, bright enough to make four centuries of waiting feel like nothing.” He laughed, and even Najin had to admit it was an impressive smile. “Enough heavy talk. Where was I? Ah, yes… Lapis’s magnificent chest. Now, about the ideal size and shape of… hey, you listening, boy?”

As Anton launched into a philosophy of bosoms, Najin let the words enter one ear and leave the other. Either way, boredom would not plague the voyage. The distant waves likely had their own plans.

Najin whipped the oar—once more a spear—clear of the water. “Save that discussion for later.” Raising the Cross-Star Spear into its proper role, he pointed the tip at the approaching beasts: creatures drawn by starlight and eager to swallow it.

“First, we deal with them.”

Watching the star-eating beasts surge in on the waves, Anton scowled. “Tch. Right when I was making an important point, the beasts have to ruin the mood.” He lifted the weapon he had been using as an oar—a staff more than a spear.

Flicking seawater from it, Anton set his stance. One foot on the prow, he aimed the staff’s tip at the nearest beast, sighting along it as though lining up a spear thrust. He extended his arm.

That was all.

He had only thrust the staff forwards, yet the effect was more like a hammer blow. The center of the monster’s body caved in with a wet crack.

“See? Still a Transcendent. A whole swarm of those things is no problem.” Brushing the staff, he joked lightly. “It’d be a rough fight for you, though. I can’t dump combat duty on my guide-navigator-oarsman.”

He was still muttering when Najin, only half listening, thrust his spear. The wave split. Smaller beasts racing along the swell were shredded by the storm, and those large enough to resist were punched clean through the middle.

Anton blinked. He looked from the gaping path of sea to Najin and back, then spoke in disbelief. “Didn’t you say you were a Sword Seeker?”

“Yes. I’m a Sword Seeker.”

“Don’t lie. What Sword Seeker pierces a wave in one strike?”

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