WeTried Translations

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ I Pulled Out Excalibur

Chapter 218

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Witch of Distrust, Lapis (2)

Anton climbed the stairs.

He took a step forward, then upward. With each step, the half-a-heart inside Anton's chest pounded heavily. Was it because the other half he had lost more than four hundred years ago was drawing near, or was it the excitement of knowing he would soon see her?

His heart beat for the former reason.

But Anton's thoughts went to the latter.

Climbing the spiral staircase, Anton drew ragged breaths. By nature a Transcendent, Anton was the kind of man who could fly up a staircase like this in the blink of an eye, but right now his situation was anything but favorable. The long trials within the tower had drained both his mind and body completely.

"Thank you, Guide."

"Didn't you used to call me Oarsman, Captain?"

"You're Oarsman and Guide both."

Anton chuckled softly. He felt a surge of gratitude toward Najin, who was propping him up. It was no lie, introducing him as the finest guide.

"At last."

Ascending the final stair, Anton arrived.

"At last, I've made it here."

Before his eyes stood a firmly shut iron door.

The entrance to the topmost floor of the Black Spire.

Standing before that iron door, Anton Quixano steadied his breath. He fussed needlessly with his clothes and let out a small, deliberate cough.

"What are you doing?"

"Hey. This is a reunion after four hundred years, no less. A man always wants to show only his best side to a lady. Walking in looking this ragged feels a bit off, doesn't it?"

Having muttered that, Anton let out a short, "Ah."

"No, wait, maybe looking this ragged might actually earn me some points. Wouldn't it be proof that I went through so much trouble to come find you?"

"Do as you like."

Najin shrugged as if there were no reasoning with the man, and Anton chuckled to himself as well. In truth, he was only making excuses because he was nervous about the moment of reunion.

Thud. Thud. Thud...

Pressing a hand over his hammering heart, Anton let out a long, slow breath. What would she look like, waiting for him? What expression would she wear when she saw him? She might be disappointed. She might grumble about why it took so long, or she might even cry, or lose her temper altogether.

As Anton pictured Lapis in his mind, he finally burst out laughing.

Whatever she looked like, she would be lovely.

He simply wanted to see her face, even just a moment sooner. The anticipation far outweighed the fear that she might be disappointed. Anton took one more step forward.

And then, knock.

He rapped lightly on the iron door and opened it, recalling the very first time he had gone to find Lapis, long ago. Thinking of the little cottage they had shared, Anton pushed the iron door open.

"I hope she won't throw me out this time."

The iron door swung open with a heavy groan.

And inside that open door.

Anton's heart, which had been pounding wildly at the thought of reuniting with Lapis, now had reason to beat for a rather different purpose.

Grrrr.

The moment the door opened, the cries of beasts echoed through the room. Beyond the iron door, monsters were packed in thick. Not ordinary magical beasts, but creatures that resembled the twisted things of Camlann, warped yet again by Camlann's influence. Dozens of beasts snapped their heads toward Anton, who had opened the door.

"Oh, dear."

Anton groaned.

"Not easy until the very end. Really."

The twisted things of Camlann, crawling everywhere.

Anton sighed and drew his staff from within his coat, letting it hang loosely at his side. But the hand gripping the staff was trembling badly. Not from fear, but because he had not enough strength left even to hold it properly.

Mentally and physically.

Anton was being pushed to his very limit.

He had spent far too much in the process of breaking through the trials, whether in willpower or in stamina. Any other time he might have managed, but right now these were difficult opponents. Even so, just as Anton drew a ragged breath and readied himself for battle,

Tap.

Najin stepped forward, ahead of Anton. A spear in one hand, a sword in the other.

2.

The twisted things of Camlann.

Monsters born when the magical beasts of the Outland were twisted once more by the influence of Camlann. Though this was the Outland and not Camlann itself, befitting a tower built by the Witch of Camlann, twisted beasts inhabited this place.

"They're not easy opponents. They're tricky to handle."

Najin listened to Merlin's voice and gripped his spear.

"On the flip side, that means knowing how to handle them makes it manageable."

Spear in one hand, sword in the other.

"What are you going to do?"

"What else."

One step forward.

Najin answered with action instead of words.

"...Guide?"

His back turned to Anton, who blinked up at him, Najin let out a long, even breath. He steadied his breathing and drew his mana up all at once.

"It is a reunion after four hundred years, isn't it."

The beasts spotted them.

"Those monsters are a bit below the standard required to go and ruin a four-hundred-year reunion. Getting drenched in monster blood would leave quite the stench, and that's no good, is it."

Najin smiled quietly.

"Go on ahead."

Raising his weapons at the beasts charging toward him and Anton, Najin spoke.

"I'll row the oars for you."

You walk the path you need to walk.

"Your destination isn't here, is it."

Where Najin's leveled spear-tip pointed.

Beyond the mass of beasts, a cage sat waiting. A cage with a single person locked inside. That cage was the very destination Anton had been searching for over four hundred years.

"...Ha."

Anton broke into a laugh.

"Right. I'll leave it to you, Oarsman."

The moment he gave a nod, Najin kicked off the ground. Closing the distance in turn against the beast charging at him, Najin narrowed his eyes.

...Up until now.

From the underground city, across the continent, all the way into the Outland.

Through every step of that journey, Najin had always been the protagonist. The leading player of every story, with every tale revolving around him. But in this moment, he felt that it was not so, and that it did not need to be.

A knight who had spent four hundred years searching for a witch.

A witch who had spent four hundred years waiting for a knight.

In the story of those two, Najin was nothing more than a supporting player. And at that fact, Najin felt no particular regret. He thought of all those who had willingly taken on the supporting role for his sake throughout the years, and smiled to himself.

Supporting player.

Those who assist the lead, make the lead shine, and clear the path ahead of them. For the lead who steps onto the stage and charges forward, Najin chose willingly to be a supporting player.

Crash!

Najin stamped his foot.

His rapidly scanning eyes traced the weak points of each beast. Where to slash, where to thrust, how to move, he assessed it all. By the time the rubble kicked up by his stamp had shifted a hand's width, Najin had already finished his judgment.

All that remained was to move.

Najin in half-mask lunges through rubble wielding a spear during monster combat.

Najin slipped through the beasts like a shadow. How exactly he swung the spear and wielded the sword as he passed between them, the beasts could neither follow with their eyes nor understand.

And when Najin, having slipped through the beasts, brought his foot down with a solid thud,

Najin strikes downward amid bursting star-ring explosions of light, dynamic action pose.

Slash!

The bodies of the beasts split open. They were cleaved apart and dismembered. Bursts of starlight erupted from them in delayed succession, setting the beasts ablaze. And that motion did not stop there. Najin moved without pause.

The Free Knight's coat billowed.

The Lance of the Crossed Star flashed, and with each flash of his longsword, beasts fell in swathes. Ceaselessly cutting down monsters that ceaselessly regenerated, Najin carved a path forward.

Spin.

Having whipped the spear and sword in sweeping arcs to shape the flow, Najin tossed the sword upward. Gripping the spear tightly with both hands, he imitated Transcendence. What he was imitating was the spear technique of the forgotten kingdom's knight, who had been known as the Azure Spear.

Azure Hydrangea.

The spear stretched out before him like an open hand, and Najin drew it back toward himself. The current caught at the tip of the spear swept along with it back toward him. The beasts scattered in every direction were all dragged in at once.

He could not scatter beautiful flower petals as the Azure Spear once had, but with the blood of beasts, Najin made a flower bloom.

And so a path was made.

A straight, clear path leading to the cage.

Along that path, Anton Quixano began to run.

3.

Anton Quixano ran.

As he had for four hundred years, as he always had, he ran with his eyes fixed on one destination alone. If there was a difference from those past four hundred years, it was that the destination was now visible right before his very eyes.

The cage holding the witch.

A cage created to punish a witch who had broken the taboo of falling in love with a human. Inside it was the woman he had spent all this time searching for. Anton drove force into his barely-responding legs and ran.

"Ugh!"

Staggering and nearly tripping over his own feet, Anton planted his staff against the ground and barely kept his balance. Feeling the familiar weight of the staff in his hand, Anton found himself smiling without meaning to.

Right, this too is because of you. Lapis.

「What's the matter, Lapis?」

「Hm? Ah... it's nothing. It's not something you need to worry about.」

「What do you mean nothing. You flinch every time you see it. Do you not like swords?」

「It really is nothing. I just, I'm not very fond of sharp things.」

At first you wouldn't tell me the story, but when I kept pestering you, you finally let out a sigh and told me, reluctantly. That as a child, being cut by skewers and bladed things had left memories that made you dislike anything sharp.

「Anton. What's that?」

「What do you think? My new weapon.」

「A weapon? That's a staff.」

「It is a staff.」

「Didn't you used to use a sword?」

「Well, it's all about how you use it, isn't it? Once you're a Sword Master, there's no need to be picky about your weapon.」

「What is that even. That's hilarious, honestly.」

I put down the sword and picked up the staff. A blunt, rounded staff with not a sharp edge to be found. Whenever I would make a ridiculous bow with the staff in hand, you would burst out laughing for no reason I could see.

Could a knight's dignity possibly be more important than a single laugh from you?

Those were the words my uncle had once muttered, and only then did I truly understand them. Yes, if it would make you laugh, I could change any part of myself.

My manner of speech. The expressions I wore. My clothes. My tastes. Down to the smallest gestures and how I carried myself. No matter where you looked, I could feel your traces, Lapis. I changed solely for you. To a foolish man who had set his whole life ablaze chasing down every last witch, you gave life.

「You know, Anton.」

Lapis.

「Make sure you find me.」

You were everything to me.

「I'll be waiting.」

Anton raised both his arms. He swung the staff gripped in both hands toward the cage standing as the last barrier between him and her, with every last bit of strength he had.

Crash!

With a great roar, the cage buckled. The iron bars shattered and flew apart. Breathing hard, Anton stepped through the opening that had been made.

She was there.

The witch, bound with iron shackles around her wrists and ankles.

The Witch of Distrust, Lapis.

She was perched on the railing, gazing out through the only window in the spire, a window so small that only a sliver of sunlight crept through, her eyes trained on the outside world. The eyes staring outward were hollow.

Empty eyes. Eyes that had lost the will to live.

And yet.

"Lapis."

When Anton called her name, a faint light seeped back into her eyes. Lapis turned her head. Instead of the window, she looked forward. And in the moment she saw Anton standing there...

"Ah."

She let out a short breath. Life returned to Lapis's eyes. The hollow eyes filled with light. She had spent four hundred years in this place waiting for Anton, dreaming of the moment of their reunion, imagining time and again what she might say and what expression she might wear when that moment finally came. But right now, Lapis could not say a single word.

Anton was the same.

An awkward silence settled between them, and it was Anton who spoke first.

"Lapis."

Anton drew a single flower from inside his coat.

「Hey, Anton.」

「What is it, Lapis.」

「Could you bring me a red rose?」

「A rose?」

「Yes. Not just any rose, a red rose. I saw a red rose exactly once, and it was so beautiful.」

「Isn't that a common flower?」

「Common for people like you, maybe! Not for me. The moment you bring a rose into the Outland, it loses its color. It doesn't stay red, it turns white.」

What he had drawn out was a rose.

「So, the next time you come see me.」

A rose he had spent long years of study to bring into bloom within the Outland.

「Bring me a red rose.」

A rose that had not lost its color, that still held its crimson.

「I'll get you one the next time I come. That's a promise.」

A flower he had prepared for her alone.

"Promise kept."

He smiled as he held the flower out to her.

A smile he had practiced in front of a mirror countless times.

Anton Quixano is a direct reference to the protagonist of Miguel de Cervantes' seventeenth-century Spanish novel "Don Quixote." In that work, the protagonist's true name is Alonso Quixano, an idealistic gentleman who reinvents himself as the knight-errant Don Quixote de la Mancha, pursuing an impossible dream with single-minded devotion. The parallel is intentional: Anton's four-hundred-year quest to find Lapis, his refusal to give up despite all odds, and even his deliberate choice to carry a staff instead of a sword as a private gesture for the woman he loves, all echo Don Quixote's romantic, quixotic nature. His dropping of the sword for a blunt staff, a weapon incapable of cutting, is especially touching given Lapis's childhood trauma with sharp objects.

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