WeTried Translations

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ I Pulled Out Excalibur

Chapter 346

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Interlude, Someone's Dream (3)

Lancelot was a murderer.

Kirchhoff had said as much, and Najin had no intention of arguing the point. No matter how many great deeds Lancelot had performed for humanity, he was now one of the Constellations who had destroyed a nation rivaling the Empire.

If a hero who had saved the world had killed one or two people along the way, there might be room for consideration. But when the body count surpassed hundreds of thousands, there was no room left for anything.

'Londinel's population was at least several million.'

That was just the number preserved in documented records. Which meant the death toll from what Lancelot, the Star of Oblivion, and the Carnival King had wrought that day was at minimum over a million.

Several million. Not a number easy to picture.

There was something about the whole incident that nagged at him, one loose thread he couldn't shake. But it wasn't something to bring up in front of Kirchhoff, so Najin stayed quiet.

"I trust you won't entertain any pointless sympathies."

Kirchhoff's voice was flat.

"The 'Sir Najin' I know draws clear lines, but there are times he shows a softer side. You have your own standards, I suppose. I can only hope those standards aren't too far from mine."

"...First, to put your mind somewhat at ease: I have absolutely no intention of showing Lancelot mercy, nor of defending him."

Najin said.

"Whatever kind of knight he once was, what he is now is a murderer who destroyed an entire nation. I have no objection to that fact whatsoever."

"And?"

"He must answer for his crimes. Rather than shielding him because he was once of the Round Table, he should be held to account precisely for having tarnished the Round Table's name."

"Well said."

Kirchhoff gave a firm nod.

"I don't doubt you, but this matter is more important to me than anything else, so I asked a question that may have been rude. I apologize."

"I understand."

"Having said all that, it feels a bit awkward to add this now... but whatever choice you make, I will never become your enemy. Even if you were to shield Lancelot, I would be disappointed, nothing more. I would not raise a sword against you."

"Why not?"

"Why? Surely that's obvious."

He tilted his head.

"You helped my teacher, the Blue Spear, find his rest. You delivered his keepsake to me. And you helped me see my revenge through. Without you, none of this would have unfolded at all."

He smiled, something bitter in it.

"If not for you, I'd still be wasting time chasing the Carnival King and the Star of Scorn. I have my pride. I'm not so shameless as to repay a kindness with hostility."

Kirchhoff dipped his head slightly.

"I've said it more than once, but I am grateful to you."

"......"

"Anything else?"

"I'll have the Special Unit share what intelligence we have on the Star of Oblivion. A schedule should be set soon. The operation will be run with a small team."

"Good. Anything else?"

Najin let out a short breath.

"As I said, I have no intention of showing Lancelot mercy. But there is one thing I need to make clear."

"What is it?"

"I will be the one to face him."

There was something he had to confirm.

Najin said it, and Kirchhoff answered without a moment's hesitation.

"That isn't something you need my permission for. It is your right, the rightful claim of the person who planned this operation and drove it this far."

2.

After parting with Kirchhoff, Najin returned to the continent. He did not head directly for the Empire, though. He turned his steps somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere far removed from the Britain Empire.

He walked toward a border nation lying to the north of Camelot, the Imperial capital. By the usual rules, Najin was supposed to send a letter in advance before visiting any nation or territory, but this time he didn't bother.

He figured as long as he wasn't caught, it didn't matter. And when Najin made a real effort to conceal his presence, no one on the continent could find him.

-Of course, from the perspective of whatever country you're visiting, that's a rather chilling thought, isn't it?

'Why?'

-You're really asking because you don't know?

Merlin's voice was incredulous.

-A Transcendent is basically a one-person army. At your weight class, you're something that outstrips an entire nation. You could destroy a whole country if you put your mind to it.

That wasn't an idle boast. It would never come to that, but right now, if Najin were determined, he could take on the entire Empire. Which also meant only something on the scale of the Empire could match him.

-You could conquer a small border state in an instant.

'That would never happen. But yes, technically.'

-Imagine a being capable of toppling a nation single-handedly showing up at your door without any warning. How would that feel to a ruler?

It would be the kind of news that runs ice through your blood. Not that knowing in advance would help them prepare.

'They won't catch me, so it's fine.'

-Easy for you to say.

Najin slipped off his Free Knight's coat and turned it inside out. The coat had a remarkable number of functions, one of which was a disguise feature that masked the wearer's face and distorted recognition.

The method was simple enough: just wear it inside out. The moment he reversed it, the Free Knight's coat transformed instantly into a worn, nondescript traveler's cloak.

'It really does have a lot of features.'

-Didn't the Platinum Tower Master have a hand in making it? If a grand mage was involved, this level of performance is only natural.

That passing remark he'd once made to Yuel hadn't been an exaggeration. Selling a single one of these coats would genuinely produce enough funds to run a decent territory for several years.

Disguise complete, Najin moved on.

The nation he was headed for was Dulac.

A thousand years ago it had been a league of cities, but over time it had grown into a kingdom. Its borders ran right up against the edge of the Outland, and it was well known for producing tough knights because of it.

It was also the nation Najin had passed through when he first resolved to enter the Outland in earnest.

The "Knight of Kurtan, Graf," the first person he had encountered in the Outland, had been a knight from Dulac. And the Sacred Flame Guardian Knight Schlein, whom he had met afterward, was also from Dulac.

'Dulac. A nation that gets swallowed by the Outland's edge and claws its way back, over and over.'

Why had he come here?

The reason was simple.

The Lancelot Najin had seen in his dreams, his hometown was Dulac. At that time it had still been a league of cities rather than a kingdom, but regardless.

'Lancelot served in a Convict Unit here.'

To fill an empty stomach he had turned to plunder, and in the process Lancelot had killed people. Normally he would have been executed on the spot, but his skill was too far outside the ordinary to simply put down.

He had beaten down several soldiers while fleeing, after all.

The city mayor, recognizing that skill, chose to lock Lancelot in a Convict Unit rather than execute him.

It was a time when manpower was scarce.

Scarce enough that anyone who could swing a sword had to be put to use as a soldier.

Najin walked toward the place where Lancelot had once served in that Convict Unit. As he walked, he sifted through his memories, the dreams he had been having these past few days.

"Why don't you rest a while, Lancelot?"

That is.

"I cannot rest."

The image of Lancelot as seen through Arthur's eyes.

"I am a sinner."

Najin walked in step with the Lancelot who had kept swinging his sword in silence even when everyone else was resting. He kept one eye closed on the memories from the dream, and the other open on the world in front of him.

3.

Lancelot was an upright knight.

At least, that was what his outward bearing suggested. His full-face helm pressed down tight, Lancelot stood at the head of the line and charged straight at the enemy.

He was always at the vanguard.

He did not fear wounds or blood. He threw himself at enemies as though he had nothing left to lose. He never spared himself, and he fought with raw, fearless force.

Reading descriptions like that in old heroic tales, Najin had thought Lancelot sounded impressive. Actually watching it, though, his thinking shifted.

Crash, crack! Rrrrrrch!

He led with his shoulder into enemies. If he lost his sword, he tore the opponent's weapon away and kept fighting. Even with a broken arm and armor ripped from his body, he did not stop. It wasn't so much brave as it was desperate, and he looked less like a man who didn't fear death and more like a man who was hoping for it.

Lancelot always bled the most.

And still he was always at the front.

"This is atonement."

That was what he called it. His own version of it.

"The most stained must bleed the most. Only then can forgiveness be earned."

Watching Lancelot, Najin felt something complicated stir in his chest. Lancelot's past, killing people so he wouldn't starve, looked too much like his own.

Najin had mostly stolen rather than killed, and he had only killed those who were trying to kill him first, but...

'I did kill people. That much is true.'

Counting lives taken in childhood, Najin had Lancelot beat by a wide margin. On orders, in self-defense, for breaking rules, for betrayal, he had stained his hands for more reasons than he could name.

The difference between Najin and Lancelot.

In the city where Najin had lived, it was simply how things were. In the city where Lancelot had lived, it was a crime. That was all. Najin watched in silence as Lancelot punished himself for something he regretted.

"Wait."

Najin's lips moved.

More accurately, Arthur's lips.

"Stop."

"......"

Lancelot halted and stared. His eyes were asking for an explanation.

"This one is a witch. She must be killed."

Lancelot's blade was leveled at the throat of a witch kneeling on the ground. Without lowering his sword, he continued.

"A witch is a criminal."

"To my eyes, she doesn't seem to be resisting at all. As though she intended to die at your hands from the start."

"......"

"And it seems you are thinking something similar."

Even before Arthur had stopped him, Lancelot had been hesitating. He looked as though he couldn't make himself choose. Arthur had simply made the decision in his place.

"Then."

Arthur stroked his chin, let out a quiet hm, and opened his mouth.

"Leave it to you."

"To me?"

"She looks to me as though she wants to atone for something. That's a face of regret. An expression you rarely see on witches, and on top of that..."

Arthur gestured.

On the back of the witch's neck was a brand.

"A witch cast out by other witches."

"......"

"I'll reserve judgment. If she does something suspicious, we can deal with her then. Is that acceptable, Merlin?"

Merlin's expression was displeased, but she said nothing. She seemed willing to respect Arthur's choice since it was his to make.

"You want me to-to take charge of this one?"

"Yes."

"I am not a suitable person to judge others. If you could reconsider..."

"No. There is no one better suited for judging someone than you."

Arthur said it plainly.

"You will handle it."

"...Understood."

Lancelot kept his sword raised and asked.

"Your name."

"......"

The witch did not answer. A long moment passed before a voice came from her lips, her eyes hollow.

"I don't know. I forgot it."

"Forgot it?"

"I don't know my own name. I don't know why I was here. I don't remember anything."

Lancelot looked at Merlin.

Merlin nodded.

She isn't lying. At that answer from Merlin, Lancelot's expression grew more complicated still.

"Is there no other name people call you by?"

"The people of this city called me this. It probably isn't my real name, but..."

"What did they call you?"

"White Phantom. Gwenhwyfar."

Gwenhwyfar, in the language of this place, White Phantom.

Written in the central language of the continent.

"Guinevere."

Guinevere and Lancelot looked at each other.

In those hollow eyes of hers, Lancelot felt a sense of deja vu. In this witch he was meeting for the first time, he saw the eyes he had always seen looking back at him from a mirror. Then the woman who resembled him asked a question.

"What's your name?"

"Lancelot."

He lowered his sword. The witch took his outstretched hand and rose. Watching from a distance through Arthur's eyes, Najin thought to himself.

So this is what it wanted to show me, in the end.

She had erased every record connected to herself, so nothing remained anywhere. But perhaps she had not been able to bring herself to erase Arthur's memories.

"...Witches are born already carrying a mystique. That is also your name, in a sense. What is your mystique? You can't have forgotten even that."

Merlin posed the question.

The witch answered.

"Oblivion."

And so Najin came to know it.

The true form of the Star of Oblivion.

And her name.

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