WeTried Translations

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ I Pulled Out Excalibur

Chapter 367

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Hero, Commoner, Nation (1)

The cross had been driven into the top of the tower like a gravestone.

The moment Galahad seized it, the entire tower shuddered. The cross, which had been lodged so firmly it seemed to have taken root, began to pull free.

The Cross Shield.

Not a blade for cutting down enemies. A shield for blocking their attacks and protecting what must be protected. The Cross Shield was Galahad's only weapon, and at the same time an implement that stood as his very symbol.

"A shield that can never be broken."

It does not retreat. It does not break. Simple, but that simplicity is the source of Galahad's strength. Turning those words from the Chronicles of Arthur over in his mind, Najin settled into his stance.

"Najin."

"Galahad."

Name for name, each spoke the other's aloud. Their gazes clashed in midair. Through the gap in his shattered iron mask, Najin met Galahad's eyes.

Rumble, rumble, rumble...

With a deep tremor, the shield tore completely free. Galahad gripped the Cross Shield he had drawn and raised one foot.

Boom.

He brought it down. The moment his foot struck the floor, the vibrations shaking the whole tower went still. As though something enormous had pressed down and silenced it, the reverberations died and quiet took their place.

In that silence, Najin raised his sword.

In that stillness, Galahad set his shield.

Nothing left to say. The instant Najin exhaled, he charged at Galahad. Driving his sword toward the former strongest knight of the Round Table, his eyes had grown colder and calmer than at any other moment.

"Galahad. The most perfect knight."

I know your story well. I know what you accomplished, the great deeds you achieved. There is no way I could be ignorant of how righteous, how ideal a knight you are.

Which is exactly why I have to ask you.

Why did you, a knight called the most perfect of all, make this choice? Why did you take part in something so far removed from any ideal, anything resembling perfection? That is what I need to know.

"Because."

The Free Knight's coat billowed.

"I am a Free Knight."

A Free Knight is one who poses questions to knights. To seek the answer to what a knight truly is, that is the virtue a Free Knight must carry.

"If you bear the title of the most perfect knight."

He swung Excalibur. The platinum-bright blade put a question to Galahad. The sword that symbolized the greatest of knights came down against the shield of the most perfect of knights.

"Then answer."

Scenes flashed through Najin's mind. Every one of them was connected to Merlin.

The way she would go quiet and sad whenever the Round Table came up. The anxiety and low spirits she had struggled through for a long while after using the Abyss spell not long ago. Her silhouette, night after night, crying without a sound so no one would hear, they came through one after another.

"Why."

And last of all.

"Why didn't anyone say a word to me. We were companions. We were supposed to be companions. Not a single explanation, not a single discussion, nothing, you decided everything on your own and that was the end of it?"

The Black Spire.

"What was I to any of you?"

The face of the fairy Merlin, who had despaired in that place and chosen her own death, the image of her reaching a hand toward the sky with a hollow, helpless laugh, it swept past Najin's eyes.

He tightened his grip on Excalibur.

"If you won't answer."

I will hold you accountable on her behalf.

That is what I owe my companion.

Claaang!

The moment Excalibur and the Cross Shield collided, a sharp ring burst out first, and the heavy resonance of the vibrating shield followed right behind it.

A low, spreading boom.

It sounded almost like a bell.

From the top of the tower, the toll of a bell began to ring out.

2.

The place where the memories of ordinary people had gathered.

Yuel wandered through it and spoke to herself, to the other version of herself inside, the one watching the same scenery and hearing the same things.

"It looks familiar."

-...

"Are you listening?"

-I am listening.

Yuel looked at the city. Something about it felt strangely recognizable. It was supposed to be the place where the memories of ordinary people had gathered, yet it had a leader of its own. Someone had divided the land into sections and made rules for this territory.

And the way those sections were divided.

The rules that kept this city running.

Were far too familiar to Yuel. Not the Yuel who was an executioner of the order, but the Yuel who had been the warden of the Sealed City.

-It's the Sealed City.

The warden Yuel said it quietly. She let out a short sigh, as though she had half expected this. She had thought as much, after all.

-Let us keep moving.

She made her way through the territory, pushing past several obstacles, meeting the conditions of the domain, and pressing on without pause toward its depths.

And at the domain's very center.

The place that formed the core of this space was where Yuel finally stopped. There was a plaza. Behind it stood a lord's manor built to resemble a courthouse.

"..."

-...

Yuel said nothing. If there was one thing different from her own memories, it was that no blood ran across the plaza, and the faces of the citizens moving around it were bright. They were laughing and chatting, trading idle words.

A city where everyone smiled in happiness.

And in that city, there was exactly one person who could not smile. A woman sat on a bench in the plaza, staring at the city with an expressionless face. She had long white hair that fell to her back, red eyes, and wore a formal uniform of the kind a lord might wear.

The woman's eyes met Yuel's.

What each reflected in the other's gaze looked the same. The atmosphere around them was different, but outwardly there was no gap between them.

"A pleasure to meet you."

"..."

Yuel Razian, the executioner of the order, raised a hand. The warden who had been staring at her reached into the front of her uniform. She drew out a cigarette and put it between her lips.

Then, click.

She took out a second one and held it out to Yuel Razian.

"Will you smoke?"

"Yes, I won't refuse."

Yuel Razian settled onto the bench beside her. Sitting side by side, she put the cigarette the warden offered to her lips. The warden lit it with a flick and drew a long breath in.

Then, slowly...

Two trails of smoke rose.

"Your name."

"Yuel Razian."

"What does Razian mean? Is it a family name?"

"No, it is the baptismal name given to the executioner of the order. Though I suppose it is not so different from a family name. Publicly, it guarantees a rank equivalent to a duke's."

"What is the executioner of the order?"

"Primarily, I carry out executions of criminals connected to demons. It is also a position that holds independent enforcement authority, able to punish those who break the law even when no demon is involved."

The warden still showed no expression. With hollow, emotionless eyes, she watched the smoke curling upward.

"Meaning you do work that involves killing people."

"That is essentially what it amounts to."

"No wonder I could smell blood all over you."

The warden's face pulled into a slight frown.

"It seems nothing has changed at all. Well, what do you expect? Human nature doesn't just go away. There's no way someone who killed a hundred and seventy thousand people could live an ordinary life."

Yuel Razian looked at the woman sitting beside her.

She, too, was Yuel.

The Yuel from the history where Najin had never intervened. The Yuel who in the original history had made a contract with the Star of Oblivion and erased herself, sitting right there.

-...

Inside, the other Yuel who had been watching slowly stood.

-I think it would be better for me to take this conversation.

"It looks that way in this domain, too."

-No, just a moment. What must be proven in this domain is not mine to prove, but yours.

They reached an agreement and switched. The bracelet on her wrist gave a soft jingle, and the other Yuel's consciousness rose to the surface.

"Hff."

A short breath. Even the way she drew on the cigarette changed. Long, filling her lungs deep, she pulled in the smoke and breathed it out.

"Not bad. Maybe it's because this space is made of memories, but it's a shame there's no burn in the throat... still, not bad at all."

Her way of speaking changed. Her manner changed. The warden narrowed her eyes at the sight of her turning into someone else without warning.

"Ease up on that face. Stop looking like you just bit into something rotten."

"What are you?"

"Are your eyes broken? Can't you tell just by looking?"

The warden of the Sealed City pointed with the cigarette between her fingers at the warden of the Sediment City sitting beside her.

"It's you."

"..."

"Well, one way or another..."

A deep, resonant bell sound spread through the entire sanctuary, and the warden of the Sealed City smiled.

"It seems we have quite a bit to talk about."

3.

The place where the memories of nations had gathered.

From the moment Kirchhoff set foot in it, something stirred inside him. It could not have been otherwise. The first thing he came face to face with was Londinel's proudest feature, its high, towering walls.

Not crumbled, not cracked.

Londinel's walls, standing whole and intact.

"..."

Kirchhoff walked in silence. As he approached the wall, a gate guard was keeping watch. The moment the guard's eyes found Kirchhoff, they went wide, and the guard snapped to a sharp salute.

"It is an honor to see you, Sir Kirchhoff!"

What brings you here, are you out on patrol? The guard's eyes sparkled as the words tumbled out, a gaze full of admiration and longing. At the sight of someone recognizing him, Kirchhoff caught his breath.

He had no idea what to say.

In the end, he only smiled without speaking and gave the guard a couple of light pats on the shoulder. As if that alone were an immeasurable honor, the guard's eyes went wide and the head dipped in a bow.

"Opening the gate!"

The guard opened the gate. It swung open with a heavy rumble, and through it, beyond the parting doors...

Londinel.

Londinel, destroyed three hundred years ago, was right there. Not the ruined scene of its fall, but Londinel as it had been before the Constellations came crashing in. The streets were crowded with people going about their lives, children ran laughing through them, and street vendors called out their wares from stalls along the way.

Kirchhoff held his breath.

For a long while, he stood rooted to the spot.

"..."

Only after some time passed did he finally move his feet, each step harder to take than the last.

He stopped at a street vendor. The owner recognized him at once, lit up, and said "Why, if it isn't Londinel's very own hero!" pressing a snack into his hands with a cheerful grin. When Kirchhoff reached for his coins, the owner shook his head, how could he possibly take money from a hero?, and Kirchhoff had no reply.

...Kirchhoff walked.

Children spotted him and their eyes lit up. He crouched and ruffled their hair, and they bloomed into wide, bright smiles, then ran off excitedly to brag to their parents and friends.

...He walked.

Knights deep in training stopped when he appeared. The men stared, swallowed hard, and even their instructor went wide-eyed and threw up a salute.

Among the knights was someone who had served under Kirchhoff.

Looking at the knight he had once corrected in his form, Kirchhoff's expression grew heavy. The memory of that man's end, melting into paint as he transformed into a clown, passed through his mind. He told the knight, "Thank you."

The knight blinked, looking as though he did not know what he was being thanked for, and saluted.

...He walked, and kept walking.

Kirchhoff drifted through his homeland without direction. He saw Londinel preserved at its most beautiful moment. In this place, every one of them was alive and breathing.

They were not fakes.

Not shades merely recreating history.

They had memories. They breathed. In the Domain of Forgetting, Londinel existed in its complete form. Kirchhoff felt something complicated move through him.

...Walking, and walking, and walking still, Kirchhoff at last stopped.

She was there, in the place where his feet had carried him. She always used to slip outside alone around this hour for a walk. Sure enough, she was there even now.

Even when the knights pleaded with her that it was dangerous, that she should bring an escort, the one who would shriek back "If you lot come along, it defeats the whole point!" A spirited girl who made a fuss like that.

A girl who had been lonely and isolated, forced onto the throne far too young.

Yuria, the last queen of Londinel.

She was humming softly to herself as she strolled through the garden. Kirchhoff could not bring himself to approach her and stood frozen at the garden's entrance.

"Honestly."

But as she always had.

"You are far too stiff around me, Sir Knight. What are you staring at like that? Three hundred years apart, and you look as though you cannot even be glad to see me."

She sensed his presence the way she always did, with uncanny certainty. She turned her head from where she had been wandering through the garden. That same face he had always known, that same smile she had always worn.

"Has it been too long since last we met? Sir Kirchhoff."

No, she corrected herself.

"It's been a while. Kirchhoff."

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