WeTried Translations

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ I Pulled Out Excalibur

Chapter 439

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Starving One, Atanga (3)

"Ivan, what exactly is Atanga?"

Najin had once asked Ivan that very question, back when he was young. Just what the hell was this Atanga?

"......"

The moment that name passed Najin's lips, Ivan's eyes narrowed. Like someone had just touched something that was never meant to be touched. Which made sense.

"Why do you ask, brat?"

To Ivan, Atanga was a reverse scale, and at the same time a symbol of a brilliant past. Not that young Najin could have known any of that.

"You say it sometimes, right? When something really important is on the line, or when you're making a promise, you'll say something like, 'I swear on Atanga's name.' That kind of thing."

And the things Ivan swore on that name always, without fail, came to pass. Which naturally raised questions. Najin asked again.

"So what is this Atanga?"

"The most knightly knights there ever were."

"And what do knights even do?"

At that, Ivan's expression softened and he burst out laughing. The thing in front of him was just a child who knew nothing. Ivan wasn't petty enough to get angry at a child for touching his reverse scale.

"Outrageously cool guys."

"For example?"

"They act for honor and live with pride. They live for style and die for style."

"What's honor?"

The most curious age of all. Children don't know much, so they keep asking why, why, why. It could have worn on anyone's patience, but Ivan just hooked the corner of his mouth up like he'd been waiting for exactly that question.

"Something you can't obtain by trying to obtain it."

"What about pride?"

"The harder you try to keep it, the harder it is to keep."

"That sounds complicated. Seems like a real pain in the ass."

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

Ivan roared with laughter at that. He drained his cup, then dragged his sleeve across his mouth with a satisfied grunt.

"You're not wrong. It's a complete mess and a pain in the ass. Nobody gives you anything for keeping it. You just end up losing more."

"Then why bother keeping it?"

"Because it only has value precisely when there's nothing to be gained."

The sort of thing that sounded like grabbing at clouds. A bit too philosophical for a child to understand. Ivan ruffled Najin's hair as the boy tilted his head.

"Thing is."

A dim tavern in the Underground City.

"You figure out pretty quick that living beautifully is really damn hard. The ideal sits sky-high, but reality is right there in your face. You try to live beautifully, and this bastard reality keeps tripping you up. Isn't this better? Isn't this more profitable? Isn't it easier this way? It keeps whispering in your ear."

Ivan spoke with the haze of drink in his voice.

"To live beautifully, you have to ignore all of that and keep running. How hard is that? Even with delicious food laid out right in front of you, you have to clutch your starving gut and run anyway."

"So what do you get out of it?"

"I told you. You don't get anything."

And yet some people live that way. Ivan was one of them. Or at least, he had been, once.

"Even so."

From a place where no stars could be seen, Ivan thought of the stars.

"A life lived that way is outrageously beautiful. When you look back at the line running straight from where you started all the way to where you're standing now, you'll feel something."

"What will you feel?"

"That I didn't live in vain."

Ivan grinned.

There had been a time when he could smile like that too.

"You little bastard, you lived well. That's the kind of smile you get to wear."

2.

"So you followed me all the way here in the end."

"So it seems."

"You really are consistent. What in the world do you want so badly that you'd follow me into a hell like this? I'm one thing, but you're just as mad as I am."

"I can't argue with that."

The Land of the Abyss, Camlann.

Watching Arthur walk toward her final destination, Atanga smiled a bitter smile. Arthur was walking toward the rolling darkness that spread ahead of her.

"Are you going?"

"I have to. I came all this way for this."

Walking, then Arthur stopped for a moment and turned back. The man who had followed her into a hell like this was standing there. Arthur asked him a question.

"Atanga."

"Yes, I'm listening."

"I asked you this before, didn't I? Why are you walking such a hard road? I know it's not my place to say, but it's a road no one in their right mind would choose."

"You did."

"Do you remember what you answered?"

Atanga nodded.

"I said I wanted to live beautifully."

"That's right."

"I said that just as I followed in your footsteps, people would come who followed in mine, and that over time the world would become a more livable place."

"You did."

Arthur laughed softly.

"Do you know? The reason I made it this far was because of what you said."

"...Pardon?"

"Sometimes I look back too. Was there meaning in what I've done? Was there value? Was this really the right way? Every time those questions came."

Arthur pointed at Atanga.

"You were there."

"......"

"As if to prove I wasn't wrong, you were always standing right there."

To the one who walked ahead, a landmark proving they had not gone astray. To the one who followed behind, a signpost showing they were heading in the right direction.

"Thank you."

With those words, Arthur left. She receded quickly. Atanga was too slow to give chase. Slow as he was, he kept walking forward, step by step.

And then he saw it.

The Land of the Abyss shook. The whole world shook. Atanga witnessed it from close by, an era drawing to its close.

"......"

He watched the end of the hero who had pulled an era forward. Arthur had finally achieved her purpose. Looking ahead, there were footprints.

The traces Arthur left behind.

Marks carved into the earth at the cost of her own life. Walk along those footprints and you could understand Arthur's life. Atanga walked along those footprints and understood why Arthur had made the choices she did.

"Ah."

The moment he understood, he also realized.

Just as he had always thought, it was beyond him.

He could go no further.

Only someone who was not ordinary people like himself, but something truly special, would be able to reach this place, understand everything, and step forward toward what came next. Arthur had etched the road for a successor who would appear in the far-off future.

"Indeed."

Atanga felt no sadness at that fact. He had already known it well. Rather than sorrow, he looked for what he could do.

This road could not be allowed to disappear.

This was a relay race. Far ahead stood the great hero who had led an era. And far behind was a successor who might come, whenever that might be. Between the two was a gap that could not be bridged.

Someone had to fill that gap.

Then who?

Atanga smiled at the question he posed to himself. He was an unremarkable man. Not a hero chosen by the age. No special talents. He couldn't fight the way others could, and he didn't hold a shining star like the Knights of the Round Table.

The only thing he could do was run.

Run for a long, long time.

"That's enough."

Fortunately, that was all it took to play this part. Atanga ran. He patched together the broken bridge in between. He ran here and there, asking for help.

"I leave this to you."

"To me?"

"Yes. You'll suit it better than I would."

He received Mordred's help.

"I never thought I'd say this with my own mouth, but you're really something."

"Coming from you?"

"Precisely because it's me. I never thought there'd be anyone as stubborn as me. Right, I understand what you're trying to do. I'll at least make sure there's a place for my old friend to lie down."

He received Siegfried's help.

"As for this, how should I go about it?"

"I wouldn't recommend it, but there is a way. How much do you know about the witch's apostles?"

"The Four Heralds of Destruction?"

"Yes. I'm one of them."

He sought advice from Leviathan, one of the witch's apostles. The old king said this:

"If you want to survive in this land, you'll have to become an apostle in the end. And the witch, she loves someone like you. She's an odd one who takes pleasure in watching someone noble like you finally break. You could become an apostle at your level."

"I see."

"But, as I just said, I don't recommend it."

"Why not?"

"It's hard to endure."

Leviathan pointed at Atanga.

"How many apostles do you think I've watched in this place, and how many have I watched fall? Everyone breaks. Whether the soul collapses first or the body collapses first, once one of them goes, a person crumbles completely."

"......"

"Heroes who led eras, saints who loved all of humanity, iron-blooded monarchs, warriors who never submitted, conquerors, and......"

Leviathan smiled bitterly.

"I have seen the will of tens of millions ultimately submit and break. I've lived through it. You won't be any different. You'll break, without question."

"Will I become one of the dead?"

"Becoming one of the dead would be a mercy by comparison."

Far in the distance, a great dragon could be seen writhing. Mordred was visible, screaming as the Blight Star ate into him, slamming his own head against the fortress walls.

"I'd like to stop you, but."

"Yes."

"I can't, can I."

"I'll take your advice to heart."

"Very well. Farewell, Atanga."

Atanga ran.

...... He became the Herald of Famine. Famine came for him. Thirst burned his throat. Atanga struggled in terrible pain. An agony far beyond anything he had imagined descended on him.

Atanga ran.

...... His mind grew hazy. When he stood still, his soul fell deeper and deeper. Rising to his feet in the midst of his hunger, Atanga simply started running.

He ran, and ran again.

...... The unsatisfied hunger gnawed at his flesh. When there was no more flesh to gnaw, the hunger finally ate at his soul. He no longer knew what was what. His memories grew faint.

Why am I doing this?

Why do I have to endure this?

The question came without end. To answer it, Atanga turned over the exchanges he had shared with his companions.

Honor and pride.

Nothing to gain, but valuable for that very reason. We are here to live beautifully, are we not? We live for style and die for style.

"There's an aesthetic to it, like the captain said."

"There's romance in it."

"Aesthetic and romance. That's enough."

Running like that, Atanga remembered. His first meeting with Arthur. He turned over the words Arthur had tossed to him so casually, so lightly, with a glance.

"You're something, aren't you."

That single sentence decided my life. You made me dream. And I am surely not the only one who was captivated by your life and came to walk this road.

Countless people will follow in your footsteps.

'But you stand in a place far too high.'

Far away and high above. Stare only at the sky while you walk and you'll lose the road easily. So someone has to plant a signpost on this earth, don't they? Atanga willingly took that role on himself.

I'll wait here.

Waiting, at least.

Running until the next runner appears, even someone like me can do that much.

3.

Najin ran across the wasteland.

Drenched in sweat, pulling his ragged breathing back into order again and again, he drove his legs hard. Focusing on the running like that, a thought surfaced unbidden.

I run for so many different reasons.

When was the first time he ran? Probably when he was young. After picking a pocket, he'd run until his heart felt ready to burst. If he got caught, he'd be beaten half to death, or maybe all the way.

The first running was a sprint for his life.

He ran like that for a long time after, for similar reasons. Pickpocketing, fleeing from traffickers, stealing items on contract and making his escape. For a good long stretch, Najin chose running as his method of survival, running to get away.

The legs got fast because of all that.

From early on, getting away was the one thing he was good at. A few years later, after getting hired into Ivan's family, the running-away decreased.

Najin ran to chase.

Catch someone trying to flee and beat them down. Rush in and strike without warning. Show them that no matter how far they run, they're still in the family's palm, catch up in a single stride.

That was the second kind of running. Running to chase.

Keep tracing back through the memories and the purpose of the running keeps changing. It doesn't stop at simply chasing and fleeing. The meaning became more abstract.

To catch up.

To reach the ones who had gone on ahead, Najin began to run.

"Najin."

"Najin, squire of Atanga's knight Ivan."

That was how he crossed the Continent.

"Teach me your three hundred years."

"I will carry on what comes after you."

"Isn't that a fairly attractive offer?"

That was how he crossed the Outland.

"Prove it to me, to me, Lancelot!"

He had brought down the Strongest Knight of the Round Table.

"Surpass the Round Table. Trample the failures who ultimately failed, and seize victory."

He had cut down the Knight of War, symbol of the Round Table.

"I'll hear that answer where I've stopped."

Now he was drawing close to the place where the highest star had come to rest. Toward that place, Najin pressed his steps forward.

Najin ran and ran.

Breath piled up beneath his chin. His heart hammered wildly. Is this the right path? Am I running the right way? That doubt was rising in him.

Ah.

Through vision that was beginning to blur, someone became visible ahead. He could see the footprints that someone had left. Najin ran along those footprints.

"Huu."

He exhaled and pushed himself faster. Toward the figure visible as a distant dot, Najin ran. The dot grew larger, roughly the size of a thumb, then the size of a palm, then gradually growing to the size of a person.

Closer.

Najin saw the one running ahead of him. Gritting his teeth, he drove his legs.

The Free Knight's coat billowed.

There was only one coat like it on the Continent, something close to Najin's very symbol, but not here.

Tap.

The First Free Knight was running ahead of the last Free Knight. Looking at that back, Najin broke into an involuntary laugh. It called to mind a conversation he had once had with the Helmeted Knight.

"Armor is actually not all that necessary for a knight. No need for a helm, no need for a shield, no need for plate."

"The moment you're even a Sword Expert, what's the point of wearing armor that'll just get split by sword aura? It only gets in the way."

"So why wear armor and a helm?"

"Because only that way."

"Can I think of myself as a knight."

Remembering that exchange, Najin looked ahead. The one running before him had no armor. Not a single piece of protection covering the body. No fine weapons, not one element that would mark them as a knight.

Even so.

No, because of that, finally.

The most knightly knight, Atanga.

More than anyone, that person was a knight.

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