Ch.161The Knight Who Removed His Helmet (1)

I am a knight.

The moment he uttered those words, the Helm Knight felt as if the shackles binding his body had been released. Whether it was merely a feeling or if something that had been weighing him down had truly disappeared, he couldn’t tell.

Ah, the Helm Knight laughed.

It wasn’t just his body that felt lighter. The anguish that had filled his mind vanished cleanly the moment he said “I am a knight.” His narrowed vision widened. He began to feel that the helmet on his head was uncomfortable.

He placed his hand on his helmet.

The moment he put his hand on the seam of the helmet, he felt the fog that had filled his mind dissipating. As the hazy mist cleared, forgotten memories began to return. The Helm Knight quietly closed his eyes at this change.

Why are my memories returning now? The curse the Empress of Bliss placed on me shouldn’t be so simple.

Is it because my lifespan has reached its end? Is this a final struggle, like a fire burning fiercely one last time before going out?

If not that, have I become free from the curse after finding an answer and letting go of my attachments? Or is it because I’ve come to this land where I once gloriously triumphed? Is it because the sword marks remaining on this ground have stimulated my memories?

Is it because I can now provide an answer and have confidence in myself? If not that, is it because someone remembered me? If so, that someone would be none other than Bernstein, should I be grateful to him? Or to the boy before me?

Numerous questions arose. Countless hypotheses floated in his mind. But the Helm Knight chose none of them. He didn’t try to resolve the questions.

There was no need to.

He was simply grateful for all of it. To Bernstein, to Najin, to everything that had brought him here.

The Helm Knight recalls himself.

Reflecting on his life, he unfastened the seam of his helmet.

2.

He traces his life.

Tracing his memories as the fog cleared, he recalled himself. He still couldn’t remember his name. Everything has its order. The first things that came to mind were the words: hero of the Empire, pillar of the Empire.

A national hero who saved the country from chaos.

The first pillar supporting the Empire.

Originally, the pillars of the Empire were called with the character for “pillar” (柱), but in recognition of his achievements as the captain of the Golden Horn Knights, the Empire broke its 800-year tradition. Because of him, the pillars of the Empire came to be called with the character for “horn” (角) instead of “pillar” (柱).

The Empire’s First Horn (帝國第一角).

The first pillar supporting the Empire, and the first horn piercing the Empire’s enemies. If the Empire was a ship, he was its bow, a sharp horn that shattered obstacles in its path with its charging horn (衝角).

The achievements he made while living as the Empire’s First Horn were truly endless. He hunted fallen stars, killed demons crossing the border from the Outer Continent, prevented civil wars in the Empire, and saved the Empire from crisis many times.

“Hero.”

“It’s as if King Arthur has returned.”

“He is truly the owner of Excalibur.”

“Hero! Great, truly great!”

“The first pillar of the Empire.”

Every citizen of the Empire knew his name. Not just the Empire. Everyone on the continent knew his name. Whenever he etched a new star in the sky, the entire continent cheered. Indeed, the world tends to be enthusiastic about the existence of heroes.

He lived hearing praises like how King Arthur had returned, or how he had achieved feats comparable to King Arthur. He strived to be a person worthy of such praise.

When he almost pulled out Excalibur, when he had pulled the sword halfway out of the rock, didn’t even the old heroes in the night sky marvel? He could never forget those glorious days. They were truly happy days.

He always won and always shone.

He thought he could do so forever. Having grown up reading the chronicles of King Arthur, he believed that he could write the “next story” that Arthur couldn’t. Like many heroes, he dreamed.

‘The Outer Continent is full of enemies of the Empire. It’s full of those who threaten humanity. So, as a hero… as a knight, I shall rightfully cut them down.’

That was the role given to him.

‘I shall win honorably, with pride, gloriously.’

That was the price for the praise he received.

“You are a hero. You must be a hero. Between being the Empire’s hero and my lover, you chose to be a hero. Then you must pay the price.”

“I love you. I love you, ■■■.”

“I hope you have no regrets about this choice until the end. I hope you die as a hero until the end. If that’s your dream, I hope you achieve it.”

“My life will now be added to that dream. I’m glad it’s you who’s trampling on my dream.”

He, who had sacrificed so much to be a hero, had to pay an extremely high price.

‘I am.’

Defeated by the Empress of Bliss, losing his comrades, forgotten and forgetting, he lost everything. Yet he still wanted to be a hero. He wanted to be a knight. He had to be. He had sworn before many people, before his lover whom he had killed.

‘I must be a knight.’

That determination made his life painful.

The self in his mind shines, but the self in reality is shabby and wretched. His armor is rusted, the horn of his horned helmet is broken, and his soul and body are rotting away.

‘I, I…’

He endures. He endures and endures again.

Considering himself a knight.

Yes, he is a knight. A knight who knows honor and pride. He had to act as a knight.

‘What am I?’

But as a mere human, he asks himself. What value does it have? His inner self questions whether he can accept such an end.

What end awaits you?

An end where you are forgotten by everyone, where even the fact that you existed is forgotten, and finally you degenerate into a mere beast. Can you accept that end? Is wanting to be a knight more valuable than such an end?

He couldn’t answer that question.

Indeed, it was too terrible a thing.

The brilliant days, the achievements he had made, all of it would be forgotten. The moment he died, even the remaining records would all disappear. That was the curse placed upon him.

It was a denial of his entire life.

If all the achievements and stories he had built up disappeared, was he still a knight? Could he be remembered as a knight? Unable to answer the questions he had asked himself, he wandered the Outer Continent.

‘Ah…’

All the stars had crumbled. His soul and body, unable to gain new stars, were rapidly wearing away. The imperial emblem engraved on his armor had worn off. His body was gradually changing grotesquely. He was becoming something other than human. Like the beasts wandering the Outer Continent…

He was becoming a dead one, a dead star, a fallen star.

‘Ah.’

When he took off his helmet and looked at his face reflected in water.

There was a hideous monster.

An appearance that could hardly be called human, let alone a knight. It wasn’t just his appearance that was changing. He felt that his inner self was also becoming hideously distorted.

Someone keeps whispering in his ear.

Kill the young stars. Kill the new stars that have just set foot on this land, and take their stars. Hunt the weak stars. Then you can postpone the terrible end given to you. Perhaps, you might even regain glory.

‘Yes, there’s a proper justification, isn’t there?’

The honor of his comrades rests on these shoulders. If he dies, they become clowns. That can’t be allowed. Abandoning his honor and pride for them… isn’t that something worthy of praise?

‘Isn’t that what the Sacred Host Schlein is doing? If I, if I do the same…’

Self-persuasion is easy. Self-justification is all too easy. Carrying it out was also easy. He was still a strong being.

‘Moreover, it’s an act that brings only benefits.’

Then what reason is there not to do it? It’s simple. Because it’s not befitting of a knight. Because it’s an act without honor or pride.

His younger self would have been able to firmly say that such actions should not be taken, but his old and tired self could not be so assertive.

‘Honor, pride… what do you gain by keeping them?’

There is nothing to gain by keeping them.

There is much to gain by breaking them.

‘Then, is there any need to cling to useless things like honor and pride?’

If he kills young stars and steals their stars.

Couldn’t he live longer?

Couldn’t he extend his life a little more?

When his thoughts reached that point, he widened his eyes. What was he thinking just now? He felt disgust towards himself for the thought that had momentarily crossed his mind.

Not just the outside, now even the inside is becoming a monster. You’re really trying to abandon honor and pride, and become a monster instead of a knight.

Click.

From that point on, he pressed down his helmet.

He firmly fixed the seam of the helmet. He never took off the helmet again. Because if he didn’t cling to “outward appearances” like the helmet, armor, and knightly demeanor, he felt he could no longer call himself a knight.

That’s how he became the ‘Helm Knight.’

Hiding his hideously changed inner self, he wanders.

For 10 years, 50 years, 100 years, 150 years.

He just wanders endlessly.

And at the end of his wandering.

When even armor and helmet could no longer hide his festering inside.

“Knight of Atanga, descendant of Ivan. I am Najin. I accept your duel challenge. This is a duel, isn’t it?”

The Helm Knight faced a boy.

The boy is a young star. Though still young, he possesses a star that shines brighter than anything else. A star so dazzling that it hurts the eyes of the beholder.

The boy’s star illuminated the Helm Knight’s star.

“Did you say honor and pride are a solo drink?”

He illuminates a star that can no longer shine on its own.

“Let’s have a drink. I can at least be your drinking companion.”

He was drunk. Drunk on honor and pride. While with the boy, the Helm Knight could be a knight. Holding the dreams he had forgotten, the things he had lost, the Helm Knight sets out on his final journey with the boy.

He gave a knightly end to a knight who had been groaning under his duty. He conducted a funeral exclusively for him so that a fallen star that had lost itself could shine one last time. Sometimes they were chased by the dead, sometimes they hunted the dead, and sometimes they shared trivial stories in front of a campfire.

The Helm Knight ponders the story the boy told him then.

The story of a knight who shone in a place without stars.

The Helm Knight was deeply immersed in the life of a knight named Ivan. Because he thought they were similar. And, the one sentence Najin told at the end of that story penetrated deep into the Helm Knight’s heart.

“If one wishes to be a knight, isn’t that person already sufficiently a knight?”

Yes, indeed, that’s right.

Recalling those words, the Helm Knight smiled.

“I wish to be a knight.”

Smiling, he opens his eyes.

“Then I am a knight, aren’t I?”

To that question, Najin answers.

Of course. You are already sufficiently a knight. At those words, the Helm Knight smiled with utmost pleasure.

Click.

The seam of the helmet came undone. The seam that had been locked for a long time falls off. Still not having taken off the helmet, he looks at Najin. Meeting the eyes of his disciple, the Helm Knight opened his mouth.

“This is my third request, Najin.”

The last wish he had been saving.

A wish for himself, or for the boy before him.

“A duel with me.”

The Helm Knight makes a wish upon the stars.

“Give me an honorable end.”

Najin gladly answers that wish. With the fiercely burning campfire behind them, they prepare for the duel. In a duel, the one who challenges must first reveal their name. The Helm Knight hadn’t forgotten that rule.

‘Now I can reveal my name.’

The fog has cleared. All memories have returned.

Having recalled himself, he has confidence.

“I am.”

He grasped his helmet.

Grasping his helmet, he recalls his name.

“I am, Alderan Basaglia.”

He recalled all the names that referred to him. Recalling the words with which he could introduce himself, he smiles.

“The Empire’s First Horn, the Sword Master of Britain, the captain of the Golden Horn Knights, and…”

Now he remembers.

Even the name of the sword he wielded.

“The founder of the Triumph Sword (凱旋劍).”

Having recalled everything, he took off his helmet and threw it away. Because now he could consider himself a knight even without the helmet.

By taking off the helmet, the Helm Knight becomes a knight.

What is revealed when he throws off the helmet is the face of a monster. The hideously distorted face cannot be called human even as a white lie. It has eight eyes, multiple mouths on the face, and its head is burning like black flames.

What was hidden in the helmet is the face of a monster.

But Najin doesn’t consider him a monster.

Najin raised his sword and shouted.

“I am Najin.”

If the opponent has revealed his name and affiliation, it is courtesy and the rule of the duel for this side to do the same. Najin knew that rule well.

“Descendant of Ivan, Knight of Atanga, disciple of the Empire’s First Horn, Alderan Basaglia, and…”

Najin stuck the spear he had untied from his back into the ground.

“An apprentice knight of the Golden Horn Knights.”

Alderan smiles with satisfaction at that answer. Towards his disciple, junior, and the morning star, Alderan shouts.

“An honorable duel.”

Please, give me an honorable death.

With those final words, death caught up with Alderan. The reason he had barely been holding onto becomes blurry. Flames engulf his head, numbing his reason.

But he doesn’t become a beast like the Knight of Silence. Because until the end, he wanted to be a knight. Because a knight cannot disgrace himself by crawling on all fours and howling like a beast.

Even though half of him has become a dead one, Alderan is still a knight.

He took his stance.

Standing at the boundary between the dead and the living, between unconsciousness and consciousness, between beast and human.

He grasped the sword tied to his waist. A sword that was like his symbol. A sword that was the symbol of the Empire’s hero. Alderan Basaglia draws the sword he couldn’t draw because he couldn’t consider himself a knight.

The Triumph Sword (凱旋劍).

A swordsmanship that had returned victorious from numerous battlefields, and thus made him a symbol of victory. A sword that was like his symbol, which had led an era. The moment he drew the sword, stars fell from the sky.

The stars that Alderan Basaglia possessed.

Eight stars fall.

All the stars that had already crumbled fall, scattering brilliant light for the last time.

At that moment, Najin’s eyes widened. Information that couldn’t be connected, puzzle pieces that had been interfered with by something, all fit together.

———Najin senses it.

What stands before him now is not a wandering knight of the Outer Continent. Nor is it a dead one who has degenerated into a beast. What stands before him now is the Empire’s Sword Master. A hero who had led an era.

Grip.

Najin grasped his sword.

“Come.”

Probably, the final teaching.

To give that teaching, Alderan Basaglia raises his sword. To receive that teaching, Najin grasps his sword.

The fallen star and the rising star, two stars shone.