Ch.239Regarding Those Brave Yet Ridiculous Ones (2)

I must pierce through the windmill.

When Najin proposed the plan, Juel touched her chin. She seemed to be contemplating something, and with narrowed eyes, she examined both Najin and The Sacred Host.

“For the role of piercing through the windmill, I believe you, Najin, are the most suitable.”

She said.

“From a purely physical or power perspective, myself or The Sacred Host would be more appropriate as the main force, but in battles against the realm of Constellations… that is, against divine authority, there are priorities higher than physical power.”

Juel raised two fingers.

“Symbolism and concept. These two are more important in breaking down a Constellation’s authority or the realm where their authority is deployed. Neither The Sacred Host nor I possess stars capable of resisting the Empress of Bliss’s authority.”

Indeed, both of them had failed to notice anything strange despite the same event repeating seven times.

“But.”

Juel pointed at Najin.

“You noticed it.”

While the two transcendents wandered through the realm, only Najin sensed something was wrong and discovered the flaw in the realm.

“The star you possess has resistance against the Empress of Bliss’s realm. This is an advantage only you have.”

Penetration, Unyielding, Mourning.

The three stars Najin had acquired in the Outer Continent. They weren’t just star concepts—the narratives contained within them stood in direct opposition to the Empress of Bliss.

Krinbel, Alderan Basaglia, Viola Ordina, The Blue Spear, and countless others whom Najin had mourned or traveled with.

They had escaped from repeating lives or deaths and moved forward. Each met their end in their own way. Their stories, contained in Najin’s stars, provided resistance against this “meaninglessly repeating space.”

“So it must be you.”

The spear that pierces the windmill and destroys the realm must be you.

Saying this, Juel loosened up. She tied her wind-blown snow-white hair into a single ponytail, unbuttoned one or two buttons of her usually fully-buttoned clothes, and rolled up her sleeves.

“I will open the path for you.”

Juel Lazian took her stance. The Sacred Host, who had been listening to her explanation, also stood right beside Najin.

“Finally.”

The Sacred Host nodded while crossing her arms.

“It’s time for me to shine.”

With a swish of her golden hair, The Sacred Host smiled.

“Just keep running forward.”

I’ll clear away all obstacles.

2.

The wind blows.

Facing the incoming wind, Najin steadied his breathing. Before him stretched the realm of the Empress of Bliss, filled with clowns and giants who revived no matter how many times they were killed.

Beyond those giants stood the windmill.

A windmill painted with colorful paints, appearing like an insignificant background element. But Najin was certain that this windmill was the center that anchored the Empress of Bliss’s realm to this place. Merlin had also confirmed Najin’s opinion.

“……”

The plain was still quiet. No laughter could be heard, only the occasional tickling sound of wind in his ears. But Najin knew this was the calm before the storm.

‘Just a few steps forward.’

Once he started running and approached the Empress of Bliss’s realm, laughter would erupt. Laughter that would eat away at his mind and distort his perception. And Najin had to pierce through it all.

Straight ahead without wavering.

‘I only have one chance.’

An opportunity that might never come again.

Najin sensed that he couldn’t miss this chance. And it seemed he wasn’t the only one who felt this way.

“Najin.”

At Juel Lazian’s call, Najin opened his eyes wide. He put strength into his bent knees and the feet planted on the ground. His center of gravity shifted forward. In this unbalanced posture, as if ready to spring forward at any moment, Najin gripped his spear.

And then, Juel Lazian moved.

As she grasped the empty air, a greatsword appeared where nothing had been before. A zweihänder with a blood-red blade and thorny vines wrapped around its crossguard. It was a sacred relic bestowed by the Matyr of Thorns upon her apostle.

Normally, this greatsword would need to be wielded with both hands, but Juel usually swung it lightly with just one. A transcendent’s strength allowed her to wield a greatsword as easily as a longsword.

But not this time.

Juel gripped the sword with both hands and held it behind her back. Pure white sword energy enveloped her blade.

Pure white sword energy.

Sword energy that contained nothing and took no particular form. This energy that simply wrapped around the sword was too simple to be called that of a Sword Master. But this simplicity and plainness was Juel’s essence.

A sword is a tool for taking life.

To her, a sword was merely a tool for killing. It needed neither meaning nor special form.

‘If you kill tens or hundreds of thousands of people, you can become a Sword Master without mental imagery or swordsmanship.’

The legendary killer who had proven this theory proposed long ago. Paradoxically, her sword energy was pure white. Ten fingers as white as her sword energy wrapped around the hilt. The moment her fingers gripped the sword, the energy surged violently.

Guwoong.

The air around Juel shifted. A pressure like something pressing down from above, a sticky killing intent that dominated the area.

‘What an aura…’

Even though he wasn’t the target of this killing intent, Najin couldn’t help but shudder briefly. The Sacred Host was the same. She wiped away cold sweat and unconsciously rubbed her arm.

Then, Juel took one step forward.

One step past Najin and The Sacred Host.

The moment she took that step, and the moment her killing intent—which she made no attempt to hide—targeted the giants with clear direction, the space creaked.

Hee, heeheeheehee, kyaruk, ahahahaha!

Even though they hadn’t yet approached the realm, laughter erupted. As if sensing danger. As clowns surged up and the sky became stained with paint, just as the Empress of Bliss’s realm was about to fully unfold—

Hee, heehee…

Juel swung her sword.

KEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!

A sword cry resembling a human scream buried the laughter. It devoured the growing laughter, shredded it into pieces, and raced across the plain as if declaring that screams, not laughter, belonged in this space.

A strike launched without thought for what came after.

A strike infused with all the starlight and mana Juel possessed—the strongest blow she could deliver right now.

The pure white sword energy became a wave that swept over the giants. Everything touched by the energy was shredded into pieces. The screams created by Juel’s sword energy were louder than the laughter of the giants. Her sword energy covered the Empress of Bliss’s realm as if trying to bury the entire space.

The space creaked. The paint-stained sky trembled. To sustain the collapsing realm, the Empress of Bliss’s realm borrowed power from La Mancha. In that process, for just a moment, the laughter subsided.

“Now!”

The opening Juel had created.

Boom.

Najin didn’t miss that opening. He and The Sacred Host kicked off the ground and began running. Najin sprinted with all his might, forgetting even to breathe. The scenery rushed past him at high speed.

The giants, swept away by Juel’s sword energy and turned into paint, couldn’t stop Najin. Belatedly, the ground rippled, and clowns surging from the paint rushed toward Najin… but Najin didn’t respond. He only looked ahead and ran.

Dealing with the clowns wasn’t his role.

“Don’t forget our promise.”

The Sacred Host stretched out her arm. While grabbing and bursting the heads of clowns rushing at Najin, The Sacred Host slid across the paint. She took a deep breath as Najin ran ahead of her.

Then she whispered briefly.

“Extreme Light.”

Najin didn’t know what she had done or what had happened. He hadn’t looked back. But he could tell that a flash of light had erupted behind him, and hundreds of clowns had evaporated in an instant.

Also, that the paint-stained sky had turned pure white for a moment.

The path was open.

Nothing stood between Najin and the windmill.

3.

Don Quixote, mistaking the windmill for a giant, charged toward it. A splendid lance charge indeed! Don Quixote charged valiantly, ready to pierce through the giant’s body in one go!

…Recalling the emblem of La Mancha’s knights.

And also recalling the figures contained in his stars.

Najin ran across the ground.

What he gripped with both hands was the Cross Star Spear.

The spear left to Najin by Bull Horned Star, Krinbel. A spear left by an ill-fated knight who eventually broke down on the Empress of Bliss’s eternally repeating stage. His proud charging horn couldn’t open his own path forward.

But in his final moment, he moved by his own will.

He chose a knight’s death rather than continuing as a wandering spirit in a hell worse than death. He stepped down from the stage by his own feet.

And was Krinbel the only one?

Alderan Basaglia was the same. He too stepped down from the eternal stage created by the Empress of Bliss, seeking to meet his end in his own way.

‘And.’

Najin recalled the final words left by The Blue Spear, who had repeated the same day for 300 years in the desert.

“Move forward. Toward tomorrow.”

Najin’s star shone. With the shining star contained in the Cross Star Spear, Najin charged toward the windmill.

Charging at a windmill, mistaking it for a giant?

The clowns creeping up at this ridiculous sight burst into laughter. They mocked and pointed at Najin. Doesn’t he look just like a clown! Najin ignored their voices. Why should he care what others said?

To Najin’s eyes, the windmill was a giant.

The evil Empress of Bliss must have disguised the king of giants as a windmill! With a raised corner of his mouth, Najin extended his spear. His spear pierced into the vigorously turning windmill blade. And at that very moment, Najin felt his body being pushed back by some irresistible, enormous force.

“Don Quixote, charging toward the windmill, was thrown back by the force created by the windmill’s rotation.”

The story as recorded in the original. Najin’s starlight wasn’t enough to break this recorded story. If Najin were thrown back as the story dictated, the story would repeat again.

But Najin already knew this.

Najin already knew what happened to Don Quixote when he charged at the windmill in the Knights of La Mancha. He wouldn’t have failed to prepare for something he knew would happen. For this very moment, Najin spoke the name he had been saving.

“Violet.”

The musician, Violet.

Or the hero, Viola Ordina.

At Najin’s call, the ribbon tying his hair emitted a soft light. Someone’s phantom appeared beside Najin. A woman with half black and half snow-white hair took Najin’s hand.

Haven’t we repeated (Da capo) seven times already? That’s enough, don’t you think? she smiled. She lightly tapped Najin’s hand as if it were a piano key.

“Al fine”

The end of the performance.

At that moment, the windmill trying to push Najin back lost its strength. An end suddenly came to the stage that had seemed like it would never end. With the windmill pierced by the Cross Star Spear at its center, the stage began to collapse.

The regenerating clowns crumbled. The laughter that had been pushing back against Juel’s sword-created screams disappeared. The paint-stained sky regained its original color.

But.

“Oh my, master!”

There was laughter that didn’t disappear.

“I really can’t live because of you, master. That’s a windmill! Not the king of giants, but a windmill that turns by the power of wind. A windmill!”

Laughter of disbelief.

Laughter mixed with slight mockery, as if asking, how many times has this happened already?

“Are you alright? You’re a mess. Are you badly hurt?”

“As if I would be hurt by mere giants! I am fine. And even if I were hurt, it’s not a knight’s way to say that pain is painful. I am fine!”

And another voice.

As the Empress of Bliss’s realm collapsed and everything returned to its original color, in that fleeting moment.

In the slowly flowing world, Najin saw.

A knight fallen to the ground, and a servant supporting that knight.

“Still, I’d prefer if you told me when you’re in pain. It would make things easier for me, master.”

“Hmm, you’re not wrong.”

The knight laughed awkwardly.

Then, the two looked at each other and burst into laughter. Not mocking laughter, but joyful laughter.

“Thanks to you, master, there’s never a dull day.”

“Right? Didn’t I tell you this journey would be the most enjoyable one?”

The knight laughed and took his servant’s hand to stand up.

“Then let’s continue on, Sancho.”

At the overlapping part of the Empress of Bliss’s realm and La Mancha’s realm.

A strand of laughter binding the two realms together.

Quixote, Star of Contempt’s servant, Sancho.

He was there.

The boy turned his head to look at Najin.

“……”

The moment their eyes met, Sancho said something to Najin. Najin couldn’t hear what he said.

Pop.

Najin’s vision went dark, like a light being turned off.