Ch.295Knights of La Mancha (1)

There is a country called Kingdom of Rondinell.

If the Empire was the center of humanity, Rondinell was humanity’s bulwark. Working with the Empire, Rondinell stood at the frontlines, stopping those who tried to cross the boundary of the Outer Continent.

Even though Rondinell has turned to ashes.

There exists a flame gathered from the embers that remained in those ashes. A single star that encompasses all elements of Rondinell. A blue star resembling Rondinell’s national flower, the blue hydrangea.

The Collective Star, Kirhov.

The sword of a transcendent with only one star flashed. Kirhov smiled. Wielding his sword magnificently while wearing the most splendid expression he could muster.

Didn’t his lord say?

To fight for humanity as Rondinell had done. To wield his sword splendidly and gallantly as the last knight of Rondinell. So that minstrels could sing of the heroic deeds of Rondinell’s last knight.

Of course, there are no minstrels here.

There are no stars watching this battle.

But it didn’t matter to Kirhov. Why wouldn’t there be anyone watching? Right now, my mind is full of them. Kirhov looked into his mental image. There, countless people from his memories were watching him.

Their faces are blurry because he couldn’t recall the memories.

But he remembered his lord’s face clearly. He could also see the face of his master, the Blue Spear. The two were smiling at Kirhov.

Splash.

The Empress of Bliss tried to paint over their faces, but how could mere paint cover the sun of Rondinell? Kirhov snorted and charged forward.

“Come, come as much as you want.”

The paint surged like waves. The clowns laughed hysterically. Fallen stars rushed toward Kirhov. And Kirhov did not stop his steps.

Just a little further until dawn.

Kirhov swung his sword to buy time until daybreak. Even if he couldn’t cut through the dark night, he could at least light a small lamp.

Blue flowers bloomed across the battlefield.

2.

Najin ran across the paint-stained wilderness.

The voice of the Empress of Bliss still echoed in his ears, but it was bearable now. Because the Empress’s power was being directed toward Kirhov. Najin wedged his blade into the gap he had created.

Then, slash.

Cutting through the paint, Najin caught his breath.

From now on, he needed to find Quixote, Star of Contempt. If he could defeat Quixote, who had unleashed the Empress’s power in this place on her behalf since she wouldn’t leave her domain… he could shatter this stage.

But how?

In the paint-covered wilderness, visibility was limited. If he tried to broaden his vision to take in more information, he would fall victim to the Empress of Bliss’s power. Moreover, there were dozens of overlapping star graves here.

Literally, graves of stars.

Najin could vaguely understand what the Empress of Bliss was trying to do through these graves. It was simple if he considered the case of Icarus, the Star of Heavenly Flight.

‘Stars that entered Icarus’s castle, the great labyrinth Labyrinth, wandered the maze and met their deaths.’

Star graves. Places where the memories of constellations linger.

Graves created by transcendents for themselves fundamentally gnaw at the souls of those who enter them. It might not matter for a short time, but staying for a long time would lead to assimilation with the grave.

Memories become mixed. The distinction between reality and stage becomes blurred. In the end, one is devoured by the stage.

That was the Empress of Bliss’s purpose.

Using the star graves as a massive disguise, she would digest all the transcendents attacking her and make them her own. Since she had poured paint into the transcendents’ minds before they entered the graves, the rate of erosion would be faster.

“The Empress of Bliss is a schemer.”

“The more time you give her, the more troublesome she becomes.”

Recalling these evaluations of the Empress of Bliss, Najin exhaled deeply.

…This was why Najin had proceeded urgently with the subjugation of the Empress of Bliss.

The Empress of Bliss is fundamentally a schemer, and the more time you give her to prepare, the more difficult she becomes. That’s why Najin immediately organized a subjugation force when the Empress’s plans went awry. He didn’t give her time to prepare and pressed her hard.

‘But.’

The Empress of Bliss responded.

Despite her plans going awry, despite it being a situation she couldn’t have imagined, she responded. As if she had known this would happen all along.

Hehehehehe.

Najin thought he could hear the Empress of Bliss’s laughter in his ears. She was whispering to Najin. Did you think the plan failed? Do you really think I failed?

You know nothing!

Ignoring the voice creeping into his mind, Najin lowered his sword. While it was true he had fallen into the Empress of Bliss’s trap, nothing was over yet.

‘And…’

Najin’s pupils narrowed.

“You don’t know anything either.”

Najin raised his hand.

The Star of Mourning shone in Najin’s hand.

A star directly opposite to the Empress of Bliss. Najin fixed what the Empress of Bliss had broken, and turned those she had trampled back into knights. The Star of Mourning contained all those stories.

What makes a star shine is the narrative contained within it.

The narrative of Mourning was the path Najin had walked, the life he had experienced. Humans always find answers from their own lives.

The Star of Mourning illuminated the wilderness.

The wishes of those who desired a proper death became thin threads that entered Najin’s field of vision. Thin threads. Among the many strands, Najin had to find Quixote. Normally, finding Quixote’s thread among dozens or hundreds would be impossible.

“Merlin.”

If Najin didn’t have Merlin.

“Now.”

And if Najin didn’t have the narrative of “saving the Laughing Star,” it would have been impossible.

The Laughing Star rose beside the Star of Mourning.

The two stars illuminated the path. Merlin organized the chaotic paths into a single one. Najin took steps without hesitation along the path that appeared before him.

Splash.

Senses became mixed.

Splash…

It was a place where he couldn’t tell up from down, whether he was walking or swimming, falling or soaring, but Najin didn’t stop. Because the path he needed to take was clearly visible.

And.

The laughter ringing in his ears grew stronger as time passed. The laughter no longer echoed from within Najin. The laughter he heard now originated from outside and vibrated his eardrums.

Getting closer.

The moment he entered the place that was getting closer and closer, the voice of the stage’s Narrator was heard.

You cannot enter here.

You are not qualified.

This is La Mancha, a non-existent utopia. Only the knights of La Mancha can set foot here. You are not a knight of La Mancha.

The narrator denied Najin’s entry. It specified that he did not have the qualification to step onto this stage.

You are an audience member.

An audience member watching the stage from the seats.

The audience cannot intervene in the story.

That is a very obvious [rule].

You cannot become an actor.

Listening to those voices, Najin placed his hand on the opaque wall blocking his way. Then he snorted.

“I don’t have the qualification?”

It wasn’t the narrator who answered that question. A certain lord sitting on Najin’s shoulder burst into laughter. The lord who laughed as if it were ridiculous settled into Najin.

How dare anyone question my qualification

to enter my own domain?

The moment Sancho Panza, the lord of La Mancha and its rightful owner, settled into Najin’s body, the curtain could no longer reject him. He had more than enough qualification to step onto the stage.

And so, removing the curtain and stepping onto the stage.

A ridiculous stage stained with paint stretched out as far as the eye could see. He was standing on that stage.

A being stripped of all emotions except laughter.

One whose story was tainted by clowns.

And thus, a being who looks down on everything in the world.

Quixote, Star of Contempt.

He looked at Najin who had stepped onto his stage.

3.

Najin looked at the master of the stage.

“A new guest has arrived on the stage! How could I call myself a knight if I don’t welcome a guest?”

Things that weren’t visible when Najin first encountered the Star of Contempt were now beginning to appear.

Whirr, whirrrr…

Quixote was mounted on a ridiculously prancing donkey. Perhaps wanting to represent a horned horse from a fairy tale, a wooden stick was stuck in the donkey’s forehead. Najin could tell that it was the staff that Rocinante had been holding.

“Let’s go, Rocinante!”

The donkey resembled Rocinante. Even as a beast, he served as Quixote’s [legs].

“Who might you be?”

Quixote, who had closed the distance from afar in an instant, stopped right in front of Najin. He looked down at Najin while mounted on the donkey. Originally, the Star of Contempt would indiscriminately attack anyone who entered his stage…

But now he felt a familiarity with Najin.

As if welcoming an old friend.

That gave Najin a moment’s time. Najin silently looked at the spear Quixote was holding.

Creak, creeeak, creeeeeak.

A twisting sound came from the spear. At first, Najin thought it was just noise, but knowing that the spear was made from Sancho’s flesh, Najin heard screams. Sancho was screaming, neither dead nor alive.

Finally.

Najin looked at Quixote.

La Mancha’s military flag with a ridiculous sunflower drawn on it fluttered on his back. His armor was stained with paint. His mouth was torn all the way to his ears, and from that torn mouth, mockery constantly leaked out.

“…”

His eyes looked down on everything. To Quixote’s eyes, the world was trivial. Everything in the world was trivial and worthless, as if it existed only for him to mock… his eyes were filled only with contempt.

“Quixote.”

Najin looked at the Star of Contempt and said.

“What do you think laughter is?”

A simple question.

The Star of Contempt answered that question with mockery.

“Why, it’s mockery. Ridicule! Derision! Mockery! The world is full of ridiculous and trivial things that exist only to be mocked.”

He spread his arms wide as if giving a speech.

“Mock everything. Since everything is just a ridiculous play, why shouldn’t we laugh?”

Najin smiled.

“Is that so.”

“Yes, now answer my question. You…”

Najin swung his sword. A sudden strike, but Quixote reacted. With a huge collision sound, both Quixote and Najin were pushed back. Clearing away the rising dust, Najin and Quixote locked eyes.

“That’s not what laughter is.”

The Laughing Star shone in Najin’s hand.

“The laughter you speak of, that’s not what it is.”

The laughter I speak of? Quixote’s eyes narrowed. Looking at that star made Quixote dizzy. His mind was in disarray.

But that was only for a moment.

Someone’s voice echoed in Quixote’s ears.

It was the voice of his beloved lady, Dolcinea. With a sticky, sweet voice, she whispered into the Star of Contempt’s ear. Bring me that villain’s neck, she said. Make a flower with his head and gift it to me, she said. Then, I will smile for you, she said.

Quixote’s complicated mind was organized in an instant.

Quixote was ecstatic. He was enthusiastic. A knight’s love for his lady could be this pure. With a pure heart, Quixote declared.

“You are a villain!”

Quixote doesn’t judge for himself. Doesn’t his lady Dolcinea show him the way?

“Villains must be punished. I shall defeat you and offer your head to my lady Dolcinea!”

The Star of Contempt, Quixote, raised his spear high into the sky.

At that moment, his stage rippled.

The sacred relics he wore, the items left by the knights of La Mancha, shone. At that moment, the [actors] who had [performed] ridiculous adventures with Quixote surged from the paint.

“Let’s go, my dear comrades.”

They laughed hysterically while wearing clown masks.

“Glory to the noble lady, Dolcinea!”

It wasn’t a simple illusion.

The knights of La Mancha once led by Quixote, numerous transcendents, those who should be buried in La Mancha, became clowns and formed a single order of knights.

The knights of La Mancha gathered under the flag of the Star of Contempt.

Dozens of transcendents glared at Najin, and the moment their spears and swords were pointed at him, with a “Hahahahaha!” laughter, the stage’s narrator opened his mouth again.

The knights of La Mancha!

They are all transcendents, heroic warriors who crossed the Outer Continent with the Star of Contempt.

They are powerful. Extremely powerful.

Under the flag of La Mancha, they move as if they are one body. They found La Mancha that no one else could find, and discovered a utopia that shouldn’t exist! Their achievements are comparable to King Arthur’s.

Knights who found heaven in the desolate Outer Continent.

Perhaps they are even greater than Arthur, who ultimately failed to reach utopia. At least here, in La Mancha, the heaven they arrived at, they will never be broken!

The bodies of the knights of La Mancha, including the Star of Contempt, surged. The stage’s narrator bestowed narratives upon them. Strength bestowed based on narratives that originally existed. On this limited stage, they could wield power beyond what they possessed.

Even if the opponent was Najin.

Even if he was Arthur’s successor, wielding Excalibur.

On this stage, the Star of Contempt is greater than Arthur. The Empress of Bliss directed the stage in such a way. She was the narrator, the scriptwriter, and the director.

You are alone.

Unlike the Star of Contempt, the protagonist of this stage, you have no knights following you.

You cannot defeat them!

Just as the Empress of Bliss was about to put a period to it, Najin burst into laughter. He couldn’t help but laugh. His prediction had been exactly right.

“You really don’t know anything.”

Najin raised his hand.

If you knew what happened in La Mancha.

If you knew what I obtained there.

Who I met there, what promises I made.

If you knew all of that.

Empress of Bliss, you shouldn’t have directed it this way. You shouldn’t have let me meet the Star of Contempt. You should have done everything possible to prevent me from stepping onto this stage.

Snap.

Najin reached out and tore off the flag tied to his shoulder blade.

A hidden flag.

The blade Najin had prepared to defeat the Empress of Bliss’s last court jester, which he had obtained in La Mancha.

Najin tied that flag to the Cross Star Spear and raised it. The flag had the emblem of La Mancha engraved on it. It was a military flag bestowed upon Najin by the lord of La Mancha.

The moment that flag fluttered, Najin sensed it. He sensed that the gaze of the Empress of Bliss, watching him from above, had wavered. Najin noticed that for the first time since the subjugation began, she was flustered.

Well, this would be a situation she hadn’t anticipated.

Who could have predicted? That even in a hell covered in paint for hundreds of years, there was a soul that remained unstained.

“Sancho Panza.”

Najin called the name of the lord of La Mancha.

And.

The master of La Mancha answered Najin’s call.