The boy looked up at the night sky.
As he gazed at the stars embroidered across that sky, he thought:
He wanted to become a knight.
All at once, he had harbored such a dream.
There was no reason for it.
No catalyst, either.
He had simply looked at the stars, and the thought had come to him without his realizing it.
A knight who would never forgive injustice.
Who would protect those he loved.
Who would never give up, no matter what trials or adversity came his way.
He dreamed of becoming such a knight.
He admired knights.
It would never happen, given that he was royalty.
But I remember that little child from before he knew better.
The little brat who would grab the golden lance his father had given him, swing it around with a whoosh, whoosh, and boast that he would become a knight.
And so the boy became an adult.
The thoughtless young prince grew into an adult capable of thinking for himself.
He never stopped swinging a sword in pursuit of his dream of becoming a knight.
But every step was unbearably heavy, his feet sinking into the ground.
That was simply what it meant for a dullard like me to dare walk the path of the sword.
Surely, that was how it was.
It was a sensation I had long since forgotten.
But it must have been so.
I was foolish.
I merely looked at the stars and made a wish.
Then I walked onward to fulfill that wish I had grasped by chance.
"Brother. It's a promise."
That tiny wish had become a promise before I knew it.
It had only been the childish urge to brag before my little sister—a pinky finger hooked with hers, and a promise that I would become a splendid knight for her.
The wish I had kept to myself became a childish promise, one small enough that it would not have mattered if it broke.
Why was that?
Why did I obsess over that tiny wish?
Why could I not let go of that promise, one I could have left behind without a care?
Foolishly.
Even after a dream born of chance had become a promise.
Why did I not stop there, but continue striving to become a knight?
In any case.
I admired knights.
I dreamed of becoming one.
And I never doubted that I would become one.
Even if I lacked skill.
I thought that, given enough time, I could become a knight.
And then—
that belief was shattered somewhere along the way.
It happened in a single moment. One moment.
During the war with Karl Kingdom, the land of knights.
Drunk on chivalry, I joined that battlefield of my own accord.
I enlisted under the pretext of protecting my little sister, but looking back now, it was nothing more than self-satisfaction.
I thought I had merely staked my sister on that self-satisfaction.
Even so, I never imagined I would lose.
After all, I had the golden lance my father had given me, a lance that unhorsed anyone it touched.
So I took part in countless battles and unhorsed countless knights.
I even knocked down several members of the Frank Knights, Karl Kingdom's pride.
I could not kill them, but I continued advancing from victory to victory.
My comrades and the people praised me as a fine knight.
Intoxicated by it, I became the knight they called me and continued savoring those moments of victory.
Then one day, I encountered a man on the battlefield.
Orlando.
The pinnacle of Karl Kingdom, the land of knights.
The first seat and commander of the Frank Knights.
Roland, praised as the Indestructible Knight.
The knight I admired.
The knight I had most longed to meet.
And the wall I had to overcome.
I did not entertain even the slightest thought that I would lose.
After all, he had the holy sword Durandal.
But I had the golden lance that brought down all things.
At least in mounted combat, I never thought I could lose, no matter if my opponent was Orlando.
But—
I had been mistaken.
I had forgotten that being thrown from one's horse was not the same as defeat.
No sword could pierce his body.
No armor could stop his sword.
I succeeded in knocking him from his horse, but I could not kill him.
And when he charged at me even after being unhorsed, I lost my left eye.
I alone survived that battle. Everyone else, except me, died.
No. That is not right.
It was no different from me killing them.
They could have lived if we had retreated, but the idiot blinded by chivalry drove them into the jaws of death, insisting that we could not retreat.
Then I alone fled that battlefield in disgrace.
And—
when my little sister was behind me, I dropped the golden lance from my hand.
It was when I fought a knight named Ferrau.
I had to fight that knight as I tried to evacuate my sister.
And in that battle, I let go of the golden lance.
When I lost my grip on the golden lance that had made me into such a great knight, what I felt was—
fear.
Helplessness.
Even though I knew that if I were defeated, my little sister would be the next one attacked.
I ran away.
This time, I ran away and left my little sister behind.
Isn't that laughable?
I wanted to become a knight.
I tried to become a knight.
I held a magnificent weapon fit for a knight.
I brought down countless knights.
And when I thought I had truly become a knight—
I fled alone after driving those who followed me because of my pathetic chivalry into the jaws of death.
And now, I ran away because I had dropped the golden lance.
The one who made me feel even more miserable was my little sister.
A ring that could hide one's body when held in the mouth.
A ring that rendered any magic useless when worn on one's hand.
Without showing me the slightest resentment, my little sister threw that ring to me.
"Live."
Leaving behind just those words, she slit her own throat with the dagger in her hand before my eyes.
When I dropped the golden lance, I gave up fighting.
And because I gave up fighting, I could not even protect my little sister.
I do not remember what happened next.
When I came to my senses, I had the ring Angelica gave me clenched between my teeth.
The knight was dead, his navel pierced through by my golden lance.
It seemed I had counterattacked, but that knight's sword had not reached me.
The glittering magic eye that had opened in my right eye.
An invisible armor born from that magic eye had stopped his sword uselessly.
It was utterly hollow.
Even taking the surprise attack into account.
It was enough to make me wonder whether the man who had sought to defeat me had really been that weak.
As though mocking me, God gave me power only after everyone was gone.
The knight who tried to kill me died so pointlessly.
And the little sister I wanted to protect died just as pointlessly.
Though she died because of my choice—
I held the idiot who had told me to live in my arms.
She was so cold.
My little sister, praised as more beautiful than anyone else.
My little sister, who had received more proposals than anyone else.
Because of an idiot's choice, she lay on the cold ground with blood that had not even dried yet splashed all over her, her eyes closed.
If.
If only.
If I had not dropped the golden lance from my hand.
No.
Even if it had fallen from my hand, if I had picked it up and charged again.
If I had simply not given up fighting and charged forward.
Would my sister have lived?
Would she not have needed to die so pointlessly, her throat slit?
No.
The magic eye manifested only after my sister died.
The ring let me succeed in a surprise attack.
But without the magic eye, I would have died to his counterattack anyway, so I rationalized that my choice must not have been wrong.
But—
because that knight died so absurdly easily.
Because it did not change the fact that my sister died because of me.
I...
What was I, anyway?
For a while after that, I lived like a madman.
I wandered around screaming like a lunatic.
Without armor or clothes.
I shoved the ring my sister had given me into my empty left eye socket.
After all, the magic eye had manifested, and like Orlando, no attack could harm me.
So I cast everything off and screamed.
I hate knights.
Drunk on chivalry, I joined a war as I pleased, stubbornly clung to chivalry, drove my comrades into the jaws of death, and survived alone in disgrace.
I relied on the golden lance, and when it was not even broken but merely slipped from my hand, I gave up fighting, got my sister killed, and survived alone in disgrace.
Even after killing my sister, I could not accept it, so I wandered about naked like a madman.
A coward who relied on the golden lance and gave up the instant he lost it.
An idiot who could not accept his sister's death and threw everything away to run wild in madness.
A fool who stubbornly clung to that pathetic chivalry and drove his comrades into the jaws of death.
He put on a knight's helmet as he pleased.
Then cast it aside as he pleased.
He put on the mask of a coward as he pleased.
And he goes on living like a coward, without even dying, as he pleases.
I hated such a man.
I hated such an idiot.
I hated such a knight.
Tell me.
Can you call this man a knight?
He shouted that he would save everyone.
Yet he could not save a single thing.
He failed to keep his promise to become a splendid knight.
Yet he keeps the promise to live with absolute precision, the fool.
Can you call him a knight?
#
Scaramuccia came charging toward me.
The air tore apart, and everything was drawn into his golden lance.
His body split into nine, creating afterimages.
Then they merged into one, becoming a single flash of light.
[Insight Eye has activated.]
[You have identified Scaramuccia's Narrative, 'Phoebusail.']
[You are acquiring 'Phoebusail.']
Phoebusail.
I had never seen it before, but I knew one thing.
There was absolutely no stopping that technique.
Even without using Insight of One Who Has Seen the End, every part of my body was sounding the alarm.
That was probably Scaramuccia's finishing move.
Could I exchange blows with it using a dagger?
Would I live if I blocked it with a shield?
What if I used Mad Orlando?
All of it was pointless.
This was a supreme technique unleashed by a Sword Master.
Even if I could use Blancart right now, I could not be certain that I would win.
So.
What the hell was I supposed to do about it?
I had already thrown away the thought of giving up long ago.
If I were going to give up over this, I would never have started in the first place.
So I simply—
decided to face that technique head-on.
It was not bravado from the Dream Ticket.
Because I had promised.
That no one would die anymore.
Kafka's expression, especially, had looked like that.
When we first met, she had worn that awfully uneasy expression.
Promises were important.
Even if they seemed like nothing.
So I would win.
I would take your supreme technique.
I survived Angelica's sparring session.
I also defeated that voyeur up there.
Now it was simply your turn.
All I had to do was overcome it, as I always did.
That was how it had been in the past.
That was how it was now.
And that was how it would be from now on.
Live.
A promise I had not even carved into my heart.
A promise I could have forgotten.
But even a promise like that was enough.
Even if it was only a tiny promise.
I would overcome you to keep that promise.
I raised Carnwennan.
Then—
[The influence of the Indestructible Knight is diminishing.]
Once again, someone was pushing me forward from behind.
[The author is right.]
With that notification as the last—
[I was a coward who relied on weapons and gave up the instant I lost them.]
[I was an idiot who went mad over a woman, cast everything aside, and ran wild.]
[I was a fool who stubbornly clung to that pathetic chivalry and drove my comrades into the jaws of death.]
[You cannot call such a man a knight.]
Something rose from Carnwennan.
[Yes. I am not a knight.]
That light shone brilliantly.
[I am merely a stupid fool who happened to reach the end.]
And it became a longsword.
A sword so far beyond sharp that it cut the air itself.
After that, there was nothing much to it.
[You have identified the skill, 'Orlando's Muscle Cultivation Method.']
[You have identified the skill, 'Mad Orlando.']
[Junior.]
I merely swung that sword at Scaramuccia as my heart guided me.
[When you cannot see what lies ahead.]
[When, because of that, your comrades are in danger.]
[You have identified the Narrative, 'Durandal.']
[You have fulfilled all conditions.]
[You are using the Narrative, 'The Song of Roland.']
[Find your star hanging in the sky.]
[And blow your horn with all your strength.]
The lance that pierced through all things.
And the sword that cut through all things collided.
They cut and pierced even sound, and so even sound disappeared.
For that instant, the world became black and white.
And when the world regained its original colors—
[Junior.]
[Do not regret things as I did.]
My sword split the golden lance cleanly in two.
"I will not regret it."
Because I promised her.
All I have to do is keep that promise.
At long last.
I was able to reach the star called Sword Master.
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