WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Ilafy

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ I Pulled Out Excalibur

Chapter 150

──────

The Silent Knight, Crunbelle (5)

‘Battle Ram’ was, at its essence, a piercing technique—a thrust that extended forward while rotating the lance shaft. 

The principle behind the technique was simple, but the process of mastering it was anything but straightforward because the technique demanded far more than a single skill.

Instantaneous strength and perfect posture, a profound understanding of the lance, and the form of the aura enveloping the lancehead…

In order to wrap wind around the lance shaft and release it explosively at the head, many factors had to align without the slightest error. 

That was what astonished Helmet Knight when he taught Battle Ram to Najin.

Even among the elite geniuses of the Empire—the Golden Horn Knights—those who wished to learn Battle Ram needed a full year to train just one technique. That was true even for those who used the lance as their primary weapon.

Najin was different. He understood Battle Ram after seeing it performed just a few times. 

Though unfamiliar with the lance as a weapon, and thus lacking polish in execution, he comprehended the principles of the technique—how it worked, how to channel force into specific movements, and the precise angle at which to thrust the lance.

Understanding naturally led to deconstruction.

In Najin’s mind, the movements of Battle Ram disassembled into parts. Dozens, even hundreds, of fragments flashed through his mind at high speed.

“Ah.” Najin looked ahead.

There, he saw a flawless execution of Battle Ram, a technique even more refined than what Helmet Knight had demonstrated. 

Witnessing Crunbelle’s second display of Battle Ram, Najin knew exactly what he needed to do.

With bloodshot eyes, he focused.

In the eye of the raging storm, he found an opening—a thread-thin gap. It was so small and narrow that even a needle might fail to pass through. 

If it had been the old Najin, he would have failed to exploit that gap. Even if he could see it, his body wouldn’t have been able to respond.

Things had changed.

The moment Najin swung his sword, the blade extended one handspan farther than usual. A mere handspan… yet, in battle, such a small difference often determined the outcome. 

Najin’s sword penetrated the storm’s flow.

Tick. Tick-tick-tick...

Something snagged at the tip of his sword. The storm began splitting along the path of his blade. As the divided storm lashed at Najin’s body, he endured. 

Step by step, he advanced while swinging his sword.

One step, then another.

Though he felt as if his movements were infinitely slow, that was merely his perception. From an outside perspective, his actions were so rapid they defied the eye. 

He felt as though he was walking, but to others, he was sprinting.

His sword cleaved through the storm, forging a path.

Blood vessels burst in his eyes, dyeing one side of his vision red, but he didn’t care—colors held no significance. In the moment his sword carved through the storm, he even felt as though sparks were igniting in his mind.

His senses expanded, the world seeming to grow broader. It was not just a feeling—his Imagery truly expanded. A sprout broke through the soil of a planted seed, pushing toward the surface.

Sprouting…

The first of three steps toward becoming a Sword Master.

Najin had taken his initial step toward Transcendence.

His Sword Aura shone brilliantly white, its golden hues bleached into pure light. He envisioned the knight who shone even without stars. 

He stomped the ground powerfully and felt it—he was sprinting forward.

He charged through the storm.

The trajectory of his sword’s cut through the air was without question his finest technique—the Knight of Atanga, Ivan’s sword.

Of course, the technique Ivan had perfected was not flawless. While Ivan had approached the level of a Sword Seeker, he had been a Sword Expert at the time. The technique he had developed contained gaps. 

It fell to Ivan’s disciple, Najin, to close those gaps.

Advancing beyond the Sword Seeker level toward becoming a Sword Master and higher, Najin used his experience to refine Ivan’s sword and complete it.

“I will defeat you head-on.”

‘Because you are worthy.’

That was the meaning behind the technique.

Coincidentally, it aligned with the story imbued in Najin’s first star—Challenge. Unconsciously, he drew upon the narrative of his star.

「Head-on.」

The star pushed Najin forward. He took what would be his final step. As he stepped, he swung his sword. The moment the blade’s trajectory completed, he stood directly in front of Crunbelle.

The storm split apart.

Crunbelle swung his lance, initially thrusting forward, but then he swept it sideways as if to push Najin away. 

Najin’s sword, raised upward, swung downward to meet it. Though Crunbelle moved faster, Najin’s technique had been designed with a second strike in mind.

A first strike to break the enemy’s technique; a second strike to cut down the opponent.

From the moment Najin’s sword rose, it had been poised to descend. He swung downward, his blade moving faster than Crunbelle’s lance. A mere handspan—but that was enough to decide the outcome.

Slash.

The sword sliced diagonally downward, splitting Crunbelle’s body in two. The blade, entering at the shoulder, emerged through his side. 

No blood spurted. Instead, a pure white light spilled from the deep wound: untainted, immaculate light.

Brilliant starlight consumed Crunbelle’s body.

Heaven acknowledged the boy’s achievement, and a new star appeared in the night sky.

The six stars engraved on Crunbelle’s armor began to change. The blackened stars turned white. Like sludge being washed away or soot flaking off, Crunbelle’s stars returned to their original color.

At the same time, Crunbelle’s body began to crumble. The first to disintegrate were the horns attached to his helmet; then, his flesh, fused with his armor, turned to dust and scattered.

The more the black stars turned white, the faster Crunbelle’s body collapsed. Gasping for the breath he had been holding, Najin watched Crunbelle. 

Crunbelle, too, looked at Najin. “...” He took a slow step back. Half of his body was already gone. With his remaining arm, he grasped his lance shaft. Not to wield it, not to threaten Najin—

Thud!

Crunbelle drove the lance into the ground. He spoke no words. He was the Silent Knight, after all. Believing that there were things better conveyed without words, that a single moment of silence could communicate more than a hundred words, he cherished his silence.

The Silent Knight saluted. Though headless and with half his body gone, the salute radiated respect. It was not a gesture directed solely at Najin. It was also for Helmet Knight, who had quietly approached his side.

For decades, he had wandered the Graveyard of Stars, forgotten. He had screamed like a beast, blown his horn, and lived days far removed from silence.

In his final moment, Crunbelle was the Silent Knight.

His end was serene.

Shhhh...

The white stars that adorned him crumbled along with his body; all that remained was a single lance.

“87 years late for discharge, but it’s finally over, Crunbelle.” Helmet Knight smiled bitterly.

“Well done.” He lightly patted Najin’s shoulder. Those words were meant for both Najin and Crunbelle. 

Helmet Knight approached the lone lance left behind. Kneeling on one knee before it, he spoke. “His name was Crunbelle. His title was ‘Silent Knight’, and the name of his star was ‘The ‘Hornblower’. He served in the Golden Horn Knights.”

Still kneeling, Helmet Knight continued, “He was the next commander of the Golden Horn Knights, a vice-captain; a knight more valiant than any other. Even when the commander who should have led him faltered, he advanced alone. He challenged endlessly, blowing his horn and marching onward. His journey was noble.”

It was an elegy for Crunbelle.

“You understood the value of silence. You knew courage. You knew honor and pride. In your final moments, you were a knight, so...” Helmet Knight gripped the lance shaft tightly. “Rest in peace, Crunbelle.”

There was no need to adorn himself with a new flag. The innermost, most securely bound flag was that of the Golden Horn Knights.

“Thank you,” Helmet Knight said by the campfire. His voice was lower than usual. 

Hearing the deep resonance in his tone, Najin looked up. “You sound like a man about to die.”

“Do I?”

“You also seem... relieved.”

“Well, sending off the last knight of the Golden Horn Knights does bring some peace.” Helmet Knight shrugged. “Crunbelle was the last of the thirteen knights of the Golden Horn Knights. Now that I’ve sent him off, I feel like I’ve done what I needed to.”

“The last?” Najin tilted his head in confusion, pointing at Helmet Knight. “But you’re still here.”

“Calling me a knight feels wrong.”

“What are you saying? You told me to call you Helmet Knight.”

“It’s not ‘Helmet Knight’ as in an actual knight. It’s just a nickname.” To Helmet Knight, even being called a knight by nickname seemed sufficient. 

Hearing this, Najin spoke in disbelief. “You live more like a knight than anyone else, yet you say you’re not a knight?”

“It’s not something so simple and straightforward...”

“Don’t sweat the small stuff.” Najin smirked. “Life gets exhausting if you do.”

It was a phrase Helmet Knight often said. Realizing his own words had come back to him, Helmet Knight laughed. “You’re right.”

He exhaled deeply. “Crunbelle was meant to be my successor. He would have taken my place as the commander of the Golden Horn Knights. An honest and steadfast man—I thought I could trust him with the position. I never imagined he’d leave before me.”

Helmet Knight ran his hand along the lance he held. “Najin…”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to use this lance?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You’re the one who defeated Crunbelle and won the duel. The victor deserves a reward.”

“It’s too large for me, and my main weapon is a sword.”

“It’s always good to have a secondary weapon, and this lance is special. It will adjust to your hand.” Helmet Knight handed the lance to Najin.

When Najin grasped it, the lance didn’t change. “It’s not changing.”

“Try channeling starlight into it.”

Najin did as instructed, and the lance vibrated before shrinking slightly. It adjusted to a size more suited to Najin’s grip and movements.

“Not bad, right?”

“It’s fine, but... what about you? What will you use?” Najin cast a doubtful glance at Helmet Knight. It felt as if the man were preparing for his death. 

Sensing this, Helmet Knight chuckled. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not planning to die. Not until I put a hole in the head of the woman who ruined the Golden Horn Knights.”

“Is that so?”

“That’s right.”

Najin studied the lance in his hands before looking at Helmet Knight again. “You said ‘thank you’ earlier.”

“I did.”

“That means you think I did better than you expected. To be honest, I think I did pretty well too.”

“Annoying as it is, I can’t deny that. Yes, you exceeded my expectations. What I asked of you wasn’t just a challenge—it was also half a favor.” Helmet Knight felt gratitude toward Najin. Despite severe injuries, Najin had not backed down and had gifted Crunbelle the peace he deserved while completing what Helmet Knight could not.

Najin, aware of this gratitude, grinned mischievously and said, “Then I’ll cash in that extra favor now.”

“What is it? I’ll grant one wish.”

“Teach me the sword.” Najin pointed to the sword strapped to Helmet Knight’s waist. “You’re a Sword Master, aren’t you?”

“Technically, I was a Sword Master.”

“You still remember the techniques, don’t you?”

“...I can’t say I’ve forgotten.”

“Then teach me.”

Helmet Knight hesitated. Najin knew the weight drawing that sword held for Helmet Knight; he could guess the deep meaning it held for him.

That was precisely why he made the request.

“Can’t you ask for something else?”

“No.”

“Tsk... Fine.” Scratching his helmet, Helmet Knight let out a sigh. “Alright, I’ll do it.”