I Pulled Out the Excalibur

Chapter 95 – Metamorphosis (3)

In the darkness, constellations shone brightly.

However, the constellations were not suspended in the vast night sky but were hanging from the tip of a swordsman’s sword on the ground, radiating light. The constellation shining from a human’s sword tip was tranquil and brilliantly luminous.

The Sword Seeker, Najin.

Having reached the realm of a Sword Seeker, Najin raised his sword. The constellations moved along the blade, and where the sword point stopped, there stood Najin’s worthy opponent.

“…Ha.”

Jerold burst into laughter as he looked at the sword tip pointed at him. Truly, what a formidable opponent. The slight discomfort he had felt just moments ago was nowhere to be found now. From the moment his opponent had ascended to the realm of a Sword Seeker, the distinction between the weak and the strong had become meaningless.

“Klaus.”

Jerold spoke as he exhaled a long breath.

“I hate to say it, but I’ll take the first strike. This is something I cannot yield.”

“It’s a pity. I was about to say the same.”

There was no helping it since he had been preempted.

Saying so, Klaus stepped back, while Jerold stepped forward instead. Their actions seemed to imply a sequence for challenging each other. This would normally negate the numerical advantage, but…

In this case, it wasn’t necessarily so.

A Sword Seeker-level powerhouse is akin to a walking army. A single individual could do the work of dozens, if not hundreds— this wasn’t a completely wrong analogy. And naturally, such a formidable person’s movements come with constraints.

Swinging his sword to split a giant tree, cutting through the area, and with each step, sweeping the surroundings— that’s what Sword Seeker-level powerhouses do.

Had they not synchronized their actions beforehand, and had they not stood side by side on the battlefield for a long time… they would likely interfere with each other. If they charged at the same time, they could be swept up by each other’s sword aura and energy.

That’s why they had been somewhat restrained.

It was the same for both Klaus and Jerold.

If they clashed with all their might, they would sweep up their allies. They would interfere with each other, and the advantage of numbers would vanish.

‘But now that it’s come to this.’

The numerical advantage was meaningless.

Hesitating would only lead to destruction. The battle had been prolonged, and what would decide the outcome was ultimately a sufficiently powerful strike.

“No, no.”

Jerold shook his head.

No, if they attacked together, they could still manage. By distributing their strength properly and surrounding the enemy, they might even have an advantage.

But he did not want to do that.

The swordsman who had completed his Metamorphosis. The one who had made constellations bloom at his sword tip had clearly stated it. This was an honorable duel. Although Jerold currently had no right to proclaim honor or hold pride.

‘Still, for that final strike.’

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For just that last exchange.

He wanted to exchange a strike fitting for the honorable duel declared by the swordsman. Even if it cost him his life in the process.

Both Jerold and Klaus thought so.

Foolish. It was foolish, but…

With Najin’s declaration, this was neither an ambush nor a war, but merely a duel. Then they should join in, shouldn’t they? It was their duty to uphold, having once been knights.

Jerold took a large step forward.

He unleashed his sword aura with more ferocity than ever.

His right foot firmly planted on the ground, his left foot braced at an angle. His breath regulated. Thus, he was poised to unleash his renowned Shatter Sword technique— a sword technique that had shattered countless demons and contractors of demons.

Though the swordsman before him was not a demon.

Nor was he wicked or malicious.

He was, nonetheless, an opponent that required full force.

There was no need for dialogue. Jerold launched forward. With each step he took, the ground thudded and trembled. Like a charging bull, at every step he took, trees split and debris scattered.

Shatter.

Destroying everything it touched, Jerold charged towards Najin. And Najin, with his sword drawn, waited for Jerold. Without retreating or dodging, as if to say, ‘Come at me all you want.’

A smile leaked from the corners of Jerold’s mouth.

What a prideful swordsman. Even in this situation, he does not back down! He shouts that he will take on a full-force strike head-on! In this era, he was thankful even to a swordsman who retained such purity.

And then, the clash.

The moment Jerold took his last step, the ground cracked loudly. The weight of the charge was fully borne by his greatsword, which Jerold swung. The sword aura contained the imagery of a charging bull that destroys everything in its path.

Crack, thud, boom…

Though the sword did not follow a perfect trajectory, the nearby trees were split. The surging air pressure kicked up dust, and the air churned. All of this was directly faced by Najin, whose clothing fluttered in the wind pressure. His skin split open, and blood spurted out.

Yet, Najin did not retreat.

Facing the onslaught of Jerold’s greatsword, he swung his own sword. The clash of a greatsword and a longsword. Normally, the greatsword should crush the longsword and even the person holding the longsword. But the rules of a Sword Seeker-level fight do not apply here.

When the swords collided, a tremendous noise erupted.

Sword aura against sword aura.

Najin’s sword, wrapped in constellations, completely withstood Jerold’s sword aura and did not yield. No, it even pushed back. The twinkling constellations ‘clinked!’ and scattered bright white light.

A moment of silence. A brief deadlock.

What felt like dozens of seconds was merely a second in the eyes of an onlooker. And then, the balance was broken. Najin gritted his teeth. He straightened his knees, which had almost buckled under the weight, and swung his sword with all his might.

Then, a scraping sound came.

The previously halted sword of Najin moved forward. The advancing sword cut through the sword aura, and through the greatsword, and split the technique Jerold had executed. The sword swung first, followed by the scattering constellations.

A light burst forth along the trajectory of the sword.

This light was a mass of sword aura. As Jerold watched the twinkling constellations before him, he let out a hollow laugh. It was a perfect strike, and it was his defeat. Immediately, the recoil of the sword aura struck Jerold.

Boom!

The steps he had taken that had split the ground were rendered meaningless as Jerold was lifted into the air. Swept up by the recoil of the sword aura, Jerold was flung away. After flying for a while, he shattered several large trees before coming to a stop.

Spitting out blood, Jerold collapsed.

Najin took a deep breath. The constellations still wrapped around his sword did not lose their light. There were still foes to be felled. Lifting his head, Najin looked ahead. There stood his final adversary.

Klaus Atten.

The Fifth Wing of the Kingdom of Prolea.

The Last Blue Winged Cavalier stood before Najin.

“Honestly, I didn’t expect him to fly off like that.”

Klaus grimaced with a bitter smile.

He pulled out a spear that had been stuck in the ground. In this situation, Klaus felt amazed. Was this boy really just experiencing his Metamorphosis now?

Metamorphosis, the act of breaking out of a cocoon.

Many struggled to adapt right after their Metamorphosis, unable to follow the restructured flow of their sword aura and mana. Klaus had been the same, but what about the swordsman before him?

‘It’s as if he has been a Sword Seeker for years, naturally wielding his sword aura.’

How absurd this seemed. The order had told him this young man was surely only 18 years old. It was almost laughable, beyond comprehension. A once-in-a-generation genius, something that couldn’t even be fully described with such words.

“Perhaps, this is an honor.”

Klaus exhaled.

Facing the sword of a boy who would soon reach the zenith was indeed an honor. Inappropriately, Klaus found himself laughing.

A duel, what a thrilling resonance it brings.

Now, as a one-on-one confrontation approached, Klaus smiled. If his life, tainted by the muck, would end in such a duel, he would gladly accept it. Whether he won or lost this fight, Klaus planned to end his own life.

For a knight who had lost both honor and pride should not live. The last of the Blue Wing Cavalry must end not with execution, but by his own hand.

From the day he lost all his comrades four years ago, Klaus Atten had been as good as dead. It was just that his death had been indefinitely postponed until he could restore his comrades’ honor.

And now that time had come.

The time to put a period on the life of a walking corpse had arrived. Gloriously, the individual to put that period would be a prideful swordsman. A foe worthy enough to clash with all his might. Klaus truly understood why Jerold had burst out laughing.

How could one not laugh?

How could one not rejoice?

“Najin.”

“Klaus Atten.”

They called out each other’s names.

That was enough. Klaus lifted his spear and lowered his stance. He seemed ready to spring forward at Najin any moment.

“I am coming.”

“Come.”

Aura flared up around Klaus’s body. The swirling aura wrapped around the tip of his spear. The branches it touched crumbled to dust without a trace.

Constellations gathered around Najin’s sword. The elongated constellations wrapped around his longsword, making it seem like a sword of stars.

Both Klaus and Najin took their positions.

And then, without anyone starting first, they charged at each other.

Klaus Atten is running.

He has no flag. He can no longer bear the glory of proving himself as the fifth wing of the kingdom.

He has no horse. On the day his comrades were buried in the mire, his beloved steed too met its death.

He has no comrades. The Blue Wing Cavalry was annihilated. They faced a dishonorable and prideless death.

Yet Klaus Atten runs.

No flag is needed. For the memory of running with his comrades is etched in his imagery. No steed is necessary. For his own legs can kick off the ground. No comrades are required. For Klaus Atten is still a Blue Winged Cavalryman.

Merely a commander defeated in battle.

A knight who has lost all honor and pride.

Klaus Atten runs.

He races for his comrades’ honor. Though his eyes are open, he sees his imagery. Cavalrymen dashing across vast meadows. Ah, they charge through the battlefield, bearing the emblem of the blue wings.

He stands at the forefront.

It seems he can hear the sound of horse hooves from behind. The robust roars of his comrades echo. Klaus speeds up. If he were a valiant Blue Winged Cavalryman, his comrades would surely follow. So, he runs with all his might.

Accelerating, and then accelerating again.

Klaus Atten eyes his foe who he must pierce. He sees the prideful swordsman. This man too is running towards him. Straightforwardly, honorably, intending to shatter his spear.

Let him try. By all means.

His speed increased. The swiftly passing scenery fades from Klaus’s vision. His eyes only see Najin. He only watches the sword that Najin intends to swing. That’s why Klaus realizes it.

The technique Najin is about to display.

Klaus knows this technique.

Isn’t it the technique of the Knights of Atanga, among knights? Had that boy introduced himself as a squire to a knight of Atanga? Is that so. Is it the sword of Atanga that will decide the fate of one who has lost all honor and pride? Yes, it’s a fitting end for me.

But then Klaus’s eyes widened.

No, that wasn’t it.

The sword of Atanga, used to execute knights, doesn’t charge forth like that. It doesn’t swing in such a manner. That is not a sword meant for execution.

It signifies recognition of you as a worthy opponent.

A sword implying that you possess value worth shattering with all might. At this realization, Klaus burst out laughing.

Then let me meet those expectations.

As the commander and vanguard of the kingdom’s Fifth Wing, the Blue Winged Cavalry, Klaus thrust his spear. Najin, the squire of Ivan from Atanga, swung his sword.

In that moment when the spear and the sword intersected, nothing else intruded upon their duel. Background, affiliation, order—everything became utterly meaningless. Just one cavalryman and one swordsman, each unleashing a powerful strike against the other.

To determine the outcome of the duel.

To seize victory.