I Pulled Out the Excalibur - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – Sword of the Star and Voice (2)

Who is the most famous among the constellations?

If asked, nine out of ten would answer: The Sword of Selection, of course.

So, who is the Sword of Selection among the constellations?

Most people would associate it with King Arthur, the protagonist of “The Chronicles of Arthur.” Scholars who have studied the empire’s history might say it’s the founding emperor. Those following the path of the knight and the sword would answer that the Sword of Selection is the most honorable knight, the greatest swordsman, and a hero.

The Sword of Selection’s records can be found in various fields – in the empire’s history, swordsmanship textbooks, political and imperial studies, and even on steles recording wars against demons. A name found everywhere, it’s the first constellation visible in the night sky.

King Arthur, already famous among the constellations, had his renown further elevated by an event that took place hundreds of years ago: a trial set forth by the Sword of Selection.

The Trial of the Star, Selection.

A trial conducted every 13 years for 13 days.
All of humanity was its subject.
The trial’s task was remarkably simple:

“Draw the sword embedded in the rock.”

There were no other conditions attached. Countless challengers attempted the trial.
Great swordsmen acclaimed as geniuses, seekers of the sword’s path, and heroes from historical records – many reached out to the sword in the rock.

And so, centuries passed.

The sword remained undrawn by anyone.

No one was selected by the sword.

***

‘Today, my head feels heavy.’

Najin rubbed his temples with his thumbs and sighed deeply. It’s no wonder, considering the sleepless nights he’d had recently. Even days after seeing the sword fall in the plaza, Najin still tossed and turned at night.

The image of the holy sword kept haunting him.

The brilliant starlight it emitted.

And a sentence that filled his mind:

“Draw the sword.”

That sentence never left his thoughts.

Instead of fading, it now evolved into two sentences. Following “Pull out the sword” came the absurd “You can pull out the sword.”

Pull what?

Even the greatest Sword Masters couldn’t pull out that sword.

He knew it was baseless fantasy, yet the sentences wouldn’t leave his mind. It felt as if someone had stirred up his thoughts.

“Haah…”

Najin let out a long sigh and leaned back on the bench. Sitting on a bench at the outskirts of the plaza, he observed its center. The usually bustling plaza was eerily quiet, silenced by the figures at its heart.

The soldiers sent from the upper city.

Clad in armor that glinted with a cold light, they guarded the holy sword. A cloth they had draped over the sword prevented even a sliver of starlight from escaping.

“So stingy…”

Disappointed, Najin had roamed the plaza, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of the starlight emanating from the sword.

“It’s no use waiting here.” He was about to leave the plaza when something caught his eye.

Two young children, huddled in a shaded area on the plaza’s outskirts. They had set up a makeshift stall with odds and ends on a scrap of plywood. Suddenly, their eyes met Najin’s.

He walked over to them.

“What are you selling here?”
“Uh, well…”

Crouching in front of the makeshift stall, Najin looked at the items the children had laid out: scraps of newspaper and miscellaneous trinkets. When he asked what they were selling, they pointed towards the center of the plaza.

“We picked up stuff those people threw away.”

“Don’t point fingers.”

Najin covered the child’s pointing finger with his hand. Better safe than sorry – a grumpy soldier might take offense and beat them up.

“How much for a newspaper?”

“Two, no, three copper coins.”

Najin placed three coins on the child’s outstretched palm. The child carefully took the coins, exchanged a smile with the companion, and laughed.

“We’ve met our quota.”

Najin was about to give more coins but stopped upon hearing this. He then bought some simple food from a nearby stall and placed it in front of the children.

“Eat up.”

“Thank you so much!”

The children devoured the food eagerly. Clearly, they were starving. Najin knew from experience that giving these children food was better than money, which would only be taken from them.

“Brings back memories.”

He had lived like these children before catching Ivan’s eye. Watching them eat, Najin suddenly frowned.

A mocking laugh had caught his ear.

The soldiers at the plaza’s center were pointing and laughing loudly at him and the children.

“Look at them, selling stuff we threw away… Typical of people from this place.”

Despite the blatant disrespect, the children didn’t dare meet the soldiers’ eyes. They acted as if they couldn’t hear or see them.

Humiliation and disgrace are temporary but broken limbs from a beating last a lifetime.

Najin wasn’t much different. He sighed internally and stood up.

“Be careful not to make eye contact with those guys.”

“Yes, brother Najin!”

“You know my name?”

“You’re quite famous among us.”

The child smiled brightly.

“I want to be like you, big brother,” one of the children said. “Many kids are saving up to buy swords, dreaming of being like you. The faster ones are even trained in swordplay by their fathers.”

“I wish I could be like you too, but we’re not fast runners, so dad says it’s not for us,” the other child murmured. Najin stayed silent, contemplating.

“What good is it to be like me? Living a life of drowning others isn’t exactly honorable,” he thought but didn’t voice these concerns. In his past, scrounging through trash cans and scavenging leftover food, Najin had also envied Ivan’s men.

“Getting three meals a day and sleeping in a bed… that’s definitely something to envy,” Najin thought bitterly.

“Is that so.”

After ruffling the child’s hair, Najin moved on. Unfolding the newspaper, he read about various cities where the holy swords had landed and the stories of those who dared to challenge the trial.

“The Empire’s Sword Master, Sir Gerd Isabalt, expresses intent to attempt the Trial of the Star for the fifth time… planned to challenge on the 13th day at Camelot, the capital of the Empire…”

Stories about the old Sword Master’s trials.

“Sword Saint, Karan, manages to slightly shake the embedded holy sword… speculation arises that in the next trial, the sword might be drawn…”

Stories about the Sword Saint’s endeavors.

“Executioner of the Starblood Sect, Uel Razian, causes the sword’s hilt to shake violently upon touch… though unsuccessful in drawing the sword, such a reaction from the hilt is unprecedented… the Sect criticizes Razian’s actions, stating ‘a blood-crazed hound like him isn’t worthy to touch the sword’…”

Stories about the sect’s killer and various other challengers were detailed in the newspaper. As Najin read about their backgrounds and the moments they attempted to draw the sword, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing.

“I wish I could try too,” the thought crossed his mind. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead, swallowing down the ‘if’, ‘maybe’, and ‘what if’ thoughts that followed.

“Don’t cross the line.
Live as you’re meant to.
Don’t dream beyond your reach.
Don’t dare to reach for what you can’t even look at.”

These were Ivan’s warnings and advice, which Najin now repeated like a mantra. “Yes, reaching for the unattainable only leads to misery,” he thought. The countless people who fell into this city were evidence enough.

“…”

Najin folded the newspaper. The spark in his eyes, briefly lit by the stories, had returned to its usual dull and murky state – befitting of the dim underground city, Artman.

He glanced at the plaza one last time.

Still, the stars were not visible.

***

The boy was still nowhere to be seen.

Merlin clenched her fists, grinding her teeth. Her brow was furrowed, and her fingers drummed on her arm in irritation.

“Huu…”

She exhaled a sigh tinged with annoyance. For days, Merlin had been scouring the earth for a brash young man who dared insult Arthur. With her clairvoyance, reaching anywhere her starlight touched, finding one insolent youth should have been easy. Until a few days ago, she was certain of it.

But now, after several days, she still hadn’t found the boy. She couldn’t fathom why. How could he possibly remain hidden from her sight?

“Is another constellation shielding him?” No, that would have made him easier to find. Any attempt to hide something with starlight would only make that space appear distorted.

“Is he living somewhere untouched by starlight?” The thought was ludicrous. Even places where constellations had fallen, like the abyss of Camlan, were barely inhabitable.

Then why couldn’t she see him?
Was he burrowing in some tunnel, hiding away without showing his face?

The thought of him hiding in a tunnel for a week was astonishing in its own right. Merlin sighed heavily, running her fingers through her hair.

“…”

Annoyed, she clicked her tongue. She felt like she was wasting her energy on something trivial. After all, it was ridiculous for her, an entity who had lived for over a millennium, to be so riled up by a mere youth’s provocation.

“Forget it, just forget…”

She tried to calm herself, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Despite her efforts, the echoes of the boy’s words, comparing her to ‘a blind man who can see’ and dismissing Arthur as ‘a hero made by his times,’ rang in her ears.

Insults that should have been easy to ignore.

Yet, Merlin couldn’t do so because she knew of a prophecy that echoed similarly. She pondered over the prophecy, now a thorn in her side.

“Excalibur will choose a new master.”

“In decades, or centuries, it will certainly find one.”

“A hero among men, destined to be greater than Arthur.”

The prophecy left by the traitor of the Round Table.

“A true hero unlike Arthur, a mere product of his times. A savior! A king and guide to lead us beyond Camlan, to the world we dream of!”

“Merlin, you blind seer! Do you not see this glorious future?”

Recalling the prophecy, Merlin’s face twisted in discomfort. The boy’s words resonated, especially the part about Arthur being lucky with his times. She frowned, refuting the idea.

“Arthur didn’t just get lucky with his times.”

“He shaped the course of an era, you fools.”

For centuries, no one had been able to draw the sword left by Arthur. That alone proved his greatness. Merlin scoffed, looking down at the earth.

The ongoing Trial of the Star across various lands, with numerous swordsmen attempting and failing to draw the sword.

“See?”

She scoffed again.

“Who can draw the sword?”

No one could. Therefore, no one could surpass Arthur. The traitor’s prophecy and the unknown youth’s taunt were all meaningless.

With that thought, Merlin exhaled.

Finally, her mind felt at ease.