Chapter 699 - The Sword of Coincidence
The clouds once again covered the sky overhead, and the sunlight that had faintly illuminated the land vanished without a trace.
The outskirts of Yohan were lined with cliffs, and behind them stood sheer rock faces like towering walls.
On a clear day, the view would have been breathtaking, but under the dark and murky sky, the landscape looked like a fragment torn from someone's nightmare.
Against this backdrop of fragmented nightmares, Enkrid gripped his sword and faced Heskal.
Heskal, with a small shield affixed to his gauntlet—crafted through some unknown technique—stood in a peculiar stance, keeping the sword in his right hand hidden behind the shield.
Coincidence should not remain as mere coincidence.
Why had such a thought crossed his mind?
It all began when he listened to the ferryman speak.
The man always talked about the future.
"Does the boatman truly know what lies ahead?"
Some of what he had shown had materialized in reality, while some had not.
No one can determine the future with certainty.
The mere act of speaking about what is to come alters the present.
Such is the dilemma of a prophet.
If one remains silent, there is no way to prove their foresight.
But if they record their visions and only reveal them after events have unfolded, it becomes nothing more than a record, not a prophecy.
Yet, if they do speak, does that alone make it a prophecy?
Upon hearing a prophecy, people—knowing what is foretold—will act contrary to it.
Thus, the future changes, and the prophecy becomes inaccurate.
This is the fundamental dilemma of a prophet.
The boatman could not escape this paradox either.
"Even the boatman does not truly know the future."
And yet, he spoke as if he did.
How was that possible?
A mask can hide a face, allowing someone to impersonate another.
A masquerade ball is only enjoyable because no one knows what lies behind the masks.
Thus, at such balls, people adorn themselves with elaborate disguises, appearing in forms unimaginable before.
The boatman did not see the future—he merely made it appear that way.
He simply changed his masks as the situation demanded.
"What if he was merely observing the situation and adjusting his words accordingly?"
Coincidence should not remain as mere coincidence.
That was Enkrid's conclusion.
However, to accomplish such a thing, a broad perspective was essential.
"To turn coincidence into intention, one must grasp the full picture."
His thoughts flowed freely, interwoven like a spider's web, leading him to the very swordsmanship he was now executing.
His mind raced toward a single conclusion.
Why had he fixed the movements of his instinctive swordsmanship into a reactive form?
Because it was natural.
There was no other viable path.
That was why he had done it.
"But why?"
He needed a clearer path.
He had to examine the process more meticulously.
He repeatedly asked himself and pondered the answers.
He had to find the reason.
A genius might instinctively understand such things, but Enkrid was no genius.
Thus, he had to uncover it, step by step.
There was a world of difference between doing something unknowingly and doing it with full awareness—at least for Enkrid.
The answer was not difficult to find.
He had spent days contemplating it, after all.
In short, he already knew.
It was because one must first perceive the situation before reacting.
That was why his swordsmanship had been constrained to counterattacks.
A sword that capitalizes on coincidence.
This would be the third technique, following Wave-breaker and Flash.
As before, once its meaning, method of execution, and training regimen were established, it would become a fully realized sword technique.
Having done this twice before, was it easier this time?
Not in the slightest.
Creating swordsmanship was akin to opening a new world.
Even so, fortune had once again smiled upon him today.
But was this truly luck?
No—it was intent.
"Even fortune itself must be drawn into my intentions."
That was the essence behind this sword technique.
In precise terms:
"To make it seem as if all fortune flows toward me."
The method of execution was to exploit all coincidences.
The method of training was to fight hundreds, thousands of battles, experiencing diverse situations and learning to respond to them all.
"But is experience alone the answer?"
A small doubt arose in his mind.
Perhaps this was where his swordsmanship could evolve further.
But now was not the time to dwell on that.
Learning through experience—this was what Enkrid had done countless times before.
His training regimen was already ingrained in him. All he had to do was refine the method of execution and training approach.
And so, Enkrid used Heskal—the coincidence before him—to do just that.
Without warning, Heskal thrust the shield in his left hand forward, obstructing Enkrid's vision.
At the same time, he feigned movement to the left.
Enkrid instinctively swung his sword.
The blade of Samcheol traced a short arc and struck the shield.
But forcing it aside was impossible—Heskal possessed strength akin to that of a giant, coupled with exceptional technical prowess.
Clang!
The moment his blade struck the shield, Enkrid felt the force of his attack being redirected.
Heskal had guided the momentum away, using a deflection technique.
Feigning leftward movement, he suddenly appeared on the right.
By obscuring Enkrid's vision with his shield and pretending to retreat leftward, he had set up a strike from the right.
The motion was simple, and the tactic even simpler, yet the sheer brilliance with which he manipulated the situation and disrupted Enkrid's senses made it a deadly maneuver.
Because Samcheol had struck Heskal's shield, it had been forced toward the left in Heskal's perspective—and toward the right in Enkrid's.
The recovery motion was now too long.
Pulling the blade back in time to defend was difficult.
In other words, he had left an opening.
The sword came flying toward him.
And just as if he had been waiting for this exact moment, Enkrid pulled back his blade and struck the tip of Heskal's sword with the pommel.
Clang!
The precision of the strike was such that it neither missed nor deflected off course, resulting in a loud, resounding impact.
"Trying to damage the tip of my blade, are you?"
Heskal asked as he stepped back.
Enkrid clenched and unclenched his trembling hand before answering.
"A weapon engraved with runes wouldn't be damaged so easily."
"Was that intentional?"
Without hesitation, Enkrid nodded.
All coincidence must be drawn into intent.
Of course, it had not been intentional.
He had been caught off guard.
"This is his fangs."
Heskal's hidden fangs were lethal.
A sword of deception.
His fangs, concealed behind careful calculations, only ever struck once—to kill.
The victor survives, and the defeated dies.
Such is the world of swordsmen.
Heskal was undoubtedly strong.
And though it had not been intentional, Enkrid's Sword of Coincidence happened to be its perfect counter.
Heskal sought to exploit openings through deception, while the Sword of Coincidence turned even those openings into intent.
Of course, it was not something just anyone could wield.
'He does something effortlessly that would require at least thousands of repetitions to master.'
Heskal had a keen eye, allowing him to grasp and understand the feat Enkrid had just demonstrated.
That was why he thought this—such a feat could only be accomplished through an accumulation of countless experiences.
To turn coincidence into intent?
That was easy to say.
But without being stabbed, slashed, and experiencing countless real battles, it was impossible to achieve.
One would likely need to fight relentlessly for a hundred years, always seeking the right opponents at the right time, to even come close to such a level.
"Is it outstanding talent?"
Heskal muttered.
Enkrid, having let his sword hang at his side to catch his breath, half-closed his eyes.
While contemplating swordsmanship and dueling, another thought suddenly struck him.
It was as if scattered pieces had snapped together into place.
The swordsmanship he had been refining was now aligning with the current situation, unraveling a tangled knot naturally.
He reviewed everything that had happened so far.
He simplified the complicated situation, viewing the tangled mess both as it was and as something to be unraveled.
There was nothing difficult about it.
Some things became even clearer when viewed from the outside.
'If this was intent disguised as coincidence…'
A hypothesis emerged.
'What if Anne wasn't the intended target?'
Why did they target Anne?
Why did they stall for time?
Was Anne a threat?
How did they know about Anne?
What if the one who stalled for time and the one who attacked Anne were different people?
Not all questions had answers.
But for a few of them, he felt like he knew.
'They spotted Anne by chance. But she was a familiar face, and they judged her to be an obstacle. So, they tried to kill her and failed.'
The hostility was clear, but it wasn't persistent or obsessive.
'It was just a probe.'
That was the answer that surfaced.
"Were you watching?"
Heskal spoke, though not to Enkrid.
"It's been a while since I've seen someone wield a sword that seriously."
It was the head of the household.
He stood idly next to Ana Hera as he spoke.
"Is that so? It was enjoyable. Enkrid of the Border Guard."
Heskal exchanged a few words with the head and gestured slightly toward Enkrid.
He had learned much from him.
Enkrid nodded in return, a silent expression of gratitude.
There was much to learn here.
"How's your body?"
Heskal asked the head again.
"Set aside your concerns. I'll handle my own body."
Heskal worried about the head's condition, but the man remained as emotionless as ever.
That was the end of it.
The head left, and Ana Hera charged forward, declaring it was her turn next.
Though she was at the level of a junior knight, her sheer strength was comparable to that of a full-fledged knight.
Giants were naturally a race capable of crushing hundreds of humans.
The nickname 'Crimson-Blooded Monster' wasn't given for no reason.
Normally, her boiling battle instinct would have led to incidents—beating people senseless or even to death.
But she had adapted to Yohan.
When asked why—
"Because it's fun."
Not all humans were the same, nor were all fairies or Frogs.
Giants were no different.
For Ana Hera, it was curiosity and a desire for growth that helped her suppress the battle instinct flowing in her blood.
"I will become a knight."
She declared.
"It won't be easy."
Enkrid replied, giving her a lump on the head with the flat of his blade.
Had he cut with either side of his sword, Yohan would have lost a beautiful giant woman today.
"That's why it's fun. I want to fight better. I want to fight stronger opponents too."
A combination of battle instinct and the will to improve.
He could now see why she was capable of this.
Living and training in Yohan, himself had learned far more than from Grida, Magrun, and Odincar in the Border Guard.
Not only because no one here actively hid their knowledge, but also because Enkrid himself was in the process of opening up an entirely new world, broadening his own perspective.
Yohan operated under a certain principle—
That no one could be confined to a single category.
They respected individuality and helped each person achieve what they desired.
They taught, sparred, instructed in training methods, and even passed down techniques.
'A system for geniuses.'
That was the swordsmanship Yohan pursued.
Meanwhile, Enkrid was establishing a system for the ordinary.
'The paths diverge.'
If he were to only speak of Yohan's system, he could say he had learned all he needed to.
Be it techniques or anything else, their foundation was built upon those with talent.
That was the key.
Once the core was understood, techniques and training methods could be reasoned out naturally.
'This isn't the right path for me.'
Of course, talent would always be a factor.
'But those with less talent must also have a way to rise.'
That was the path swordsmanship should take.
At least, in Enkrid's view.
Even after defeating Ana Hera, he did not proclaim himself victorious over Yohan.
However, at this point, everyone subtly acknowledged his skill.
As he stepped aside, Heskal approached him.
"What do you think of Yohan?"
"It is good."
Heskal was old.
Though he wielded Will throughout his body like a high-ranking knight, his age was subtly apparent.
Strength and agility inevitably declined with time.
Even knights could not hold back the passage of time.
'Slowly, but surely, they age.'
Everyone had a peak period they could maintain.
For knights, that peak was long.
Even in old age, their strength did not easily fade.
But it wouldn't last forever.
Heskal seemed older than he appeared.
Yet he still traveled between the nearby villages, leading an energetic life.
People said he was the kind of man who would do anything for Yohan.
"It's a fine place, sure. But don't you find the lord's attitude a bit lacking?"
"You mean because he doesn't spar often?"
"That's not what I meant."
Enkrid couldn't tell why Heskal was bringing this up now.
Was he talking behind the lord's back just because they had gotten a little closer?
Or was there another reason?
"Yohan has a structured system for honing its techniques, but it lacks a framework to resist external pressure. That's something the lord should take charge of, yet he doesn't."
"Is that really necessary?"
Enkrid asked in return.
"Shouldn't someone from the Border Guard know better? Can a place remain still just because it wants to? Can it stay stagnant simply by choice? Yohan holds great power. You do understand why Schmit keeps trying to persuade them to join the Empire, don't you?"
They had crossed swords and exchanged words.
Heskal knew the man before him wasn't a fool.
And really, what he was saying wasn't much different from what had once been discussed in the Kingdom of Naurilia.
It had been right after the formation of the Madmen Order.
There had been concerns that the Border Guard's power was growing too great.
Thus, some had argued that the Madmen Order should be scattered or sent to the front lines.
Some had even insisted they should be formally integrated into the kingdom's knights, following in the footsteps of the Crimson Cloak Knights.
Enkrid had only learned about this later.
Back then, Krang had shut down such discussions without hesitation.
"Did any of you ever bother to wipe Sir Enkrid's sweat while he trained? And yet you demand his loyalty to the royal family?"
That was what he had told the nobles.
At the time, some of them still thought the Madmen Order wasn't mad enough.
But those who had faced them directly had nothing more to say.
Heskal's stance was similar.
"Yohan must change. It must transform before a greater wave crashes down. When it rains, shouldn't you seek shelter under a roof?"
That was his argument.
Not everyone shared his view, though.
"Yohan has strength. Yes, great strength. That's why it must establish its own defense system. And it should be a fierce one at that. I mean recruiting talents from outside. The Empire adopted the practice of gathering gifted children and training them after seeing us do it—so why shouldn't we learn from them in return? The Empire draws in talent from across the continent while also sparing no effort in strengthening its military. We should be just as proactive."
That was Rhinox's opinion.
His words were somewhat scattered, but that was because he had lived a life where his blade spoke louder than his tongue.
Heskal was certainly the more eloquent one.
Even after hearing both perspectives, the lord had remained silent.
He had simply nodded without a word.
No one knew what he truly thought.
Alexandra had merely observed the two and said,
"You both love Yohan. As do I."
Enkrid looked up at the sky, now heavy with dark clouds.
Something about it reminded him of the current situation.
"It feels like a storm is coming."
Just as Alexandra had once said.
Yohan was wrapped in an eerie calm, as if standing at the edge of an approaching tempest.
***
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