A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 699: The Sword of Coincidence

Clouds again gathered overhead. The sunlight that had gently shone through had vanished without a trace.

The outskirts of Zaun were sheer cliffs. Behind, a rock face stood like a wall.

Had the weather been clear, it would’ve been a breathtaking view. But beneath the dull, overcast sky, it looked more like a fragment of someone’s nightmare.

Enkrid stood with his sword in hand, gazing at Heskal, framed by the remnants of that nightmare.

Heskal took a peculiar stance, positioning a gauntlet with a small shield in front of him. The sword in his right hand was raised behind the shield as if to hide it.

He doesn’t leave coincidence to chance. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Why had that thought arisen?

It had begun with a question sparked by listening to the Ferryman. He always spoke of the future.

Does the Ferryman know the future?

Some of what he showed came to pass. Some didn’t.

No one can truly confirm the future. Speaking of the future changes the present. That is the prophet’s dilemma.

If they say nothing, there’s no proof. But if they write it down and it comes true, it’s not prophecy—it’s a record.

So, then, is it prophecy if spoken aloud? But those who hear it will act differently because they know it. Thus, the future changes, and the prophecy fails.

That’s the prophet’s ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) dilemma. The Ferryman could not escape it either.

The Ferryman doesn't know the future either.

Yet he spoke as if he did. How?

When you wear a mask, you can hide your face and become someone else.

A masquerade is fun because you don’t know what’s behind the mask.

So the masquerade is full of people dressed extravagantly. Some appear in forms unimaginable before.

The Ferryman didn’t see the future—he crafted the illusion of it. He wore masks as needed.

What if he tailored his words to the moment?

He doesn’t leave coincidence to chance.

That was Enkrid’s conclusion.

But one can’t do that with a narrow perspective. A wide view was essential.

You have to understand the flow to turn coincidence into intention.

His thoughts spiraled out, threading themselves like spider silk toward the sword technique he was now performing. A tangled mass of thought raced toward a conclusion.

Why had he fixed instinctive swordsmanship into the form of counterattacks?

Because it felt natural. There was no other path.

But why?

He needed a clearer path. A deeper look at the process.

He questioned again and searched for answers. He had to understand the reason. A genius might do it without knowing, but Enkrid was no genius.

So he had to understand every step.

There was a massive difference between acting without understanding and acting with it. At least for Enkrid.

The answer wasn’t difficult. He’d been pondering it for days.

In truth, he already knew it.

Because one must accept the situation first and then respond. That’s why it was only used as a counterattack.

A sword that utilizes coincidence.

The third technique, following Wavebreaker and Flash.

Same as before.

If the meaning, execution method, and training process were clearly defined, it could become a formal sword technique.

Was it easier this time, having done it twice already?

Not a chance. Creating a sword technique was like opening a new world.

Even so, today, fortune’s goddess visited again. But was this really luck? No—it was intention.

Even fortune must be absorbed into my intent.

That was the meaning embedded in the technique.

To make all fortune appear as if it flows toward me.

Its execution relied on making use of all things born from coincidence. Its training method was to fight hundreds, thousands of battles, experiencing every possible situation and learning how to respond in each.

But is experience the only answer?

A small doubt lingered. That was the potential for the technique to evolve. Not something to delve into now.

Learning through experience—that’s what Enkrid had always done. The training method was already ingrained in him. All he needed now was to define the implementation and training clearly.

And so, using Heskal—this "coincidence"—Enkrid did just that.

Without warning, Heskal extended the shield on his left hand, blocking Enkrid’s vision. At the same time, he gave the impression of moving left.

Enkrid struck reflexively. The blade of Three Iron slashed in a short arc and hit the shield. Knocking it away was no easy feat—Heskal was as strong as a giant. He also had exceptional technique.

Clang!

The moment the shield was struck, Enkrid felt the force of his blow redirected. The shield had deflected his power.

Heskal had faked a move to the left. He now appeared from the right.

He’d used the shield to obscure Enkrid’s vision, feigned a retreat to the left, and then stabbed from the right.

The move was simple. The tactic, even simpler. But the brilliance in shaping the situation and the skill that could mislead even Enkrid’s senses made it deadly.

Three Iron had struck the shield from Heskal’s left—Enkrid’s right. The return path for the blade was too long. Pulling it back in time to block was difficult, so there was a clear opening.

The blade came flying in.

Enkrid, as if anticipating this exact moment, pulled his sword back and used the pommel to strike the tip of Heskal’s thrusting blade.

If the blade couldn’t return in time, then block with another part.

Clang!

The clash was dead-on and resounded with a violent clang.

“Trying to ruin my blade tip?”

Heskal spoke as he stepped back.

Enkrid opened and closed his tingling hand and replied,

“A weapon with engravings won’t be damaged that easily.”

“You meant to do that?”

Enkrid nodded.

The question came without even a breath of pause, and Enkrid nodded immediately.

All coincidence—within intent.

Of course, it hadn’t been intentional. He had been caught off guard.

That’s his fang.

The hidden fang of Heskal was lethal.

A deceptive sword.

He used calculated pressure to drive the opponent into a corner, then struck once with pure deceit.

The winner lives, the loser dies. That’s the world of those who hold swords. Heskal was strong. That was certain.

And though Enkrid’s Sword of Coincidence hadn’t been deliberate, it was naturally opposed to Heskal’s style.

Heskal aimed for openings through deceit. The Sword of Coincidence turned even those openings into intention.

Of course, not just anyone could do that.

Only one with thousands of bouts of experience could manage it so casually.

Heskal, with his discerning eye, had already figured out the nature of Enkrid’s technique.

That’s why the thought came to him.

One needed countless experiences—being stabbed, slashed, surviving real battles—to do something like that.

It might take a hundred years, finding the right opponents again and again, constantly fighting.

“Exceptional talent, is it...”

Heskal murmured.

Enkrid lowered his sword and took a breath, half-closing his eyes.

While contemplating swordsmanship and sparring, another thought suddenly sparked in his mind.

It clicked into place like a puzzle piece.

The sword technique he’d been pondering overlapped with the current situation. It unraveled naturally.

He reviewed what had happened so far.

He simplified the tangled situation and looked at it from the outside. That made things clearer.

If it was intent disguised as coincidence...

One hypothesis emerged.

What if the attack on Anne wasn’t deliberate?

Why target Anne? Why drag out time? Was Anne a threat? How did they even know Anne?

What if the one who stalled for time and the one who targeted Anne weren’t the same?

Not all questions had answers.

But a few... he thought he knew.

They saw Anne by chance. But it was a familiar face. Judged her a hindrance. Tried to kill her. Failed.

The enemy’s malice was real, but it wasn’t obsessive.

They just took a shot in the dark.

That was the answer he’d found.

“Were you watching?”

Just then, Heskal spoke—not to Enkrid.

“It’s been a while since I saw someone that serious while wielding a sword.”

The clan head. He stood next to Anahera, speaking quietly.

“Is that so? It was enjoyable. Enkrid of the Border Guard.”

Heskal exchanged a few words with the clan head, then gave Enkrid a slight nod.

He’d learned much from him. Enkrid nodded back—his way of expressing thanks.

There was much to learn here.

“How’s your body?”

Heskal asked the clan head again.

“Don’t worry. I know my own limits.”

Heskal showed concern, but the clan head maintained a stoic, emotionless tone.

That was the end of it. The clan head left, and Anahera stepped up for her turn.

Though only at the quasi-knight level, her strength could rival a true knight.

Giants were a race that could crush hundreds of humans on their own.

She wasn’t called the Beast of Red Blood for nothing. Normally, she should’ve gone on a violent rampage, beating people to death. But she had adapted to Zaun.

When asked why—

“Because it’s fun.”

Not all humans are the same. Nor are fairies or Frokk. Nor are giants.

What overcame the battle-lust in her blood was curiosity and a thirst for growth.

“I’ll become a knight.”

Anahera declared.

“It won’t be easy.”

Enkrid replied, then struck her on the head.

He used the flat of the blade. Had it been the edge or the back, Zaun would’ve lost one beautiful giant woman.

“That’s why it’s fun. I want to fight better. Fight stronger foes.”

The fusion of battle-lust and a hunger for improvement.

Now he understood how she could act like that. Training and sparring within Zaun had taught him more than learning from Grida, Magrun, or Odinkar in the Border Guard.

Part of it was because they didn’t hide much. But it was also because Enkrid was now opening a world of his own—his perspective had widened.

Zaun operated on a core premise:

You cannot define everyone under a single category.

They respect individuality and help each person reach their own goals. They teach, spar, share techniques, and pass on training methods.

A system for geniuses.

That was the swordsmanship Zaun pursued.

But Enkrid was establishing a system for the ungifted.

Our paths are different.

If speaking strictly about Zaun’s system, he’d learned all he needed. Their standards—whether technique or training—were based on natural talent.

That was the essence.

Once you grasp the essence, minor techniques and training methods can be derived through logic.

This isn’t the path for me.

Talent, of course, was the standard.

But those without it must also be able to climb.

That was the path swordsmanship should follow. At least by Enkrid’s standard.

Though he didn’t shout it aloud, after defeating Anahera, it was clear everyone now acknowledged Enkrid’s skill.

Heskal, who had been watching from the side, approached and asked,

“What do you think of Zaun?”

“It’s a good place.”

Heskal was old. He was likely a high-level knight whose Will enveloped his whole body—though it wasn’t immediately obvious.

He had reached an age where his strength and reflexes should be declining.

Becoming a knight didn’t halt the passage of time.

Slower, but still aging.

Every warrior has a prime. A knight’s peak may last long—but not forever.

Heskal was older than he looked.

Still, he actively moved between neighboring villages. Everyone said he’d do anything for Zaun.

“Indeed, it is a good place. But doesn’t the clan head’s attitude disappoint you a little?”

“Because he rarely spars?”

“That’s not it.”

Enkrid wasn’t sure why Heskal brought this up now.

Had they grown close enough to gossip behind the clan head’s back the moment the tone shifted?

“Zaun has a solid system for honing technique, but no system to resist outside pressure. That’s the clan head’s role—but he doesn’t take it.”

“Is that necessary?”

Enkrid asked.

“You’re from the Border Guard—you should know better than anyone. Can you stay just because you want to? Can a pond stay still just because it wishes to?”

Zaun’s power is great. Surely you know why Schmidt keeps trying to persuade them to join the Empire.

They had crossed swords. Heskal knew Enkrid wasn’t a fool.

In fact, Heskal’s words mirrored something once said in the Kingdom of Naurillia.

Just after the Mad Squad was founded.

People feared the Border Guard’s growing strength. There were calls to disband them—or send them to war.

Some said they should be absorbed into the Red Cloak Knights as a royal force.

Enkrid had heard about this only later.

Crang had always shut it down in a single stroke.

“Did Enkrid ever ask the royal family to wipe his sweat as he trained? Then how can you demand loyalty?”

He had said this to the nobles.

Some nobles still thought the Mad Squad hadn’t gone mad enough.

Of course, those who faced them directly stopped saying such things.

Anyway, that was Heskal’s view.

“Zaun must change. Before a bigger wave crashes in, something must shift. When rain falls, you take shelter under a roof, don’t you?”

That was his claim.

Was everyone in Zaun like Heskal? No.

“Zaun has power. Real power. So we should create an autonomous defense system. If that means being aggressive, even better. Bring in talented outsiders. The Empire learned that from us—so why can’t we learn from them? They recruit gifted people from all over the continent and pour resources into training soldiers. We could be more proactive too.”

That was Lynox’s opinion. It wasn’t well-structured, but then again, he lived a life where the sword came before words.

Heskal was definitely better at articulating things.

Even after hearing both, the clan head reportedly said nothing. Just nodded silently.

No one knew what he thought.

Alexandra had said only this upon seeing them both:

“You both love Zaun. As do I.”

Enkrid looked up at the sky, now heavy with dark clouds. It reminded him uncannily of the current situation.

“A storm’s coming.”

Just as Alexandra had once said—

Zaun now felt wrapped in the stillness before the storm.