Chapter 708: What Seems Impossible on the Surface

Swordsmanship began with movements designed for the efficient transmission of power.

The width of the stance necessary to generate strength, how to grip the sword, how to channel force from the ankles through the waist, shoulders, and wrists.

Researching postures that transmit force, and refining how to swing a sword from those postures—that was swordsmanship.

The head of the house swung his sword as if to demonstrate the fundamentals of swordsmanship.

He stepped forward with his left foot and swung the sword from right to left.

Though it was just a basic swing grounded in form, everything around him shifted in response.

Sound disappeared.

The surging wind and raindrops were sucked into the sword’s arc and vanished.

Enkrid watched the head’s sword and heard a ringing tone.

Piiiiiiiiiiiiiii.

It was a strike that devoured everything—storms, lightning, all of it.

A pinpoint focus activated involuntarily, and everything slowed.

The head’s movement and the charging monsters split into separate motions.

His insight dragged a fraction of the future forward.

The head’s sword drew a single arc.

A thick, intense line traced downward from right to left.

It was like slashing through the air with a rough, paint-laden brush.

The two monsters trapped in that arc would be split apart and die.

And with their dying claws, they would strike the head’s shoulder and flank.

The monsters’ intent, attacking from above and below, was clear.

Boom!

The ringing ended in an explosion.

Enkrid gave a low hum and nodded.

The future he saw through insight had twisted.

But that wasn’t surprising.

It defied expectations—but wasn’t that to be expected from Zaun’s lord?

The head’s sword moved faster than the monsters charging him.

The two monsters were cleaved apart and sent flying into the air.

With dull thuds, the two beasts hit the muddy ground like slabs of meat, oozing black blood.

The head retracted his sword and let it hang loosely, then spoke.

“Come forth, Heskal. I will judge your crimes.”

Swaaah.

Through the curtain of rain, the path revered by sword-worshipers—the pilgrimage in honor of the god of swords—

Down that path, lined-up monsters were visible.

Every one of them stood in formation.

Even the lord must have seen it.

No one who saw that would think today’s battle would be easy.

The man who knew Zaun’s strength stood there—as their enemy.

He had come prepared to win.

But with one swing of the lord’s sword, the entire mood shifted.

Schemes? Traps? What of them?

Could they possibly be shields capable of surviving this blade?

That was what the head’s sword seemed to be saying.

“Then ask.”

Opposite him, Heskal stood among the monster troops and replied.

He wasn’t swayed by the pressure exuded by the head, nor by the atmosphere he’d created.

His presence stood out to all.

Standing tall before the head, he affirmed his identity—he was the one behind all of this.

Their eyes met through the fine curtain of rain.

The falling rain seemed colder.

A thunderclap tore across the dark clouds, as if splitting the two.

It wasn’t the head or Heskal who broke the silence.

“Heskal.”

From their standoff, someone limped forward.

His pupils trembled endlessly, though surely not as much as his heart.

“Ah, Riley. I thought the lord would have locked you up. But then, he’s a clever man.

Bringing you here even while doubting you—it must’ve been to shake me.”

Swaaah.

The rain held no malice or goodwill.

It lacked emotion.

So did Heskal’s voice and demeanor.

No malice. But no warmth either.

“So you used me?”

Riley clenched his jaw as he spoke.

He bit down so hard that blood trickled from his mouth, soon diluted and washed away by the rain.

Unless one was standing right next to him, they wouldn’t have seen it—

But Enkrid was already there, beside him, and saw it clearly.

He hadn’t intended to stand by Riley.

It was coincidence.

‘This is a good spot.’

It was because Riley stood at Zaun’s center.

A good place to watch the field and influence the situation.

“Were you fooled by an illusion spell? Or was something held over you? Did you need an antidote for poisoning?”

Riley muttered, rejecting reality.

But none of his words made sense.

For others, having their life held hostage might have explained things.

But Heskal wasn’t that kind of man.

He would rather die than betray Zaun.

That was the weight of the name he’d built over decades in Zaun.

Heskal showed no hesitation.

Back straight, shoulders squared—what radiated from him was righteousness and dignity.

“Do you think that’s possible?”

Heskal denied it with the same soft, gentle tone he always used.

“Then why!”

Riley’s shout pierced through the rain.

He appeared calm, but inside he was screaming.

Heskal didn’t click his «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» tongue or scold him.

He calmly asked the head:

“Do you think I would waver from this?”

“You try everything.”

The head didn’t deny it.

He acknowledged that one reason for bringing Riley was to shake Heskal.

“Give it up. It’s over now.”

Heskal said again.

Enkrid, meanwhile, continued watching the motionless mass of monsters.

He gauged their density and tried to count them.

A little over a thousand?

To be a scout, one must know how to assess enemy strength.

Enkrid could do at least that much.

What surprised him was how those monsters didn’t move at all.

‘Were they trained? Or mentally controlled?’

Either way, they were a formidable enemy.

Calm and arranged monsters looked like an army.

A repeatedly trained unit is called elite.

Not just because of individual strength—but because, from a commander’s perspective, they act as trained.

Untrained or inexperienced soldiers in battle don’t know what to do.

Some flee. Some hide. Some charge mindlessly.

But if they maintain formation and fight—that’s elite.

‘They’re like the standing army of the Border Guard.’

The monsters looked like they had undergone drills.

A tough enemy.

“Why, fuck, why?”

Riley’s heart had broken.

That meant Heskal held great weight inside him.

Riley’s body trembled.

When the heart collapses, the body follows.

Could you say he was cut emotionally?

If so, Heskal was a masterful swordsman.

He hadn’t drawn a blade, yet had cut down a man’s soul.

Enkrid sensed the pressure radiating from those around him.

Lua Gharne had once said—

“What kind of idiot commander doesn’t know the state of their own troops?”

It’s good to know the enemy, but it’s pointless if you don’t know yourself.

That was Lua Gharne’s tactical doctrine.

Enkrid had heard it over and over again from her—and he practiced it now.

‘The ones who are angry.’

Those who are sad.

Those who remain calm.

Each radiated a different emotion.

If there was an unusual one among them—it would be the giant, Anahera.

She was excited.

Her breath snorted fiercely.

She was ready to leap forward at any moment.

Her fingers twitched, gripping her sword.

If left unchecked, she’d fully unleash the traits of her giant bloodline—like a Beast of Red Blood.

‘If used in actual combat, she’s easily knight-level or more.’

Enkrid placed Anahera outside the group in his mental map, then divided the others as well.

Those who grieved would still fight well.

Those panicking would only increase casualties if thrown into battle.

Those ready now.

Those who needed time.

Those better off holding the rear.

‘And the enemy has shamans.’

Even ignoring mages, shamanic curses preyed on emotional weakness.

Curses burrowed into weak hearts—that was what Rem had said.

And he was right, based on firsthand experience.

Clear thoughts.

Unshaken judgment.

Enkrid drew a battlefield map in his mind.

“Ah, Enkrid of the Border Guard. You wanted to return, didn’t you? Why stay now? What could you possibly gain by staying?”

Heskal called out to him.

He didn’t approach—shouting from afar.

It might seem cowardly, but really, it was smart positioning.

If the head and his wife both targeted him, he’d die.

He wasn’t giving them that chance.

“What was your dream? You said you’d tell me. I couldn’t leave without hearing it.”

Enkrid shouted back.

Even through the rain, their voices reached each other clearly.

“So curious, are you?”

“Since I was a kid, I couldn’t sleep if I didn’t understand something.”

It wasn’t a lie.

At least when it came to swordsmanship.

Everything else he mostly ignored.

“You really are an amusing one.”

For the first time, Heskal showed something like emotion—interest.

“Behind me is one who seeks to become a god.

Not many don’t know the name of the alchemist Dremule.”

A legendary name etched into the continent’s history.

If Anne were here, she’d argue whether that made any sense.

Dremule was Raban’s teacher—a mad alchemist who developed the seed of plague, a mass-murdering lunatic.

He should’ve been long dead—a ghost of the past.

Heskal calmly stated his dream.

“Just as he molds divinity, so too will I.

I will shape godhood the same way.”

He was serious.

The content was absurd.

But isn’t absurdity to be expected in dreams?

What seems impossible.

What’s difficult to achieve.

What one deeply desires—we call all of that a dream.

Only—

‘He didn’t say everything.’

Shaping divinity could be just a means to an end.

To what end?

If he feared death, he would’ve said immortality.

If he wanted to revive a dead son, he would’ve talked of resurrection.

But Heskal added nothing else.

He only revealed that his dream, which he’d promised to share later, was to steal divinity.

That was all he wanted to say.

A few short words bought time.

And in that time, a few people reacted exactly as Enkrid had hoped.

“You lunatic.”

Riley Zaun cemented his allegiance with a single curse.

He was a sword of Zaun.

The tremor in his eyes had lessened.

Even if the waves stayed the same, a steady sailor wouldn’t be rocked so easily.

That’s what Riley Zaun had done.

‘Not bad.’

Enkrid thought well of the change.

Several more silently prepared for battle.

But not all.

Even excluding Riley, many had once received something like salvation from Heskal.

Plenty were still swaying in the waves.

They shouldn’t be used in battle yet.

‘The head, his wife, Lynox, me, Ragna.’

Those were the five knights.

There were two more you could say stood between knight and quasi-knight.

The giant Anahera, and the man who had stood opposite Riley—

He had once been recognized by Lynox, but had wandered, overwhelmed by the talent around him.

He hadn’t left for over ten years like others.

But that didn’t mean his wandering was any less difficult.

Everyone has their own hell.

And everyone walks their own path.

His wandering had taken him to the village of retirees for a few months—

And also to the village of hunters, the village of brokers.

After that wandering, he returned and steadied his heart again.

He was like Anahera—possibly even better in real combat.

‘Anahera’s a giant. That explains it.’

The man who opposed Riley, who had once wandered—Kato Zaun.

He used all sorts of techniques.

He even knew a bit of Ail Caraz’s martial arts.

He’d armed his body with bladeless hilts and hidden knives.

They called him Kato of the Bladed Armor.

Five plus two.

Zaun had about seventy people who could fight.

More remained behind.

This was the extent of Zaun’s true fighting force.