Surpassing the Written Fate
It began with a trivial incident. A minor disturbance caused by a single mercenary running amok inside the military camp in the disputed territory. Mercenaries being rough around the edges was nothing new. They were men who lived with their lives on the line; it would have been stranger if they weren't rowdy. They frequently brawled under the guise of establishing a pecking order. Thus, when Baron Isquente first received the report, he laughed it off as a trifling matter. But when that rowdiness escalated to murder, the laughter stopped. Once Baron Isquente discovered that the root cause of the rampage was drug withdrawal, he immediately deemed it a grave matter.
The Baron's investigation quickly bore fruit. He uncovered a ring of smugglers who had been secretly distributing narcotics right inside the military camp. That day, the Third Commander of the Northern Front lined up no fewer than twenty-seven men on the execution scaffold. There was no mercy. All twenty-seven heads were severed and put on spikes as a grim warning to others.
"You stupid bastard. You should have known when to stop. Did you really think the commanders would just sit idly by while drugs spread all the way to the front lines?"
"...!"
Millen's eyes widened at my words. That was the crux of the matter. Just as the Crescent Moon had grown too large and become an eyesore to the nobility, the Sewer Rats had crossed the line at some point. It was only natural that their excessively distributed drugs would eventually find their way to the front lines. Greed always paves the way to ruin. The Sewer Rats, who had dismantled the Crescent Moon, were now facing a similar demise.
It was fine for mercenaries to indulge in alcohol and women. Those two had practically been the long-standing virtues of the profession. Used correctly, alcohol boosted morale, and women did not distract mercenaries in the heat of battle. But narcotics were a different story. A drug-addled mercenary was useless in combat. To make matters worse, the withdrawal symptoms of the Mullet Flower were notoriously severe. A drug addict was a walking time bomb, liable to go off at any moment.
Fortunately, the situation on the front lines was stable at the time. We already had bad blood with the Sewer Rats, and we possessed more than enough power to clean up this city. No matter how long the dog-eat-dog struggle in Requitas had dragged on, it was nothing a Sword Master-level knight and a Saintess couldn't handle. In a way, it was inevitable that this task would fall to us.
Millen took a couple of steps back. He surely knew that Sirien and I had just utterly demolished his headquarters. With their foundation shattered, they would no longer be able to run rampant in this city.
"...It doesn't matter. Even if I fail this time, I can just return and start over. I'll do better next time. I always have."
"Do you really think you have a 'next time'? You're going to die right here."
Millen seemed to be clinging to wishful thinking, but I had no intention of letting him have his way. I had to kill him here and now. Having someone with such a bizarre ability plotting revenge against me was not a prospect I cared to entertain.
An incomprehensibly precise and rapid prediction. An impact delivered without a single warning sign. Even Edwin, a seasoned Sword Master, couldn't pull off a stunt like that. A mere gang leader from Requitas achieving something that even the guardian of the Sanctuary of Hibras couldn't? I could say with absolute certainty that such a thing was impossible. While Millen was not an opponent to be underestimated, he was by no means stronger than Edwin. If he possessed that kind of raw strength, he would have been living a life of luxury as a revered Sword Master in the Empire.
He can see it. He knows exactly what attack I'll make next.
If Millen's ability was related to time, and he was observing me through Future Sight, then his movements made perfect sense. Thinking back, the attacks I had failed to react to were all aimed at spots Millen's fists had already touched once before. He was likely replicating an attack he had already executed. He probably couldn't use it repeatedly in quick succession; otherwise, he would have just infinitely spammed his previous strikes. It was an ability that only held power when I was ignorant of it. Cheap tricks were, in the end, just cheap tricks. The path I had walked was not so fragile as to crumble before such shallow deception.
All I had to do was make my attacks impossible to dodge even if he saw them coming, and impossible to react to even if he knew they were coming. A sudden thought struck me.
Since there are no witnesses around, should I just use my Sword Qi?
If I simply sheared him apart with a force he couldn't hope to counter, the fight would end in an instant. My usual response to these situations was to rely on overwhelming destructive power. Whether I unleashed a devastating Authority or manifested my Sword Qi, the result would be the same. But I decided against it. This experience would serve as a stepping stone for my growth. I had to become stronger than my counterpart in the original novel. For someone like me, who had become a Sword Master through a miracle, every single piece of real combat experience was invaluable. And here was an enemy who could read my every intention and react to it—what a magnificent training partner.
"Ugh!"
"As I thought, your actual skills are nothing special."
"Arrogant brat!"
I thrust my greatsword forward, channeling a generous amount of divine power. Millen naturally dodged to the side, but I let go of the greatsword, allowing the momentum of my thrust to hurl it forward. The heavy blade clattered noisily against the floor. Right now, a lighter, faster weapon would serve me better than a greatsword. On the ground lay the two longswords Russell had been using earlier. Having lost his arm, he must have had no choice but to abandon them to carry Isha away. Spreading my divine power, I retrieved the two swords and began to slash at Millen in alternating strokes.
"I'll show you that dual-wielding can actually win sometimes."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Don't worry about it, you bastard!"
If the opponent could read my intentions, then I simply had to change my intentions on the fly. An anomaly designed from the very beginning to exploit the enemy's reaction. What started as a feint could instantly target a vital point, and a meticulously prepared strike could dissolve into a mere distraction. Truth and falsehood shattered like illusions. Go ahead, read me all you want. It's impossible for you to react to tens, hundreds, or thousands of shifting variables anyway. The skills I had accumulated would not betray me. There was intent in every minor footstep, in every subtle shift of my grip on the hilt. I had relied on destructive power up until now because it synergized perfectly with my Sword Qi, not because I lacked confidence in my technique or tactical maneuvering.
I abandoned any expectation of my first strike connecting. Instead, if Millen dodged, I pursued him relentlessly; if he lunged inward, I reversed my grip on the blade to counterattack. The ever-changing blades danced endlessly in my hands.
"This is fun!"
"Crazy bastard. You're enjoying this?"
"Of course I am."
An enemy who could read my every move—what could be more exhilarating! If I could defeat this man, it would mean my swordsmanship had reached a level where it couldn't be countered even if the opponent could read the future. Yes. A true Sword Master ought to be capable of at least that much.
Millen's fist grazed past my helmet, so close I could hear the rushing wind. As I evaded by a hair's breadth, my blade surged toward his outstretched arm. Reverting my reverse grip back to normal, I aimed for his forearm. Even though these were borrowed swords, they felt as familiar in my hands as if I had wielded them for decades. At this moment, I felt as though any sword I picked up would feel exactly the same. It was a sensation as if the blade had been a part of my body from the very beginning. The microscopic shift in the center of gravity from the moment of its forging, the texture of the hilt, the curve of the blade, and even the trajectory of the tip cutting through the air—everything flowed directly into my mind.
"Ugh!"
"A hit!"
For the first time, blood spilled from Millen's body. Though it was merely a shallow scratch across his forearm, what could be done once could easily be done again. Faster. Sharper, so that he wouldn't even dream of counterattacking. At some point, the back-and-forth exchange between Millen and me ceased to exist. I was in a state of perpetual offense, while Millen was left frantically dodging and blocking. Confusion, rage, and a trace of fear began to creep onto his face. My sword carved another wound into his flesh—his thigh, this time, leaving a much deeper gash than before.
Somehow, I feel like I can do it now.
I felt the sword manipulating the wind. It was a feat Edwin could perform effortlessly, but one I had never managed. It had been the most frustrating part of our spars. I was clearly the one wielding the larger sword, yet Edwin would always dominate the range by sending blades of wind flying at me.
"How do you do it? You just have to feel the trajectory of the sword."
"Once you do, you'll naturally understand how. It's like pushing force into empty space. You'll get it when you try it yourself."
Back then, I had thought he was talking absolute nonsense, but now I understood. I slightly twisted the path of my sword, violently tearing through the air. The sharp edge of the blade pushed force into the empty space. Following the clean, straight line of my slash, a sharp gale surged forward.
"Ha. So this is what it felt like."
"What... was that just now?"
"I suppose I should thank you. You've been a great help."
Millen's right arm was severed and fell. The wind blade I unleashed sliced clean through his arm and traveled far beyond, carving a long, deep scar into the wall. That was the end of it. Grievously wounded, Millen could no longer move with agility. In the blink of an eye, my blades pierced and slashed his body in dozens of places. Having completely sealed his movements, only the final blow remained. Without a moment's hesitation, my sword swept through Millen's neck. Naturally, a man who died instantly had no time for last words.
"Now that things are wrapped up here, I should head back to Sirien."