I have heard that tale, though I say it’s a bit of a tall story. They say the blade was forged in a hidden forge on the edge of the forest, where the wolves howled at midnight and the wind sang. It never missed because it was meant to protect, not to kill. But you know, even the best blades get a rust or a dull moment. The real magic is the legend that grows around it, so the people remember the promise of perfection and the fall that makes us laugh at our own ambitions. Tell me, what makes you think it’ll never miss? Maybe it’s the way you see the world—full of hope and a bit of stubborn defiance.

You think a plan is the only map you need, eh? The blade that never missed was made for those who believed that, too, but it had a secret: it needed a bit of moonlit wind and a crack in the oak to remind it that the world isn’t a straight line. Even the sharpest edge can slip if you ignore the stories the forest whispers. Maybe the trick is to let a little luck sneak in, like a stray star in your calculation.