Chapter 155: Fourth
The cool evening air washed over Denzel the moment he stepped outside.
The little brass bell above the clinic door chimed softly behind him before settling into silence.
He took three steps.
Then a fourth.
"..."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He tried to suppress it.
It only grew wider.
’Get a hold of yourself.’
The thought came with surprisingly little conviction.
His hand drifted upward almost on instinct, fingertips brushing lightly across his lips.
They still felt... warm.
He stopped in the middle of the quiet street.
’...Did that really happen?’
The memory answered before he could.
Antonia’s flustered expression.
The way she’d refused to meet his eyes afterward.
Her tiny, embarrassed voice telling him they should actually heal his hands.
A laugh escaped him before he realized it.
It was quiet.
Almost helpless.
A passing carriage rolled by on the opposite side of the road, its wheels rattling over the uneven stone, but Denzel barely noticed. His thoughts had already wandered back inside the clinic.
’She kissed me back.’
His ears immediately began to burn.
"No," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Don’t think about it."
Which, naturally, made him think about it even more.
By the time he reached the next intersection, he’d replayed the moment so many times that every tiny detail had become painfully vivid.
The way she’d hesitated.
The way she’d looked at him.
The warmth lingering between them after they pulled apart.
His grin returned before he even realized it.
’I’m hopeless...’
Oddly enough, he didn’t mind.
...
As he continued walking, his right hand curled into a loose fist.
Something felt...
Different.
He blinked before opening his hand again.
The movement was effortless.
No sting.
No tightness.
He frowned and turned his palm toward the glow of a nearby lantern.
The angry redness that had covered his skin was gone.
Every blister.
Every split.
Every raw patch he’d earned from swinging a wooden sword until he could barely hold it...
Had vanished without leaving so much as a mark.
He slowly flexed his fingers once.
Then again.
Nothing.
Not even the faint ache he’d expected.
"Incredible..."
The word escaped before he could stop it.
He wasn’t talking about the healing itself.
Well...
Not entirely.
He’d known Antonia was talented.
The Knight himself had praised her magic more than once.
Still...
Seeing it with his own eyes was something else entirely.
His body had been screaming from exhaustion only an hour ago.
Now it felt as though he’d never trained at all.
He looked down at his hands one last time before letting them fall to his sides.
’I really made her worry...’
The thought dulled his smile.
He remembered the way she’d examined his palms.
The concern she’d tried—and failed—to hide.
Her quiet voice telling him not to push himself so hard.
He let out a slow breath.
"I’ll do better."
The promise wasn’t made to the empty street.
It wasn’t even made to himself.
The next time she saw his hands...
He wanted it to be because he’d grown stronger.
Not because he’d given her another reason to worry.
He lowered his gaze to his hands again.
A few hours ago, he’d struggled to wrap his fingers around the practice sword. Every swing after the hundredth had felt heavier than the last, his grip slipping little by little until stubbornness was the only thing keeping the weapon in his hands.
Now...
He clenched his fist.
The leather wrapping of the sword hilt should’ve left his palms throbbing.
Instead...
Nothing.
He opened and closed his hand a few more times, almost searching for pain that refused to come.
"...It really healed everything."
Not just the blisters.
The stiffness in his wrists had disappeared.
The lingering soreness in his forearms was gone.
Even the dull weight that had settled across his shoulders after training had completely vanished.
He couldn’t help comparing it to the ointments and bandages he’d used growing up.
Those had always been about enduring the pain until his body caught up.
This...
This felt like skipping straight to tomorrow.
His steps slowed.
If healing magic was capable of this...
Just how incredible were the people who could wield it in battle?
The thought naturally led somewhere else.
The Knight.
Denzel remembered the effortless way the older man had demonstrated each stance earlier that day.
Every movement had been precise.
Controlled.
Powerful.
Not once had he looked tired.
’How many years would it take before I can move like that...?’
The question settled quietly in his mind.
He didn’t know.
Months?
Years?
Longer?
For the first time, though...
The answer didn’t discourage him.
It simply gave him another mountain to climb.
His gaze drifted toward the stars beginning to appear overhead.
"I’ll get there."
The words were quiet.
Not a declaration.
Just a promise.
One made to himself.
...
A cool breeze swept through the street, rustling the leaves overhead.
Denzel drew a slow breath.
Tomorrow.
The word alone made him instinctively picture the training grounds.
His shoulders straightened.
Today, he’d barely managed to hold a proper stance.
Tomorrow, he’d hold it longer.
Today, his swings had been clumsy.
Tomorrow, maybe one or two would feel a little cleaner.
He smiled to himself.
Progress didn’t have to be dramatic.
After today...
He finally understood that.
One better swing.
One steadier stance.
One mistake corrected.
Those little victories were enough to keep him moving forward.
And if he kept collecting them...
Then one day...
He’d look back and realize just how far he’d come.
The thought filled him with a quiet excitement he hadn’t expected.
His pace quickened without him realizing it.
For the first time since arriving in town...
He found himself genuinely looking forward to what tomorrow would bring.
By the time Denzel reached the house, the last traces of orange had long since disappeared from the horizon.
Night had settled quietly over the town.
The familiar wooden gate stood exactly where it always had, its weathered surface catching the pale glow of the moon. He reached out, pushing it open as gently as he could.
It still greeted him with the same soft creak.
For some reason...
The sound made him smile.
He stepped into the courtyard, his boots crunching lightly against the packed earth before his eyes drifted toward the house.
Dark.
Every window.
Every room.
Not a single lamp burned inside.
He paused.
"...No one’s home?"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
His first instinct was to worry.
Had Maria and Sophia gone somewhere?
Then, almost immediately, he remembered the conversation from earlier that morning.
Maria had mentioned they might be visiting one of the neighboring families after finishing work. Sophia had complained about having to go, insisting she’d rather stay home.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"So they actually went."
The small knot of concern in his chest loosened just as quickly as it had appeared.
He slid the front door open and stepped inside.
The silence welcomed him.
Normally, the house never stayed this quiet for long.
Sophia was always humming to herself, asking endless questions, or calling his name from somewhere down the hallway.
Maria usually wasn’t much louder, but there was always the sound of something—pots gently clinking together, footsteps crossing the wooden floor, or the faint aroma of dinner drifting from the kitchen before he even realized he was hungry.
Tonight...
There was none of it.
The empty house felt strangely different.
Not lonely.
Just...
Still.
Denzel slipped off his boots near the entrance before rolling his shoulders.
The movement drew an involuntary yawn from him.
"...I’m exhausted."
He hadn’t realized just how tired he was until now.
Walking home had kept his body moving.
His thoughts had stayed occupied.
Between replaying everything that had happened at the clinic and thinking about tomorrow’s training, he’d almost forgotten how hard he’d pushed himself today.
Now that he wasn’t moving anymore...
His body reminded him all at once.
His legs suddenly felt heavier.
His back ached with a dull, persistent stiffness.
Even his eyelids seemed determined to close on their own.
Antonia’s healing magic had removed every blister from his hands.
It had erased the soreness from his arms.
But it couldn’t replace the energy he’d spent.
That kind of exhaustion settled somewhere much deeper.
He breathed out slowly.
"...Makes sense."
Training all day.
Mana control.
Sword practice until he could barely keep his grip.
It would’ve been stranger if he still had energy left.
The thought made him chuckle quietly.
His gaze wandered toward the kitchen.
For a brief moment...
He considered making something to eat.
His stomach responded with a faint growl, reminding him that he’d barely eaten since morning.
He pictured himself trying to light the stove.
Preparing vegetables.
Waiting for a pot to boil.
The image alone felt exhausting.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"...Tomorrow."
He wasn’t skipping dinner because he wasn’t hungry.
He simply didn’t think his body would forgive him if he stayed awake any longer.
Tomorrow morning.
He’d make something then.
Satisfied with that decision, he made his way toward his room.
The familiar wooden door slid open with barely a sound.
Moonlight spilled through the small window, painting silver streaks across the floorboards.
His practice sword rested against the wall where he’d left it.
His eyes lingered on it for a moment.
Tomorrow.
Another lesson with the Knight.
Another chance to improve.
Instead of feeling nervous...
He found himself looking forward to it.
A small smile settled on his face.
Without even bothering to change, he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight.
A long sigh escaped him.
His muscles relaxed one after another, as though they’d been waiting for permission to finally rest.
"...Just for a minute."
He leaned back.
The wooden ceiling blurred slightly as his eyes grew heavier.
His thoughts drifted to tomorrow.
To training.
To becoming stronger.
Somewhere among those thoughts...
Antonia’s smile quietly found its way into his mind.
His own smile answered it before he even realized it had appeared.
"...Goodnight."
Whether he was speaking to the empty room...
Or to someone else entirely...
Even he wasn’t sure.
Before he could figure it out...
Sleep claimed him.