Chapter 150: Swordsman
The knight didn’t speak again immediately.
She simply watched him.
Not because she expected him to say anything useful, but because she knew what came after revelations like this. The first wave was always emotion. Anger. Guilt. Desperation. Logic didn’t arrive until later, if it arrived at all.
The silence stretched.
Denzel stared at the dirt beneath his boots. His thoughts had become strangely distant, as though someone had dropped a stone into still water and every memory of Sophia was rising to the surface one ripple at a time.
Her dragging him into the kitchen to taste whatever she’d burned.
Her scolding him whenever he skipped meals.
The way she’d laugh before pretending she hadn’t.
All those ordinary moments.
And now someone expected him to believe she’d willingly become part of a drug operation.
No.
No matter what she’d done...
No matter what she’d become...
He couldn’t make those pieces fit.
His jaw clenched.
"So..."
His voice came out rougher than he’d intended.
"What do we do?"
The knight held his gaze.
"We start by doing nothing."
For a heartbeat, Denzel simply blinked at her.
"...What?"
"We wait."
The word struck him harder than anything else she’d said that day.
His head snapped up.
"No."
The refusal escaped him almost instantly.
"No, we can’t."
His breathing quickened.
"She’s still in there."
"I know."
"Then how can you stand there and tell me to wait?"
The frustration spilled out before he could contain it.
"Every minute we’re standing here talking is another minute she’s trapped with those people."
"If we know where she is, then we go."
"If we know who’s involved, then we fight."
"If we don’t know enough, then we find out."
"But we don’t just..." His hands spread helplessly. "...do nothing."
The knight let him finish.
Every word.
Every frustrated breath.
Only after the silence settled again did she answer.
"You misunderstand."
Her voice remained as steady as ever.
"I didn’t say we’d do nothing forever."
"I said we do nothing now."
She folded her arms.
"Because right now..."
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"...you’re a flea."
The words landed with almost casual brutality.
Denzel stiffened.
"No offense."
"There is offense."
"There usually is."
She didn’t apologize.
"You could march into that operation tomorrow if you wanted."
"You might even manage to kill a few people."
She gave a faint shrug.
"And then?"
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
"I don’t know how far this reaches," the knight continued. "Maybe it’s one warehouse run by a handful of dealers."
"Maybe it reaches people with enough influence that names disappear before they’re ever written down."
"Maybe the people running it never touch the product themselves."
She shook her head.
"I don’t know."
"And until I know..."
"I don’t interfere."
Her gaze sharpened.
"Because the moment you disturb an organization like that, it disturbs you back."
"They’ll start asking questions."
"Who attacked us?"
"Who found us?"
"Who have we exposed?"
"And if your sister is connected to them..."
She let the implication hang between them.
"They won’t be the only one in danger anymore."
Denzel’s reply never came.
Because, despite everything in him screaming that waiting was wrong...
...he couldn’t find a single flaw in her reasoning.
That was the part he hated most. The silence that followed wasn’t born from agreement.
It came from realizing that charging ahead might not save Sophia at all.
It might be the thing that finally got her killed.
The knight didn’t say anything.
She simply watched him.
People had a habit of speaking too quickly after hearing something they didn’t want to hear. They filled the silence with arguments, with hope, with promises they hadn’t thought through.
Denzel did none of that.
He just stood there.
His eyes remained fixed on the ground, but he wasn’t seeing the dirt anymore.
His chest tightened.
He had spent the last few minutes convincing himself that sitting still meant abandoning her.
Now another possibility had wormed its way into his head.
If he rushed this...
If he made one reckless move...
He might be the reason she disappeared for good.
The realization settled over him like cold rain.
It wasn’t enough to make the helplessness disappear.
It only gave it a reason.
His fingers slowly loosened from the fists he’d made without noticing.
He hated it.
He hated that waiting made sense.
He hated that, for once in his life, charging forward wasn’t the brave thing to do.
It was the selfish thing.
He let out a long breath through his nose before finally looking back at the knight.
"...Okay."
The word tasted bitter.
"I’ll do it your way."
The knight searched his face for another second, as though making sure those weren’t just words spoken in frustration.
Satisfied, she gave a small nod.
"Good."
Denzel rubbed the back of his neck.
"So..."
His voice had lost most of its earlier edge.
"What’s the plan?"
"The same plan I already told you."
She stepped away from the tree she’d been leaning against.
"We wait."
He frowned.
"...That’s it?"
"For now."
Seeing the question still written across his face, she continued.
"I’ll find out how deep this operation goes."
"Who’s running it."
"Who’s protecting it."
"And whether pulling Sophia out is even possible without bringing the entire organization down on her."
She looked him squarely in the eye.
"When I know enough..."
"We move."
Denzel held her gaze for a long moment before giving a single nod.
He still didn’t like it.
He doubted he ever would.
But liking the plan and believing in it weren’t the same thing.
"If you say this is the best chance she’s got..."
He swallowed.
"...then I’ll trust you."
For the first time since the conversation had begun, the knight’s expression softened, if only by a fraction.
"Good."
She turned and walked toward the center of the clearing.
"Now."
She rolled one shoulder before reaching down to pick up the wooden practice sword lying in the grass.
"We continue."
Denzel blinked.
"...You’re serious."
"I am."
He let out a disbelieving laugh.
"We’ve been talking about Sophia this whole time."
"I know."
"And after everything you just told me..."
He spread his hands.
"...you want to train?"
The knight caught another practice sword with the tip of her boot before flicking it into the air. It spun once before she caught it cleanly by the handle.
"I’ve upheld my end of our agreement."
She tossed the second sword toward him.
It sailed through the air.
Denzel caught it almost absentmindedly.
"You wanted answers."
"I gave you what I could."
She lowered herself into a ready stance.
"That doesn’t change why you’re here."
Denzel looked down at the wooden sword in his hand.
The smooth handle pressed against his palm.
A few minutes ago, it had felt like little more than a stick.
Now...
Now it felt like the only thing he could actually do.
Not for himself.
For Sophia.
Every lesson.
Every bruise.
Every improvement.
Each one brought him one step closer to the day he wouldn’t have to rely on someone else to save her.
He slowly raised the sword.
The knight gave an approving nod.
"Good."
"Again."
Without another word, Denzel stepped forward.
This time, when he raised his blade, he wasn’t training to become stronger.
He was training to become someone capable of bringing his sister home.
The first few exchanges were ugly.
Denzel knew it.
The knight knew it too.
His blade was faster than before, stronger than before, but there was no rhythm behind it. Every swing came with just a little too much force, every thrust carried just a little too much frustration.
She turned them all aside.
Wood cracked against wood in quick succession.
His shoulders tightened.
Again.
Another swing.
Another effortless parry.
He gritted his teeth and drove forward anyway.
The knight pivoted around his strike before tapping the flat of her wooden sword against his ribs.
"Dead."
He didn’t stop.
His sword came around again.
Another tap.
"Dead."
A third attack.
This time she swept his legs out from beneath him.
Denzel hit the dirt with a grunt, dust puffing around him.
For a second he simply lay there, staring at the pale afternoon sky.
He already knew why.
His body was here.
His mind wasn’t.
Sophia occupied every corner of it.
The knight offered him a hand.
He ignored it, pushing himself up on his own.
"Again?"
"Again."
The next exchange was cleaner.
Not perfect.
But cleaner.
He forced himself to breathe.
To stop imagining rescue.
To stop imagining failure.
Just...
One swing.
One block.
One step.
The knight watched him settle into himself before finally lowering her sword.
"Good."
She turned toward the edge of the clearing.
"You can come out now."
Denzel frowned.
A young woman stepped from between the trees.
She couldn’t have been much older than he was. A deep blue cloak rested over simple traveling clothes, and resting lazily above her open palm was a sphere of water no larger than an apple.
It rotated without spilling a single drop.
Denzel’s eyes lingered on it.
Not because it was beautiful.
Because no matter how many times he witnessed magic...
Part of him still expected there to be a trick.
There never was.
"The mage I mentioned," the knight said.
The young woman offered a small wave before lazily spinning the water around one finger.
"So..."
She looked Denzel up and down with open curiosity.
"You’re the new swordsman."
He shifted awkwardly beneath the inspection.
"Huh?!"