Chapter 153: Treatment
The knight was the first to break the silence.
"That’s enough for today."
Denzel lowered the wooden sword, though every part of him wanted to argue. His eyes lingered on the sphere of water still hovering obediently above Lyra’s palm. It hadn’t budged once under his influence.
Not even a ripple.
He exhaled through his nose.
"...Right."
Only now that the lesson had ended did he realize how heavy the practice sword had become. His shoulders ached. His forearms burned with a dull, persistent soreness from hours of swinging, blocking, reaching, and failing.
Lyra released her spell with a lazy flick of her fingers.
The water lost its shape immediately, splashing harmlessly onto the grass before sinking into the earth.
She stretched both arms high above her head with an exaggerated groan.
"Oh, thank goodness."
She rolled one shoulder before rubbing at the other.
"I was starting to think my arm was going to fall off."
Denzel blinked.
"...Your arm got tired?"
She gave him an incredulous look.
"I’ve been holding that spell almost the entire afternoon."
"I thought maintaining it was easy."
"It is."
She paused.
"Holding my arm in the exact same position isn’t."
"...Oh."
He hadn’t even considered that.
Lyra laughed softly.
"You really disappear into your own head when you’re training."
"...Sorry."
She waved him off.
"I wasn’t complaining."
The knight, meanwhile, had already begun gathering the wooden practice weapons from the edge of the clearing.
"You improved."
Denzel looked up.
"...I did?"
"You stopped forcing your mana."
He glanced at his hand.
"I still couldn’t feel yours."
"No."
The knight rested one of the wooden swords against the rack she’d carved into a nearby stump.
"But toward the end..."
She looked at him.
"You stopped trying to take control."
Denzel thought back over the final attempts.
She was right.
Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped treating the exercise like a contest he had to win. He’d simply... observed.
He hadn’t succeeded.
But it had felt different.
"I guess..."
He scratched the back of his neck.
"...that’s something."
"It is."
There wasn’t an ounce of false encouragement in her voice.
Just certainty.
For some reason...
That made it easier to believe.
Lyra smiled.
"Besides."
She pointed a finger at him.
"My offer still stands."
Denzel tilted his head.
"...Offer?"
"The request."
Recognition dawned on him.
"Oh."
She grinned.
"You’ve still got until tomorrow."
"I haven’t agreed to anything."
"You don’t have to."
Her smile somehow widened.
"I’ve already decided you’re going to win."
The knight glanced at her.
"Confidence."
Lyra folded her arms proudly.
"I prefer optimism."
The knight looked back at Denzel.
"Either way."
She picked up the last practice sword.
"Return at the same time tomorrow."
"We’ll continue."
Denzel nodded without hesitation.
"I will."
The three of them left the clearing together.
The walk was quiet.
Not awkward.
Simply comfortable.
The narrow forest path wound between towering trees, golden sunlight slipping through the leaves in scattered patches that shifted with the breeze.
After several minutes, the knight spoke.
"How long did it take you to sense your own mana?"
Denzel looked at her, surprised.
"...Me?"
She nodded once.
"You mentioned someone taught you."
"Antonia."
His expression softened at the name.
"It took... a while."
He let out a quiet laugh.
"I thought I’d figure it out on the first day."
"You didn’t."
"No."
He shook his head.
"I spent hours trying to force it."
The memory was embarrassing now.
He remembered sitting cross-legged, growing more frustrated every minute because nothing happened no matter how hard he concentrated.
"I kept thinking..."
He smiled sheepishly.
"...if I wanted it badly enough, it’d just happen."
Lyra chuckled.
"And?"
"And it didn’t."
"Shocking."
He laughed.
"Yeah."
The knight remained silent for a moment before speaking.
"My first teacher said something similar."
That caught both of their attention.
"He told me..."
She looked ahead, her pace never changing.
"’The impatient mistake effort for progress.’"
Denzel repeated the words quietly.
"The impatient mistake effort for progress..."
"It took me months before I understood what he meant."
His eyes widened.
"...Months?"
He’d expected weeks.
Maybe days.
Not...
Months.
The knight noticed his surprise.
"You assumed I learned quickly."
"...I did."
"I didn’t."
She spoke without embarrassment.
"I failed."
"Repeatedly."
"I simply continued."
The words settled over Denzel far more heavily than he’d expected.
For some reason, he’d unconsciously placed the knight on a pedestal.
She’d always seemed so... complete.
Like she’d stepped into the world already knowing what to do.
The image cracked ever so slightly.
Not because she seemed less impressive.
Because she suddenly seemed human.
"You know," Lyra said, smiling to herself.
"I like this version of the story better."
The knight looked at her.
"What version?"
"The one where you’re actually mortal."
"...I was always mortal."
"You’ve done an excellent job hiding it."
A sigh escaped the knight.
"I’ll endeavor to appear less competent."
"Please don’t."
Lyra laughed.
"It’d be terrifying."
By the time they reached the edge of the forest, the two women headed back toward the estate while Denzel continued alone toward the city.
The afternoon’s lesson refused to leave him.
Don’t search for mana.
Search for what doesn’t belong.
He rolled the words around in his mind as he walked.
At first, they sounded like another one of the knight’s impossible riddles.
Now...
They felt incomplete.
Not wrong.
Incomplete.
Like there was one final piece he hadn’t found yet.
His fingers absentmindedly brushed against the hilt of the wooden practice sword tucked beneath his arm.
He thought back to the water suspended above Lyra’s hand.
He hadn’t been able to distinguish her mana from his own.
Every attempt had ended the same way.
Failure.
Yet...
The frustration wasn’t as sharp anymore.
That surprised him.
Usually, failure lingered.
It sat in his chest like a stone.
Today felt different.
Because, for the first time since beginning the lesson...
He felt as though he’d failed while facing the right direction.
It wasn’t much.
But it was enough to make him eager for tomorrow.
Without realizing it, he slowed his pace as a gust of wind stirred the leaves overhead.
His eyes followed them instinctively.
One leaf drifted away from the others, caught in a different current before spiraling toward the ground.
Different.
His gaze lingered on it for another second.
Then he smiled to himself.
"...What doesn’t belong."
The words no longer sounded quite as impossible as they had that morning.
Maybe...
Tomorrow, he’d finally understand them.
***
Denzel pushed open the familiar door to the massage parlor, and the soft chime above it announced his arrival.
Warm air scented with herbs and fragrant oils greeted him, washing away the last traces of the forest breeze.
The reception area was quieter than usual. A few customers occupied the waiting seats, speaking in hushed voices while gentle music drifted through the room.
He instinctively glanced toward the wall clock.
...Later than yesterday.
Again.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
She’s going to say something.
"You’re late."
Called it.
Denzel turned toward the voice.
Antonia stood in the hallway leading deeper into the building, one hand resting against the doorframe. She wasn’t glaring, exactly.
But she wasn’t smiling either.
"...Sorry."
She walked closer, stopping in front of him.
"You’ve been saying that a lot lately."
"I know."
"And yet you keep arriving late."
"I know."
She studied him for another second.
Normally, that would’ve been enough to make him shrink into himself.
Today...
She frowned.
There were faint streaks of dirt along his sleeves.
His hair, usually neat enough, had long since surrendered to the day’s training.
More importantly...
His hands.
Even from where she stood, she could see the angry redness across his palms and the beginnings of fresh blisters near the base of his fingers.
"...Training?"
Denzel followed her gaze before looking at his hands.
"Oh."
"I guess it got a little intense today."
"A little?"
He gave an awkward laugh.
"...Maybe more than a little."
Her expression softened almost immediately.
The annoyance she’d greeted him with seemed to melt away.
"I suppose that’s a reasonable excuse."
"I wasn’t trying to make excuses."
"I know."
She sighed quietly.
"I just wish you’d stop looking like you’ve fought a monster every time you come here."
Denzel chuckled.
"I’d probably be in better shape if it were a monster."
She raised an eyebrow.
"...That bad?"
He thought back to the dozens of failed attempts.
"...Let’s just say the water won."
"The water?"
"It’s... a long story."
"I’m sure it is."
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Antonia reached for his wrist.
"Come."
Before he could ask where, she’d already begun leading him down the hallway.
"W-Wait..."
"The last client canceled."
"I have time."
"What does that have to do with—"
"You’ll see."
She led him into one of the treatment rooms.
The warm lighting was softer here, and the familiar scent of lavender lingered in the air.
Denzel had only been inside one of these rooms once before, during his first lesson on sensing mana.
Back then, everything had felt intimidating.
Now...
It just felt strangely comfortable.
"Sit."
He obeyed without question, lowering himself onto the edge of the massage table.
Antonia disappeared into a nearby cabinet before returning with a small wooden box.
She placed it beside him and opened the lid.
Inside were strips of clean cloth, small jars of ointment, and a bottle filled with a pale green liquid.
Denzel blinked.
"...What’s all this?"
She looked at him as though the answer were obvious.
"Your hands."
"They’re fine."
"They’re not."
"They’ve looked worse."
"I believe you."
She uncorked one of the jars.
"That doesn’t make this acceptable."
Before he could protest again, she gently took one of his hands.
"..."
Denzel instinctively stiffened.
Her fingers were warm.
Careful.
She turned his palm upward, examining the blisters with the quiet concentration she’d always shown whenever she taught him.
"You’ve been gripping the sword too tightly... this is gonna need some proper treatment."
He scratched his cheek with his free hand.
".. Maybe I just need a little bit of your healing trick...hehe."