Chapter 162: Connected
Denzel didn’t move.
The old man didn’t either.
For someone who’d just been cornered, he was... calm.
Too calm.
Not fearless.
Prepared.
There was a difference.
’So he expected this outcome.’
Most people begged when they realized they’d been caught.
Some ran.
Others reached for a weapon.
This old man did none of them.
He simply waited.
"...You’re not going to defend yourself?" Denzel asked.
The old man’s weathered face relaxed into a faint smile.
"If you intend to kill me..."
He spread his hands slightly.
"...there isn’t much I could say to change your mind."
Denzel watched him for another second.
No twitch toward his staff.
No shift in footing.
Not because he couldn’t fight.
Because he’d already decided fighting wasn’t worth it.
’Interesting.’
"You were spying on me."
"I was."
"You hid behind someone else’s mana."
"I did."
"You knew I’d eventually notice."
"I hoped you wouldn’t."
The answer came so easily that Denzel almost laughed.
Almost.
At least the old man wasn’t insulting his intelligence with excuses.
"I’ve killed beasts for less."
The words left his mouth before he thought about them.
The old man nodded as though he agreed.
"I’m aware."
Silence returned.
Denzel studied him one last time.
The messenger wasn’t afraid of dying.
He’d accepted the possibility the moment he’d followed them into the forest.
That made things... annoying.
It was hard to justify killing someone who wasn’t pretending to be innocent.
"...Tch."
Denzel clicked his tongue and turned away.
"I’ve changed my mind."
Behind him, he heard the old man exhale quietly.
Not relief.
Just...
Acceptance.
"You were watching me."
"Not hunting me."
"I know the difference."
He took another step.
"But don’t mistake that for forgiveness."
This time he stopped.
Just enough to glance back over his shoulder.
His voice remained as calm as before.
"The next time I catch you hiding your presence around me..."
"...don’t expect a conversation."
"I’ll kill you first."
Then he walked away.
Whether the old man believed him or not wasn’t Denzel’s concern.
He’d said what he needed to say.
The rest...
Would be the old man’s problem.
The old man said nothing else.
Neither did the Knight.
The forest gradually swallowed the distance between them until the messenger’s presence faded from Denzel’s senses.
Only then did he speak.
"...You’re awfully quiet."
The Knight glanced sideways at him.
"I usually am."
"Not this quiet."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"You noticed."
Denzel shrugged.
"It’d be harder not to."
Silence settled again.
His mind drifted back to what had just happened.
Not the chase.
Not the messenger.
The mana.
’So it can overlap...’
Until today, he’d treated mana like another muscle.
Strengthen his legs.
Strengthen his fists.
Move faster.
Hit harder.
Simple.
Apparently...
It wasn’t.
Someone had just hidden their own presence by weaving it around someone else’s.
No spell.
No flashy technique.
Just... control.
’How many things can mana actually do?’
The more he learned, the more he realized how little he knew.
"...You’re thinking."
The Knight’s voice broke his train of thought.
"Hm?"
"You’ve had that expression since we left."
"What expression?"
"The one you make when you’re trying to solve something."
Denzel frowned.
"I have one?"
"You do."
"...That’s unfortunate."
The Knight let out a quiet laugh.
"It isn’t."
He wasn’t convinced.
"If I can tell, other people can."
"Only if they’re paying attention."
"...Still unfortunate."
Another short silence followed before Denzel looked ahead.
"So."
"How does he do it?"
"The mana."
"The overlapping."
"I couldn’t even tell where one presence ended and the other began."
The Knight didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she looked up through the trees, sunlight filtering between the leaves.
"You’ve learned to feel mana."
She finally said.
"Now..."
"It’s time to learn how to control it."
The training ground came into view once more.
The same clearing.
The same battered trees.
The same rocks cracked apart from hours of practice.
Except...
This time, the Knight didn’t draw her sword.
She walked to the center of the clearing and stopped.
Then she turned to face him.
"Don’t reinforce your body."
Denzel raised an eyebrow.
"...At all?"
"Not once."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
She lifted a single finger.
"Move your mana."
"Nothing else."
Denzel stared at her for a moment.
"...That sounds easier."
"It isn’t."
Something in her tone made him believe her immediately.
She pointed toward a smooth stone resting near the edge of the clearing.
"Sit."
He did.
The Knight folded her arms.
"For the rest of today..."
"You won’t throw a single punch."
Denzel blinked.
"...You’re serious."
"I am."
A faint smile appeared on her face.
"Let’s see if you can stop thinking of mana as nothing more than strength."
Denzel looked down at his own hand.
Then slowly closed his fingers.
’So today’s training isn’t about becoming stronger...’
’It’s about learning what strength actually is.’
He took a slow breath.
"...Alright."
The Knight nodded once.
"Good."
"Now close your eyes."
Denzel did. The world around him slowly fell silent...
The sounds of the forest gradually grew louder.
Leaves brushing against one another.
Birds somewhere overhead.
The breeze drifting across his skin.
"...Feel your mana."
The Knight’s voice came calmly.
"Not your body."
"Your mana."
Denzel frowned.
’Easy for you to say.’
Every time he’d used mana before, he’d immediately pushed it into his muscles.
It had become instinct.
Like clenching a fist.
Now she was asking him to ignore the fist altogether.
He took a slow breath.
The familiar warmth gathered within him.
Almost immediately...
It surged toward his legs.
"Stop."
The Knight’s voice cut in.
The mana dispersed.
"...Again."
Denzel resisted the urge to sigh.
’Right.’
He started over.
Again, the warmth gathered.
Again, it instinctively flowed toward his limbs.
"...Stop."
"...Again."
"...Stop."
"...Again."
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
Nothing changed.
Every attempt ended the same way.
Mana.
Body.
Reinforcement.
Failure.
Denzel rubbed the back of his neck.
"...This is harder than fighting."
"It should be."
The Knight didn’t sound surprised.
"You’ve spent an entire day teaching your body that mana exists to strengthen it."
"Now you’re teaching it the opposite."
"...Feels like I’m arguing with myself."
"You are."
Denzel clicked his tongue.
’Figures.’
He closed his eyes once more.
This time...
He didn’t try to move the mana.
He simply observed it.
The warmth drifted quietly beneath his skin.
Not to his arms.
Not to his legs.
Just...
Existing.
For the first time...
He noticed it wasn’t trying to reinforce his body.
He was the one forcing it to.
His eyes slowly opened.
"...I see."
The Knight noticed the subtle change in his expression.
"What is it?"
"I’ve been giving it orders."
She smiled.
"And?"
"...Maybe I should stop."
The afternoon sun had begun its slow descent.
Sweat dripped from Denzel’s chin onto the ground.
He’d lost count of how many times he’d failed.
Twenty?
Fifty?
A hundred?
It didn’t matter anymore.
Failure had stopped being frustrating.
Now...
It was information.
’Too much.’
The mana scattered.
’Too fast.’
It collapsed.
’Again.’
Another failure.
He adjusted.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Then...
Without warning...
The warmth no longer rushed toward his muscles.
Instead...
It flowed.
Slowly.
Naturally.
Like water finding its own course.
Denzel’s breathing unconsciously steadied with it.
His heartbeat slowed.
For the first time since awakening...
He wasn’t controlling his mana.
He was moving with it.
"..."
The Knight watched in silence.
The mana surrounding Denzel no longer flickered erratically.
It circulated through his body in one smooth, uninterrupted current.
Several long seconds passed.
Then a minute.
It didn’t break.
It didn’t collapse.
Denzel slowly opened his eyes.
"...That’s..."
Different.
He couldn’t explain why.
Only that everything suddenly felt...
Lighter.
Cleaner.
As though the resistance he’d been fighting all day had simply... disappeared.
The Knight finally spoke.
"...Stand."
Denzel did.
She picked up a wooden practice sword and tossed it toward him.
He caught it on instinct.
Her expression remained unreadable.
"Good."
"Now..."
She lowered herself into a stance.
"...Let’s see if you can keep it that way."
The wooden sword cut through the air.
Fast.
Denzel barely managed to raise his own in time.
Clack!
The impact jolted his arms.
He slid back half a step, but the warmth flowing through his body didn’t falter.
The Knight’s eyes narrowed slightly.
"Again."
She disappeared.
Instinct screamed.
Denzel twisted.
Clang!
Steel wasn’t meeting steel.
Just two wooden practice swords.
Yet the force behind her strike nearly knocked his grip loose.
’Too slow.’
She swept low.
He jumped.
Another strike came the instant he landed.
No hesitation.
No pause.
She wasn’t giving him time to think.
She was forcing his body to choose.
Fight...
Or lose the flow.
Denzel gritted his teeth.
The familiar urge surfaced.
’Reinforce my arms.’
It would’ve made blocking easier.
’My legs too.’
He almost did it.
Almost.
Then he remembered the entire afternoon.
Every failed attempt.
Every correction.
Every quiet "Again."
’No.’
Instead of forcing his mana into a single part of his body, he let it continue moving on its own.
His feet shifted.
Not faster.
Cleaner.
The next strike brushed past his shoulder instead of hitting him head-on.
The one after that missed by inches.
Then another.
The Knight pressed harder.
Her attacks became faster.
Sharper.
Each one arriving before the last had fully ended.
Denzel stopped trying to predict her sword.
He simply moved.
His body responded almost before his thoughts could.
The current of mana never broke.
One exchange.
Then another.
Five.
Ten.
Twenty.
The rhythm settled.
Sword.
Step.
Turn.
Block.
Breathe.
For the first time since awakening...Everything felt connected.