Status Update:
[Mana Manipulation] – Noticeable improvement; pulses steadier.
[Basic Swordsmanship] – Muscle memory sharpening.
[Mental State] – Wary but determined.
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Dawn broke with a pale wash of light over Arkheim's rooftops. I emerged from the collapsed stable with joints stiff and mind already racing through the day's agenda. Two objectives guided me: sharpen my sword skills and secure a safer place to sleep.
I headed for the blacksmith's quarter near the eastern wall. There, under the shadow of hammer-struck steel, local fencing masters often offered free form bouts—tests for aspiring bladesmen in exchange for tips. Perfect for leveling up, and with my fifteen mana, I could bolster my strikes with [Mana Reinforcement] when needed.
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The Blacksmith's Yard
Steam billowed from a forge as I approached. Sweaty men and women circled a small clearing where wooden dummies and sparring rings stood. I'd been here twice before—enough to know Master Torvik's bark was worse than his bite.
"Back again, boy?" Torvik's voice boomed. He wiped soot from his goggles. "You got coin to wager, or just another lost lamb wanting to get slaughtered?"
I dropped three copper into his outstretched hand. "Just sparring, Master."
He grunted. "One match. Show me you learned something since last time."
I drew the battered practice sword I carried—a gift from a fellow student, now bent at the tip. Across from me stepped a burly youth named Gregun, two inches taller but with far less speed.
We circled. I feinted left, he lunged. I parried, letting my reinforced arm take the impact, and riposted with a light thrust to his side. The tip thudded into his leather jerkin.
He staggered, glared, and came at me again—this time with a reckless overhead chop. I danced back, channeled mana into my legs, and dashed forward, blade sliding past his guard to nick his thigh. The ring erupted in cheers.
Torvik nodded once. "Not bad. You've got promise—or desperation. Maybe both." He tossed me five copper. "Train that speed. It'll save your life one day."
I pocketed the earnings and bowed. Small victory number one.
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A Hostile Meeting
With coin jingling in my pouch, I detoured through the merchant stalls along Gilded Way. Fruit vendors, jewelers, potion sellers—and amid them, a small booth draped in pale blue silks. A healer's stall.
I paused. Two nights ago, I'd nursed a bruise here, and later heard whispers—one of the stall's mistresses had been wronged by the original Cedric Veyne. That Cedric had never apologized. Reputation bruised, she'd sworn to have nothing to do with me.
A slender woman stood behind the counter now, sorting tiny vials. Silver hair caught the morning light; her eyes, a storm-grey, flicked to me with unmistakable hostility.
"Don't come any closer," she snapped, voice low enough that only I heard.
I froze. My heart thudded. Concealing voice and stance, I bowed my head. "I'm sorry. Truly."
She raised an eyebrow. "You? Apologize? For what?"
I clenched my fists, recalling every bitter word and broken promise the former Cedric had left in his wake. "For his wrongs. I—I didn't earn your forgiveness yet. But I know I walk in his shadow."
Her grip tightened on a vial. Her jaw worked. Between us lay years of grievances I could only guess at. I dared another word. "I won't make excuses."
Silence. A single breath. Then she turned away, busying herself with labels. "Move on, then."
No victory here—only the weight of past sins. I nodded once, quietly, and walked off without another glance. My chest ached, but at least I'd tried.
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Nightfall and Reflection
By dusk, I'd traded my day's earnings for a thin blanket and a night in a hovel rented to me at a discount—small triumph for 150 copper. The walls were drafty, the roof leaky, but it was mine alone.
I sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, candles flickering. With two silver's worth of coin left, tomorrow I'd hunt guild apprentices for sparring partners and revisit the shrine's hidden alcoves for treasure maps I'd glimpsed in the academy archives.
I closed my eyes and ran through my mana drills. Pulse… pulse… channel… steady. The rhythm steadied my breath.
In the dark, the heroine's grey eyes haunted me—resentment unspoken, pain of betrayal still fresh. But I had to earn redemption, not demand it.
Tomorrow, I'd level up again. Skill by skill, coin by coin, and perhaps someday I'd stand before her not as Cedric Veyne the sinner, but as Cedric Veyne the redeemed.
Until then, the night stretched on—silent witness to a boy's resolve in a world that refused to forget.
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NEXT : THE RESCUER AND THE RESCUED
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