The village gradually returned to its routine. Farmers repaired the fence around the Heller farm, the blacksmith was back at his forge, and the mercenaries were already debating which contract to take next. By the time the sun began its descent, Saphryn had put several miles behind him.
The road climbed through rolling hills covered in tall grass. In the distance stood windmills, cultivated fields, and scattered cottages. In this part of the kingdom, it was unusual to go more than an hour without crossing paths with another traveler.
A wagon pulled by two mules approached from behind.
"Traveler! Are you heading for Valdoren?"
Saphryn turned.
The driver was a broad-shouldered man with graying hair. Beside him sat a young woman of about seventeen, a book resting on her lap.
"I'm headed that way."
"Then walk with us for a while. The road's always better with company."
Saphryn gave a slight nod and continued alongside the wagon.
"My name's Edric," the man said. "I'm a merchant. This is my daughter, Lyra."
"Saphryn."
Lyra looked up from her book and studied him for a few moments.
"I've never seen such a beautiful sword."
"It was a gift."
"From whom?"
Saphryn fell silent for a moment.
"Someone important."
Lyra nodded without pressing the matter.
The merchant smiled.
"My daughter has a habit of asking too many questions."
"Because if I don't ask, I'll never learn."
"One day you'll end up asking a duke how old he is."
"If he seems kind enough, I just might."
A quiet laugh passed between them, and the journey continued.
Before long they began passing other travelers. A group of craftsmen hauled timber toward a nearby city. Farther along, they met two priests traveling from village to village to care for the sick. Later, a mounted patrol stopped them briefly to inspect the road before allowing them to continue.
Everything seemed peaceful.
Until they spotted a long line of people waiting before a stone bridge.
Wagons, horses, and travelers stretched as far as the eye could see.
Edric frowned.
"That's not normal."
A guard walked along the line, addressing everyone in turn.
"The bridge will remain closed until further notice. No one is permitted to cross."
The complaints erupted almost immediately.
"My goods have to be delivered today!"
"My family's on the other side of the river!"
"How long is this going to take?"
The guard raised his voice.
"Those are Lord Valdoren's orders."
Edric climbed down from the wagon and approached him.
"What happened?"
"A nobleman was murdered this morning. No one enters or leaves the city until the investigation is complete."
The announcement sent murmurs rippling through the crowd.
"A noble was murdered?"
"Who would dare?"
"Could it be a feud between noble houses?"
"I heard they're questioning mercenaries too."
Lyra slowly closed her book.
"Looks like we'll be spending the night here."
Edric let out a weary sigh.
"And I'll lose an entire day's worth of business."
Saphryn studied the bridge.
Soldiers guarded both ends while others searched wagons and examined travel papers. This was no simple precaution. There were far too many men for that.
Without a word, he shifted his gaze toward the city beyond the river.
Valdoren's walls rose above the landscape, glowing beneath the amber light of the setting sun.
For reasons he could not explain, he felt that this place would mark the beginning of a different path.
Not because someone was waiting for him there.
But because, for the first time in many years, his search seemed to be leading him toward a conflict where a sword alone would not be enough.
That thought lingered in his mind.
It made him wonder whether every journey eventually reached a point where strength ceased to be the answer.
Night fell before the bridge was reopened.
The stranded travelers lit small campfires along the roadside, and a few merchants took advantage of the delay by selling bread, cheese, and wine. The soldiers kept the bridge completely sealed off, turning back anyone who tried to approach.
Edric stirred the glowing embers with a stick while Lyra read by the firelight.
"I've never seen an entire city sealed off over the murder of a noble," the merchant remarked.
An old man resting nearby overheard him.
"He wasn't just any noble. They say he belonged to House Aerwin."
"Is that an important family?"
"Important enough to have half of Valdoren's council on edge."
Another traveler shook his head.
"That's not what I heard. They say the killer didn't steal a thing. He walked in, killed the man, and vanished."
Soon the stories began to blur together.
Everyone seemed to know a different version, and none of them quite matched.
Saphryn sat a short distance from the fire, quietly watching the flames.
Lyra closed her book.
"What do you think?"
"I think most people try to fill the gaps in what they don't understand."
She smiled.
"My father does the same thing."
"Hey, I only repeat what I hear."
"Which amounts to exactly the same thing."
Edric laughed.
The conversation came to an end when four men emerged from the forest road.
They wore reinforced leather armor and carried swords at their hips. None bore the emblem of Valdoren's army.
Mercenaries.
The one who seemed to be their leader surveyed the travelers until his gaze settled on Saphryn.
"So it was you."
Saphryn looked up.
"Do we know each other?"
"No. But this morning you killed a Garm near the Heller farm."
"I did."
"I thought they were exaggerating."
The other three watched him with open curiosity.
"They say you're not even registered with the guild."
"That's true."
The leader folded his arms.
"That's caused quite a stir. Some think you're hiding your rank. Others believe you're a knight."
"I'm neither."
"Then you should register. With your skills, you'd make a fortune."
"I'm not interested."
The mercenary smiled faintly.
"You're not very ambitious."
"That depends on what a person considers valuable."
Silence settled over the camp.
Then one of the younger mercenaries stepped forward.
A broad sword rested across his back.
"That sounds noble enough," he said, "but it's easy to talk when no one knows who you are."
The leader turned toward him.
"Bren..."
But the young man continued.
"If you're really as strong as they say..."
He took another step.
"Prove it."
Saphryn met his gaze calmly.
"I have no reason to."
"What, are you afraid?"
"No."
"Then fight me."
Saphryn gently shook his head.
"I have no desire to."
Bren stepped closer.
"You know what I think?"
He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.
"I think the whole story's a lie."
No one intervened.
The travelers watched in silence.
Saphryn remained perfectly still.
"If you need proof before you can believe," he said quietly, "you're free to seek it. But first ask yourself whether the answer is truly worth the price."
"Is that a threat?"
"No."
His reply was as calm as every word before it.
"It's advice."
The leader sighed.
"That's enough, Bren."
But the young mercenary had already drawn his sword.
The blade gleamed beneath the campfires.
Saphryn let out a quiet sigh.
"I'm sorry you've chosen this."
The entire camp fell silent.
No one knew whether they were about to witness an ordinary duel between mercenaries...
Or something else entirely.
Bren smiled, holding his sword before him.
"Finally."
Saphryn did not move.
The breeze stirred the hem of his coat.
"I don't wish to fight you."
"That'll change soon enough."
Bren struck first.
Without warning, he unleashed a horizontal slash aimed straight at Saphryn's chest.
Saphryn merely shifted his body just enough for the blade to pass harmlessly before him.
The mercenary pivoted and attacked again.
Once more, his sword cut through empty air.
The onlookers fell completely silent.
Bren quickened his pace.
A thrust.
A downward slash.
Another strike from the side.
Saphryn avoided every attack with the smallest of movements. He never retreated farther than necessary, nor did he seem to exert himself in the slightest. His feet barely left the ground, and his expression never changed.
"Stop dodging and fight!" Bren shouted.
"I already am."
The answer came in the same composed voice as always.
Those words only fueled the young man's anger.
He tightened both hands around the hilt and drew a deep breath.
"Don't mock me."
With a shout, Bren poured all the strength in his body into a single overhead strike.
The blade came crashing down toward Saphryn's head.
Many of the travelers held their breath.
The movement was so swift that it was almost impossible to follow.
In the next instant, the silver sword left its scabbard.
There was no dramatic flourish.
No sweeping motion.
It simply... appeared.
The hilt stopped level with Saphryn's shoulder, angled upward, while the tip of the blade rested diagonally toward the ground.
Bren's sword crashed against the silver blade with a sharp, ringing clang.
Nothing happened.
The silver sword did not yield by so much as an inch.
Saphryn's wrist did not bend.
Not even his stance shifted.
It was as though Bren had struck a wall of solid stone.
The confidence drained from the young mercenary's face.
He pushed harder.
The muscles in his arms strained until they trembled.
The silver blade never moved.
Saphryn regarded him calmly.
"Is that all?"
There was no contempt in his voice.
No mockery.
Only a quiet, genuine question.
Bren tried to pull his sword free and attack again.
He couldn't.
For a fleeting moment, it felt as though his blade had become lodged against a mountain.
Then Saphryn withdrew his sword with a motion as effortless as closing a book.
The pressure vanished instantly.
Bren stumbled forward two steps before catching himself.
The camp remained deathly silent.
Even the leader of the mercenary band stared at Saphryn, his brow furrowed.
That wasn't a technique.
It couldn't have been.
He had fought in too many battles not to recognize the moment when two swords truly tested each other's strength.
This...
This had been something else entirely.
It was as though every ounce of Bren's strength had simply ceased to exist the instant his blade touched the silver steel.