Chapter 56 : Where Wyverns Fall and Spirits Rise

Of course, he was no brute—no axe-waving savage who shunned finesse. There was no shame in using cunning. Victory achieved with elegance was the mark of wisdom, not weakness. The truest strength, Curtis  believed, was knowing when not to strike at all.

He had used his magic as an artist might use a brush—painting arcs of violence not for destruction, but to shape the flow of the battlefield. Every spell had been cast with purpose. Every ripple of water had sung with silent discipline.

“You fought with great courage, Brother Curtis .”

The voice cut softly through the veil of his thoughts, as gentle as a breeze across calm waters. Curtis  blinked, returning from the stillness within, and turned.

Jenny stood before him, her white robes dappled with ash and dew, her hands outstretched in offering. Divine light shimmered faintly across her palms like the first light of dawn.

“May I?” she asked.

“Oh—yes, of course.”

Before he could raise his arm, she reached forward, her touch reverent. Her lips moved in silent prayer, and in an instant, warmth flooded through his arm. A blessing poured from her hands—argent light spreading like ink in clear water. It flowed across his body, mending what was worn, stitching together the unseen fatigue in his limbs and mind.

To a warrior of steel and sinew, miracles soothed bruises and cuts. But to a mage, whose weapon was will and thought, the miracle healed in subtler ways—restoring clarity, breathing ease into exhausted channels of thought, steadying the rhythm of his soul.

He hadn’t collapsed during the battle. He hadn’t even stumbled. But he had given much of himself. And now, that gift was returned, if only in part.

“I feel steadier now. Thank you,” he said quietly.

“I only wish I had the strength to grant something more profound,” Jenny replied, her voice sincere.

Curtis  gave her a tired but genuine smile. “You’re too modest. That was more than enough.”

She hesitated, then chuckled. “I cannot decide whether to be joyful or dismayed at how powerful you’ve become, Brother Curtis . It lends far too much weight to Sister Lilia’s argument…”

“Argument?”

Jenny sighed and rolled her eyes—an unusual gesture for someone so composed. “That we can now hunt stronger aberrants. Who could have guessed that three wyverns would fall, and not one of us bear so much as a scratch?”

Her tone had shifted since the battle. No longer the formal decorum of a temple cleric—now there was something gentler, warmer. She had seen him at his height, had witnessed his strength, and it had quieted her doubts.

Even the other clergy, once reticent to meet his eye, now watched him with something bordering on awe. And though Lilia had delivered the final strike, it was Curtis  whose magic had first turned the tide.

“Well… it just sort of happened that way,” Curtis  said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s all take a moment to rest.”

The old campfire was not far. The earth, sodden with battle’s aftermath, squelched underfoot—until Curtis  lifted his hand. With a flick of his wrist, the pooled water obeyed, spiraling away like silk unraveling from a loom. The ground dried instantly.

He lowered himself to sit.

From his wrist, the small spirit of water—his faithful elemental companion—slipped free. It rolled across the grass like a marble of liquid moonlight, before plunging into a nearby brook with an audible splash. Like a child leaping into its mother’s embrace.

Curtis  murmured a quiet command, and the remaining traces of battle—scattered droplets of power, lost fragments of shaped water—gathered like dutiful soldiers and slithered toward the stream.

He had instructed the spirit to drink deeply. It would return stronger.

“Excellent work today, Brother Curtis !”

Lilia’s voice rang bright as ever. She approached with light steps, her boots barely disturbing the damp soil, as if she were still half in battle-rhythm. She dropped beside him with an unceremonious sigh, brushing loose strands of blonde hair from her face.

He raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“That was my first time fighting a wyvern,” she murmured. “A real one, I mean. And yet… I don’t know. I feel like I fell short.”

“You severed its wing midair.”

“Only because you softened it first. I was just cleaning up.”

“You landed a sword strike mid-flight against a falling monster,” Curtis  countered. “I’d hardly call that ‘just’ anything.”

She gave him a wan smile, eyes flickering with doubt. “But I didn’t finish it. You did most of the work. I was just there.”

Curtis  leaned back, gazing at the sky through the thin canopy of trees. “If you had done everything yourself, I’d have felt useless. I think we made a good pair.”

She laughed—a short, almost surprised sound. “You really believe that?”

“I do. You covered the angles I couldn’t. You gave me the opening I needed. And that advice you gave earlier—it helped.”

“Advice?” Lilia blinked. “Which one?”

“About noble-born mages and shouting spell names.”

“Oh! But you didn’t shout anything today.”

“No, but I think I get it now.” He smiled faintly. “It’s about focus. Anchoring the will in word and form. It’s not just vanity—it’s a ritual.”

“Sounds like a theory in progress,” Lilia said, amused.

“It is. But a good one.”

They fell into companionable silence, broken only by the murmuring brook and the crackle of fire.

Finally, she said, “Then I’ll be counting on you again, next time?”

“Always,” he replied.

And he meant it.

He cracked open his spellbook. Not to study—but simply to feel the weight of his progress. The runes shimmered faintly, still warm from recent use.

His heart, too, was warm.

Two moons passed.

[ Water Manipulation Lv. 55 ]
[ Progress to next level: 33% ]

Curtis  smiled.

He was still growing.

And tomorrow, he would grow further.

The road ahead remained long, uncertain, and wild—but for the first time in ages, it no longer felt lonely. With allies at his side, anything felt possible.