novelraw Chapter 126 : The Blood That Doesn’t Heal
Chapter 126 : The Blood That Doesn’t Heal
(Riaz Valemont’s POV)
The world was still asleep when I slipped out of the house.
The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of wet earth and pine.
My boots barely made a sound as I crossed the field, the morning mist curling around my legs like it was trying to pull me back to bed.
But I didn’t stop.
Not when I knew Kain would already be waiting.
He always was.
The clearing behind the training field was quiet except for the rhythmic shhk of a blade slicing through air.
Kain stood there, already moving — steady, precise, every swing leaving a faint tremor in the grass.
When he noticed me, he didn’t stop.
“Early again, kid?” he said between swings.
I grinned. “If I’m not, you’ll start without me.”
“Good,” he muttered, then nodded toward the rack. “Wooden sword. Same routine.”
I grabbed my practice blade and started.
One hundred swings forward, one hundred overhead, one hundred side cuts.
The same pattern every morning.
The same exhaustion every night.
And yet… it never felt old.
By the time the first light hit the field, sweat already soaked my shirt.
My arms burned, my hands ached, and the wooden handle was slick under my grip.
Kain watched from the stump nearby, his usual scowl softening a little.
“You’re not fast,” he said. “Not precise either.”
I kept swinging.
“But,” he continued, “you don’t stop.”
That made me smile — just a little.
I didn’t need him to say more.
He’d been Father’s comrade, my father’s teacher, and Brother’s mentor for a while too.
If Kain said nothing else, it meant I was doing fine.
As the village woke, faint voices drifted from the road beyond the field.
“Valemont boy’s up again?”
“The younger one, yeah. At least he’s not like his brother.”
“Lazy brat, that one. Always skipping training, always wandering off. Wonder how the old man puts up with it.”
Kain glanced toward the road, his jaw tightening.
I just smiled.
“Don’t,” I said quietly.
He looked at me.
“It’s fine,” I added. “They say that every day. It’s just noise now.”
He frowned, but didn’t argue.
The truth was… I’d heard it for as long as I could remember.
Every whisper, every mocking tone — all calling my brother lazy, careless, unfit to be a Valemont.
And maybe they weren’t wrong.
Rooga didn’t train like us.
He didn’t swing a sword until his hands bled.
He didn’t chase strength or titles.
But I’d seen things they hadn’t.
I’d seen him fixing a farmer’s wheel before the man even asked.
I’d seen him carry a crying child home after she got lost in the woods.
I’d seen him heal a sick animal with nothing but water and patience.
He was lazy, yes.
But he was kind.
And somehow, that made me want to work harder — because I couldn’t be like him.
I didn’t have his calm.
Or his heart.
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So I did what I could.
I trained.
Kain finally stood and walked over, crossing his arms as he watched my final swings.
My shoulders screamed in protest, but I didn’t stop until I hit one thousand.
When I finally lowered the sword, panting, he spoke.
“You know,” he said, “your brother doesn’t train like this.”
“I know.”
“He doesn’t need to.”
“I know that too.”
He chuckled quietly. “Then why do you?”
I wiped the sweat from my brow, still catching my breath.
“Because someone has to.”
He blinked. “Someone has to what?”
“Keep the name moving.”
For a second, his expression changed — something almost like pride flickered there.
He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“You’re your father’s son, Riaz.”
I smiled. “Maybe. But I think I want to be my brother’s shadow instead.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Shadow?”
“Yeah,” I said, gripping the sword tighter. “So even if he stops, the shadow keeps walking.”
Kain laughed quietly, the kind of laugh that meant he was hiding something sentimental.
“Then keep walking, boy. The world needs more of that.”
The sun had fully risen by the time we ended.
Kain left to check the eastern watchpoint, and I sat under the tree, resting my sore hands.
The whispers from the road had faded, replaced by morning chatter and the smell of fresh bread from the village.
I closed my eyes for a moment, smiling.
The world always had something to say about the Valemonts.
But I didn’t care anymore.
Because one day, when they looked at us — at Brother, at Father, at all of us —
they’d see more than a fallen family trying to survive.
They’d see roots that refused to die.
The morning after training, I heard the news before I even reached the kitchen.
“Eria did it!” Mother’s voice carried through the halls, bright and proud. “She awakened her magic!”
The servants whispered it with smiles; even Father laughed when he heard.
Our little sister — four years old and already making sparks dance in her hands.
Everyone was happy.
Everyone except me.
When I finally saw her, she was sitting on Mother’s lap, giggling as golden light flickered between her palms.
Mother clapped along, beaming with pride.
I couldn’t look away.
I tried to copy her later that day — out in the yard, alone.
I held out my hands, whispered words I’d heard from Father and Aunt Lyra a hundred times before.
Nothing.
Not even a flicker.
I tried again, and again, until my voice cracked and my hands shook from frustration.
Still nothing.
Mother found me sitting in the dirt, glaring at my empty hands.
She didn’t scold me. She just knelt down and brushed the dust from my hair.
“Magic isn’t everything, Riaz.”
I didn’t answer.
She smiled gently. “Elara never learned to use it either, remember? She’s a Valemont — a sword, not a spell.”
But something twisted inside me.
“Then why can Rooga?”
Her expression faltered. “Because…” She hesitated, searching for words. “Because your brother is… different.”
That wasn’t enough.
It never was.
“Different how?” I pressed, but she didn’t answer.
I stood abruptly, fists clenched. “I’m tired of hearing that!”
And before she could stop me, I ran out of the house.
I found Rooga sitting beneath the tree near the field, legs crossed, carving something small from wood.
He looked up when I approached, his usual calm smile in place.
“Skipping training?” he asked lightly.
I shook my head. “No. I wanted to ask you something.”
He set the carving aside. “What’s wrong?”
“How did you learn magic?” I blurted out. “And the sword? How can you use both?”
He studied me quietly, then leaned back, resting his arms on his knees.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I want to learn too,” I said quickly. “I train every day. I do what Kain says, what Father says — everything. But no matter what I do, I can’t make magic happen. I can’t do what you or Eria can.”
He looked at me for a long moment — not pitying, not mocking — just… understanding.
“Magic isn’t something you force,” he said finally. “It’s something that answers when you stop demanding.”
I frowned. “That’s just words, Rooga.”
He laughed softly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
But then he looked up at the sky, his tone quieter. “You know, sometimes I’m jealous of you.”
That stopped me. “Jealous? Of me?”
He reached down, picked up a thin splinter of wood from the carving, and held it out.
“Here. Watch.”
Before I could ask, he pricked his thumb with it.
A small bead of blood welled up, red and sharp against his pale skin.
I watched it trickle down his finger — slow, steady, unhealing.
I blinked. “It’s not stopping.”
He smiled faintly. “It never does. Not right away, at least.”
My eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because I don’t have what you do,” he said quietly. “You, Father, Elara… even little Eria. You all carry that Valemont blessing — that body that mends faster than it breaks.”
He looked down at the cut, still bleeding. “Me? I don’t. I can use magic, yes. But if I fall, I stay fallen. If I bleed, I bleed for a while.”
I didn’t say anything. I just stared at the small drop of blood on his thumb, glinting like a ruby in the sunlight.
For the first time, I realized how fragile he really was.
How even though the world called him genius, miracle, mage — he was still breakable.
Rooga wiped the blood away with a rag and smiled. “So don’t worry about what you can’t do, Riaz. You already have what I don’t.”
I nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in.
I’d always thought I was the weak one — the ordinary brother trying to catch up to a miracle.
But now I saw it.
Rooga wasn’t invincible.
He was just good at hiding the parts that hurt.
And maybe… that’s what made him human.
I stood beside him, the silence between us comfortable.
For once, I didn’t feel smaller than his shadow.
We were just brothers — different, but equal in ways the world couldn’t see.