Chapter 33: Agreement
Cain took a few slow, measured steps forward, each one crunching against the gravel with deliberate weight. His arms were crossed, but his voice was sharp and biting, cutting through the heavy silence like a knife.
"You really think this is going to get you anywhere?" Cain said, gesturing with a lazy flick toward the broken line of kitchen knives littering the ground. "What's the plan, Calien? Scare a dummy to death? Or maybe you're hoping to impress someone with how bad your throwing is?"
Calien stayed quiet, jaw tightening.
Cain smiled wide, sensing the resistance. He circled him slowly now, like a predator toying with a wounded animal, letting his words dig deep.
"This little act of yours... it's pathetic. You've got no form, no control, no aim. You're just flailing with those cheap knives like some lowborn trash hoping for a miracle."
He leaned in close, whispering now. "Maybe that's what you're hoping for, huh? A miracle to make up for everything you lack."
Calien's grip on his last kitchen knife tightened.
Cain straightened up, walking a slow arc until he was ten paces away. His eyes wandered toward a rack on the side of the training yard, half-covered in cobwebs and dust.
Nestled between splintered shields and warped wooden swords were a bundle of unused wooden knives—short, stubby, and generally ignored by all trainees.
Most considered them a joke. Spare parts. Tools for children or cowards.
Cain grabbed one with a chuckle. "Look at these things," he muttered, giving the blade a few experimental tosses in his palm. "Useless, right?"