Chapter 6: Deymoor Town
Azel donned a simple outfit fit for his age and frame — a white linen shirt tucked into black shorts, a brown belt keeping it in place.
It complimented his features well: silver hair that fell just past his ears and eyes that shimmered crimson under the morning sun.
Despite looking like a delicate porcelain doll, Azel’s body had hardened over the past three months of rigorous training.
His arms had definition, his core was firm, and he no longer tripped over his own feet.
His reflection in the mirror looked less like a helpless child and more like a boy soldier straight out of a fantasy novel.
Outside the cottage, Steven stood leaning on a walking stick, clad in a simple tunic and brown trousers with a wide-brimmed straw hat resting over his long silver hair.
His casual look was almost too effective — no one would’ve guessed this laidback man was the Sword Saint who had once carved a battlefield into ribbons.
Azel came jogging out with a list in hand. "This is a list of things we need."
Steven took the list from his hand and squinted at it. "Looks like you wrote this in bird scratches."
Azel huffed. "You’re the one who said a warrior must do everything himself. I’m just applying that logic to groceries."
Steven handed Azel a small sheathed dagger and adjusted the belt around the boy’s waist.