A Young Boy's Determination

The village of Mish rested like a jewel nestled within the verdant hills of the Kingdom of Rish. Thatched huts dotted the landscape, their earthen walls catching the golden rays of the afternoon sun. Emerald paddy fields stretched as far as the eye could see, and crystalline rivers meandered through the terrain, bestowing the blessing of fresh water upon the humble villagers.

In a modest dwelling at the edge of the settlement, eight-year-old Zoh Kuroz watched his father with unwavering admiration. Matt Kuroz, a former royal guard turned village protector, moved with practiced precision in their small yard, his sword cutting through the air with a whisper. Each swing, each thrust was executed with the grace of a dancer and the deadliness of a predator.

Zoh's heart hammered against his ribcage. He had waited for this moment for years, rehearsing the words in his mind countless times. The wooden sword he had carved himself lay hidden beneath his bed, a secret testament to his determination. Today, he would finally ask.

Drawing a deep breath to steady his nerves, Zoh stepped forward, his bare feet sinking into the soft grass. The cool blades tickled between his toes, but he maintained his composure, squaring his small shoulders.

"Dad," he called, his voice coming out stronger than expected. "Can you teach me how to wield a sword?"

Matt paused mid-swing, his blade halting with supernatural control. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow as he turned to face his son. His weathered face, marked with the fine lines of a man who had seen both beauty and brutality, softened at the sight of the boy.

"Son, you're still too young," Matt replied, lowering his sword. "You must reach the age of eight first."

Zoh's mouth fell open in disbelief. His father's words stung more than any physical blow could have. Had his father truly forgotten his age? Was he so insignificant in his father's eyes?

"Eh? Dad, are you joking?" Zoh exclaimed, indignation coloring his voice. "I'm already eight years old!"

A flicker of surprise crossed Matt's face before melting into a sheepish smile. He rubbed the back of his neck, the calluses on his fingers rough against his skin.

"Oh, I apologize, Son," he said, genuine remorse in his tone. "I forgot." His eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity evident in his gaze. "But why do you wish to learn the ways of the sword?"

Zoh's chest swelled with pride and determination. This was his chance to prove himself worthy of his father's teachings.

"Because I aspire to become a knight!" he declared, his voice ringing with conviction. His small fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white with resolve. "Though I may not be strong yet, I want to learn from you, Dad." He took a step forward, his eyes burning with an intensity that belied his young age. "When I grow stronger, I will protect our village, our house, and both you and Mom!"

Matt studied his son, searching for any signs of childish whim or fancy. Instead, he found only unwavering determination mirroring his own from decades past. A warm sense of pride blossomed in his chest. His son was growing up, showing the first signs of the man he would one day become.

"Very well," Matt conceded, sheathing his sword with a metallic whisper. "Begin by helping your mother clean the house, and I shall commence your training tomorrow."

Relief and excitement washed over Zoh like a tidal wave. He had done it! His father had agreed! It took every ounce of self-control not to jump and whoop with joy. Instead, he nodded solemnly, attempting to mirror his father's composed demeanor.

"Okay, Dad," he replied, before a mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Don't worry, when you grow old, I'll fashion a cane for you, Dad."

Matt's booming laughter shattered the solemn atmosphere. He lunged forward playfully, ruffling Zoh's unruly dark hair.

"You little rascal!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with affection. "Always finding ways to tease me. Hurry now!"

Zoh ducked away from his father's grasp, giggling as he raced toward their humble dwelling. His heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. Soon, he would begin his journey toward knighthood, toward becoming someone his parents could be proud of, someone who could protect what he loved.

The interior of their home was bathed in the warm glow of oil lamps. The aroma of herbs and spices hung in the air, a testament to his mother's culinary skills. Nina Kuroz stood by the hearth, her delicate hands deftly stirring a bubbling pot of stew. Her long ebony hair was pulled back in a practical braid, a few rebellious strands framing her face.

"Mom," Zoh called out, his voice trembling with barely contained excitement. "Allow me to assist you in cleaning the house."

Nina turned, her eyebrows arching in surprise. Her son, volunteering to clean? This was unusual. A knowing smile played on her lips as she wiped her hands on her apron.

"Has something wonderful occurred, my energetic son?" she inquired, her voice melodious and warm.

Zoh couldn't contain himself any longer. The news burst forth like water from a broken dam.

"Dad will teach me how to use a sword because I'm finally big enough!" he exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his eyes shining with unbridled joy.

Nina's expression softened, a mixture of pride and maternal concern washing over her features. My little boy, already dreaming of swords and knights, she thought. Where has the time gone?

"Ah, my son is growing up," she said, her voice tinged with a bittersweet note that was lost on the excited child. She gestured toward the broom leaning against the wall. "Go ahead and tidy up. It's almost time for us to eat."

Zoh attacked his chores with unprecedented enthusiasm. He swept the earthen floor with vigor, wiped down the wooden table until it gleamed, and even arranged the sleeping mats neatly in the corner. His mind raced with visions of himself wielding a magnificent sword, defending his village from bandits, earning the respect and admiration of everyone around him.

I'll be the greatest knight the Kingdom of Rish has ever seen, he thought, his chest swelling with determination. Everyone will know the name Zoh Kuroz!

As dusk painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, Zoh ventured outside to call his father for dinner. Matt was sitting on a stone by the edge of their property, his sword laid across his knees as he polished the blade with methodical movements. The setting sun cast a golden glow upon the metal, making it seem as if it were forged from liquid fire.

"Dad," Zoh called, momentarily mesmerized by the sight. "Dinner's ready."

Matt looked up, nodding in acknowledgment. He sheathed his sword with practiced ease and rose to his feet. Together, they walked back to the house, Zoh practically vibrating with anticipation for the next day.

Inside, Nina had laid out a modest but hearty meal. The family gathered around the low table, kneeling on woven mats. After a brief prayer of gratitude to the gods for their provision, they began to eat. The stew was rich and flavorful, chunks of vegetables and rabbit meat swimming in a savory broth.

Nina studied her husband's face in the soft lamplight, noticing the contemplative gleam in his eyes. She knew that look well; Matt was deep in thought, likely planning Zoh's training regimen.

"Dear," she began, breaking the comfortable silence. "Our son mentioned that you will teach him the ways of the sword tomorrow. Is that true?"

Matt met her gaze, understanding the unspoken concern in her question. Teaching a child swordplay was not without its risks. Injuries, although minor, were almost inevitable. Yet, he also saw the fire in his son's eyes, a reflection of his own at that age.

"Yes," he confirmed, his voice steady. "He has reached the right age for training." He reached across the table, placing his calloused hand over Nina's slender one. "Do not worry, I will take care of it."

Nina nodded, her trust in her husband absolute. If Matt deemed Zoh ready, then ready he was. Still, a mother's heart would always worry.

That night, as Zoh lay on his sleeping mat, sleep eluded him. His mind raced with images of sword fights and heroic deeds. He imagined himself standing tall, a knight's cloak billowing behind him, his sword raised high. The village children would look up to him, the adults would respect him, and his parents would burst with pride.

Tomorrow, he thought, a smile playing on his lips as he finally drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow, I begin my journey.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***