A long shadow stretched across the training ground as I tightened my grip on the sword, my knuckles whitening. With all my strength, I slashed at the air, the blade cutting through it with a faint hum, sharp and precise.
I paused, steadying the blade in front of me. A small chuckle escaped my lips as a thought crossed my mind.
If Reed saw me now, he'd probably start his endless nagging, calling this a waste of effort. And Roderick? He'd just mock me, claiming I was disgracing the sword by not following the traditional path of a swordsman.
I adjusted my stance, holding the sword straight toward my chest, and smiled. They'd never understand. The sword wasn't just a weapon to me. It was something more—something personal.
My mother had taught me how to wield it, after all.
