The sun was already up, shining through the windows and lighting up the training yard.
Fenric stood in the middle of the yard.
There was no one around. No servants. No instructors. No one watching him.
Just him and his breath.
He held a wooden sword in his hands. It wasn't heavy, but after enough swings, it started to strain his muscles.
He swung it again. A diagonal cut.
Then again.
He stepped forward, pivoted, then stepped back.
He repeated the basic moves over and over. At first, he felt tired fast, but after a while, his breathing became steady. His arms still hurt, but they weren't shaking anymore.
Sweat soaked his shirt. A drop ran down his face, but he didn't wipe it.
His focus stayed on his body and his movements.
Strike. Reset. Step. Block. Breathe.
He wasn't fast. Not yet. But his moves were smoother than before. He was improving. Slowly.
He didn't use any special technique. Just the basics.
