Xavier's arms burned, aching in his joints.
His laser dagger caught the serrated edge of Ethan's blade for the sixth time, and the impact shuddered through his wrist.
Sparks fanned across the narrow gap between them.
Ethan pressed forward again and again.
Meanwhile, Xavier deflected high, parried low, and deflected again.
Something was wrong.
He had trained under the Marshal himself, back in the Academy. He had sparred against Grayson before his abrupt retirement almost every time they met.
Xavier knew what a fight to the death felt like.
But this wasn't it.
Ethan had no ego in his swordwork. Just brandishing his saw-blade over and over, probing for the cut that would end it.
But he wasn't really trying hard to hit him dead.
And Xavier was starting to suspect he was just toying with him.
The laser dagger was shorter, lighter—a sidearm, not a dueling weapon. The reach disadvantage alone should have finished Xavier inside the first exchange.
