Dawn bled over the horizon, painting the training yard in shades of pink and gold that did nothing to warm the bitter air. Soren's muscles already screamed in protest as Kaelor strapped yet another weight to his forearm, the leather cuff biting into skin already raw from yesterday's punishment.
"Too slow," Kaelor growled, tightening the strap until Soren couldn't suppress a wince. "Pain is just weakness leaving the body. You've got plenty to spare."
The old swordmaster stepped back, his single eye narrowed in assessment. With his white hair catching the early light and his scarred face set in lines of perpetual disappointment, he looked like some vengeful spirit sent to torment those who dared aspire beyond their station.
Soren lifted the practice blade, its weight multiplied by the iron discs now strapped to both arms.
