The training grounds were nearly empty by evening.
Most students had already finished their drills and gone back to the dormitories or dining hall.
A few stragglers remained.
I claimed one of the smaller practice rings near the back, away from prying eyes.
The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the packed dirt. The air was cool, carrying the faint smell of sweat and steel.
I picked up a practice sword from the nearby rack, testing its weight.
Balanced.
I moved through the basic forms, footwork drills, guard positions, simple strikes.
One. Two. Three. Four.
My body had improved, due to the vigorous training I had put myself into, since I recovered from poisoning.
But it wasn't enough.
I kept going, pushing through the fatigue as my muscles burned and my breathing grew labored.
Sweat dripped down my face, soaking into my collar.
Again.
Again.
...
By the time I finally stopped, my arms felt like lead and my legs were shaking.
