The wooden practice staff met Julio’s practice broadsword with a sharp, deafening crack that vibrated straight through the bones of my forearms.
"You need to focus," the Gamma said as he shoved me backward with a flick of his wrist. "Your footwork is loose. You’re over-committing on the left pivot."
I stumbled across the dirt ring, my boots dragging in the gravel of the main courtyard. My chest heaved and my lungs burned as I wiped a streak of sweat and grime from my forehead with the back of my leather forearm guard.
"Again," I panted, resetting my stance and gripping the hickory staff tight.
It was seven in the morning, and I had been pushing myself to the absolute limit for two hours.
Now one would wonder why I was even doing this, considering how much my combat skill level was.
