(OPHELIA)
The wooden practice daggers struck together with a crack that rattled up my forearms.
"Faster," Julio barked. "Silver Crest guards don't give you three seconds to think!"
He swung his padded quarterstaff in a low, sweeping arc directly at my ankles.
Previously, I would have stumbled, panicked, or taken the hit full-force. That very day coming to mind.
Today, I didn't even blink. I had put any form of distraction behind me.
I vaulted over the spinning wood, tucked into a tight roll across the dusty cobblestones of the training grounds, and came up on my feet, spinning to plant the tip of my practice blade half an inch from Julio’s throat.
The Gamma froze mid-stance. Sweat dripped down his nose, his eyes wide with genuine shock before a massive grin broke across his face
