Martis' chest rose and fell with sharp breaths, his muscles already straining. Edwin, by contrast, stood with his sword casually at his side, his golden hair unruffled, his breathing even.
Martis grit his teeth. He's toying with me.
With a roar, he lunged again, swinging in a flurry that blurred his blade into streaks of silver.
Edwin countered each one, sparks flying in rapid succession, their clash producing a sound like rolling thunder.
And then—Edwin moved.
In a flash, his sword slipped past Martis' guard, the tip grazing his opponent's cheek. A thin line of blood blossomed.
The crowd gasped as Martis staggered back, his hand instinctively brushing his face. His eyes widened. That strike had been so fast, he hadn't even seen it coming.
Edwin smirked faintly, his tone calm and confident. "You're strong, Martis. But strength alone isn't enough."
The words stung like salt in an open wound. Martis growled, his pride refusing to let him bow.
