“What is swordsmanship, really?”
Oara asked that question after their spar. They weren’t even in a proper training yard—it was just a backyard.
Enkrid was kneeling on one knee, clutching his abdomen.
He had dodged a vertical slash, and the follow-up thrust as well.
He’d seen that move many times before. With his sense for evasion honed, he could avoid it.
But while he managed to dodge the swordplay, Oara had immediately closed the distance after her swing and slammed her palm into his gut.
The impact pierced through his organs and felt like it burst out his back. It was a miracle he hadn’t coughed up blood.
