There was something he’d learned fighting the knights of Azpen. If you only stayed on the defensive just to endure, you'd end up dying without doing a thing.
Now, it was something he understood through experience.
Enkrid stepped forward, swinging his sword. He pressed into the earth with boots stained by black blood.
Sword and foot moved as one.
He had learned something watching Oara’s strikes. This was a slash infused with that lesson.
He merged his footwork with his sword technique. All he did was strike as he stepped forward, but of course, it wasn’t that easy.
It had taken more than sixty days to engrain this into his body.
