At the center of the training field, Kael stood, holding his sword in a grounded stance. His feet were planted shoulder-width apart, right slightly back, knees bent in a relaxed coil. His blade hovered diagonally, gleaming under the afternoon light, as if poised to leap from his hand. His breathing was steady. His gaze—sharp and focused.
Before him stood Vic, Barret, and Chris—all experienced and respected fighters in the territory. All of them had drawn their blades, a serious look in their eyes.
Kael's posture was disciplined, but as his ears caught the whispers from the onlookers, one brow twitched.
His stance almost faltered.
"Genius... Reaching A-rank within 8 months, they think, is the work of a genius? Are these people idiots?" Kael cursed inwardly, exasperated.
Hearing the scoff in his tone, Vic and Barret's lips twitched with amusement.
