The morning sun rose clear and sharp, gilding the sprawling grounds of Leclair's estate with golden light. The seaside retreat of the previous evening now felt like a memory from another world. Here, stone walls framed a vast training yard, carefully maintained and brimming with equipment: wooden dummies, sparring rings marked in sand, racks of weapons polished to perfection, and enchanted devices designed to push even the strongest to their limits.
The estate was silent except for the steady rhythm of exertion—the clash of steel, the hum of magic, and the occasional bark of effort. It was a place where warriors forged their edge, and where mistakes were punished swiftly.
The group gathered in the main arena, a wide, circular space with tiered seats for observers. The ground itself was reinforced with runes that absorbed impact, preventing the stone from shattering under the strain of Laws clashing.
