CLUNG!
CLUNG!
CLUNG!
Jorel's body was a furious blur, each strike of his wooden sword a testament to the storm raging inside him. He moved with a brutal, almost desperate energy, his blows heavier, faster, than anything a training spar should demand.
The soldier opposite him, a veteran accustomed to the daily drills, grunted, his own wooden blade meeting Jorel's with a clatter that echoed through the outer heaven. He struggled, forced back step by agonizing step.
"Get up!" Jorel snarled, his voice a low growl, as he slammed his blade down, forcing the soldier to drop to one knee. "You call that fighting?!"
"But sir---" The soldier tried to object, but Jorel cut him off, pressing the attack.
