The ring of torches painted the training ground in restless, flickering gold. Shadows leapt like predators across the dirt as soldiers crowded in, forming a jagged circle around Luca and his opponent. The air was thick with sweat, smoke from nearby forges, and the metallic tang of oiled steel.
No one was smiling.
They weren't here for sport.
They were here to see blood.
The Cavalry Head's voice was deep and final.
"Fight."
The man was moving before the last syllable left the Head's lips. His boots tore into the dirt, sword flashing in the torchlight, not angled for a test strike but for a clean kill — straight for Luca's ribs.
Luca's reflexes caught it, his blade ringing as it met steel. The impact sent a jolt up his arm, hard enough to ache. That's not a greeting blow… that's war steel.
The man followed with a vicious overhead slash. Luca rolled to the side, dirt kicking up around him. The crowd roared — not in admiration, but in hunger.
"Faster!"
"Crush him!"
