The staff cracked against Lucian's ribs before he caught the motion. A clean hit. Abnet stepped back with a smooth pivot, feet light, grip firm, posture relaxed as if the strike had cost him nothing.
Lucian let out a sharp breath and circled left. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck. The courtyard stones shimmered in the late sun. Abnet waited for him, calm as a man watching a kettle warm.
Lucian lunged.
The attack had speed but lacked something deeper. Abnet parried with a short twist, caught Lucian's wrist with the end of the staff, and tapped his forearm with enough force to sting. Lucian's blade illusion broke along its edge for a heartbeat. His balance wavered.
"Again," Abnet said.
Lucian raised his guard, though his fingers shook under the strain.
