Chapter 127: A Letter in the Snow
I sidestepped to the right, my sword flashing up just in time to deflect Aeron’s strike. The impact rattled through my arms, but I held firm, twisting my wrist to redirect his momentum.
Aeron staggered back a step, surprise flickering across his face before he grinned and lunged again. His blade cut through the cold air in a silver arc—faster this time, his form flawless.
I parried, countering with a slash that forced him to retreat.
Again.
And again.
Our swords clashed in the training yard, steel ringing against steel, snow crunched underfoot as we circled each other, breaths misting in the cold air. Around us, snowflakes swirled, undisturbed by the ferocity of our duel.
To an outsider, we might have looked evenly matched. Neither of us gained ground; neither of us faltered. But if someone watched closely—really watched—they’d see the truth.
Aeron’s swordsmanship could be called art. Every movement flowed into the next, his footwork flawless, his technique refined to near perfection. He had the instincts of a prodigy, the kind of talent people spent lifetimes chasing and still couldn’t grasp.
And me?
I leaned more towards brute force, reflexes, and pure, unfiltered instinct.
I wasn’t using any skills either. No echo of life, no Observant Eye. Just my own honed senses and the strength I’d carved into my body through sheer, relentless training. And also the kind of battle IQ that came from surviving Virion’s idea of "sparring."