Chapter 16: Sword Art
Darkness still enveloped the palace grounds when Grim dragged himself from bed the next morning. His muscles ached from yesterday's river training, and his head throbbed with the lingering cold sensation of the frozen dew berry. But anticipation pushed away his discomfort—today he would prove himself worthy of seeing the Ambrose scrolls.
The eastern training ground was different from their usual practice area—larger, more open, with scarred training posts and weathered stone tiles that had seen generations of combat practice. Dawn was just a faint promise on the horizon when Grim arrived, his practice sword in hand.
Rowan was already there, standing motionless in the center of the grounds. He wore no armor, just his standard training clothes, and carried his wooden practice sword loosely at his side.
"You're late," he said, though Grim knew he was actually early.
"The sun's not even up," Grim muttered, taking position across from his father.
"Your opponents won't always wait for daylight." Rowan raised his sword to a defensive position. "Today's test is simple. Land a single strike on me."
Grim blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it. I won't attack, only defend. You have until the breakfast bell rings—about two hours. Begin whenever you're ready."
Grim studied his father carefully. Simple, Rowan had said. But nothing with his father was ever truly simple. There had to be a catch.
"Fine." Grim took his stance, sword raised. "Let's do this."
He lunged forward with a basic strike—a probing attack to test his father's defenses. Rowan barely seemed to move, yet his practice sword intercepted Grim's with effortless precision.