Chapter 37: First Blood
"Not so confident now, are you?" Verin gloated, sensing victory.
Grim finally spoke, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
"I was just wondering how someone can train for years and still be so fucking awful," he said, loud enough for the gathered nobles to hear. "Did your father pay your instructors to pretend you had talent, or are they just as incompetent as you are?"
Verin's face reddened with rage. "You little...."
"Is that a family trait?" Grim continued, his tone casual despite being backed nearly to the edge of the clearing. "Making empty threats and failing to follow through? Like father, like son, I suppose."
The taunt had its intended effect. Verin's next attack was wild, overextended, fueled by anger rather than technique. Grim ducked under it easily.
"How many mana hearts does he have?" Grim silently asked the voice.
[One heart at approximately 70% capacity,] the voice replied. [Fire affinity. Not particularly strong, but adequate for his age.]
"One heart," Grim muttered under his breath. "Pathetic."
He stopped retreating abruptly, planting his feet firmly on the ground. The change in his demeanor was subtle but unmistakable. The nervous youth being driven back was gone, replaced by something more dangerous.
"Playtime's over," Grim announced.