From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman
Chapter 3: Blood in the Palm
The sword handle slipped.
Just for a second.
Leon caught it mid-swing, adjusted his grip, and finished the motion—but it was wrong. His stance was off, and the edge dragged through the air like a rusted weight.
He growled and lowered it.
The old ironwood was soaked with sweat. His hands were blistered and raw, and where the skin hadn't split, it threatened to. He turned his palm. One deep line ran across the middle, red and wet.
He didn't wipe it.
He stepped back to the center of the ring.
Reset.
Again.
He raised the blade, locked his shoulders, and cut low. The sword moved through the motion cleaner this time. Not fast. Not strong. But cleaner.
That was enough for now.
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