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The mansion near the slums was a place where not even a passerby remained after sundown, yet lately, one visitor had been coming consistently.
“Keugh!”
Leon let out a short groan.
The hand gripping the sword hilt was trembling violently, and his sweat-drenched body steamed with heat. Not even the hundreds of laps he once ran on the Academy training grounds had left him this exhausted.
He stood frozen, holding the Holy Sword raised horizontally, fully ready to thrust it forward at the enemy before him.
El-Cid, upon seeing the tremble in his stance, demanded, —Focus.
It had been more than thirty minutes now in the bull stance, the form of a forward thrust. Contrary to its offensive appearance, it was renowned for its defensive utility.
Leon had practiced it countless times at the Academy. And yet his entire body now shook as if convulsing. It wasn’t because of the sword’s weight.
T-this is killing me…!
If it were only about holding a stance, he could endure all day. His body had been trained to its limits, and with El-Cid’s inscription of Acquired Martial Root, he had surpassed those limits. He could bend coins with two fingers or balance on a single toe.
There was no reason to tremble under a mere one-kilogram lump of metal, so why was he...
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