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In the training ground of the Royal Academy, where Leon had not set foot for nearly a year now, a lone boy swung his sword. No—perhaps “boy” was no longer the right word for him.
His broad frame was packed with lean, honed muscle, and the last traces of baby fat were gone from his face, leaving behind a young man who could no longer be mistaken for a child. His sword cut cleanly through the air of the yard, splitting the drifting wind in two.
With a pleasant swish, a flawless, razor-sharp vertical slash was executed. Had someone been standing there, they would have found their helmet and skull cleaved in half without a doubt—and he didn’t even need to use Aura for it.
The human body was far stronger and more capable than most thought. If one built that foundation without compromise and learned to wield it perfectly, splitting a person in two—even without Aura—was no great feat.
Finishing that stroke, the young man—Lyon—lowered his blade and exhaled. That single breath vented the heat gathered in his chest. The early chill of the season turned his breath to mist, curling like thin fog around his lips.
He had been swinging that sword for over three hours. Muscles burning this hot would not cool with a few minutes’ rest....
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