"Hey, you’ve been staring for a while now, tell me what you think," she asked.
"Sorry for spying on you, I just came to train and saw you here," Michael apologized.
"Don’t worry, I noticed you from the time you walked in here," she said.
When Michael heard her, he was very shocked because he was sure he didn’t make any sound when walking inside.
"Let me guess, you have sensitivity to your surroundings, right?" Michael said, and she nodded.
"A swordsman should be sensitive to their surroundings and keep up with their opponents," she said.
Michael nodded and decided to move to the other side of the training center, but before he could, she called him back.
"Hey, creep boy, you said you came here to train. Can you spar with me then?" she asked.
"I’m not really a sword type, actually," Michael said while scratching the back of his head.
"It doesn’t matter. Just spar with me," she insisted.
"But I’m not that good, and I’m sure you can beat me in seconds," Michael said.
"Fine," she said, and Michael was glad because he didn’t want to get beaten up by a girl.
"Then I can help train you," she offered. The rightful source is ⓝovelFire.net
"Really?" Michael was shocked. He didn’t understand why she would want to train him after all he was the competition.
"Why would you do that?" Michael asked, trying to find out her reasons.
"I’m bored of just swinging my sword. If I’m to get better practice, I need an opponent who is able to think and react to the situation," she said.
Michael nodded; after all, it made sense.
"Don’t worry, I’ll just be teaching you the basics, and you can train your battle style. The more we train, the better," she offered.
Michael didn’t know if he should accept, but he decided to anyway. This was an opportunity to upgrade his skills and get stronger.
"Fine, I’ll spar with you, and in exchange, you’ll help me, okay?" Michael said.
"Great. Summon your weapon. I’ll go easy on you," she said and immediately Michael summoned the obsidian blade fang daggers.
"So, you’re a dagger user. I can work with that," she said while drawing out her sword.
"Are you ready?" she asked, and Michael nodded.
Michael tightened his grip on the obsidian fang daggers, the cool metal reassuring in his hands.
She raised her sword slowly, the blade glinting under the training center’s dim lights.
Without warning, she lunged forward with a powerful slash aimed at his midsection.
Michael barely twisted his body in time, the air buzzing as her sword sliced just past him.
He countered quickly, driving one dagger toward her side, but she parried with ease, sparks flying as metal met metal.
She smiled confidently, circling him like a predator assessing its prey.
Michael forced himself to stay calm, matching her pace with small, calculated steps.
Suddenly, she feinted left and then spun right, aiming a sweeping cut at his legs.
Michael jumped back, landing firmly and retaliating with a rapid series of jabs.
The daggers flashed, but each strike was deflected expertly.
She flicked her wrist, sending her sword tip flickering dangerously close to his neck.
Michael ducked and rolled to the side, quickly springing up to slash diagonally.
She blocked with her sword hilt and rammed her free hand into his chest, testing his balance.
Michael staggered but recovered, recognizing how finely tuned her movements were.
"Good reflexes," she said, eyes bright with challenge.
Michael nodded, wiping sweat from his brow.
She lunged again, faster this time, using the momentum to deliver a low strike.
Michael countered with a spinning dagger strike, grazing her forearm.
The brief contact set off a jolt of energy through him, and he realized this wasn’t just physical power but skill honed through countless battles.
Breathing heavier, Michael pressed forward, aiming a precise strike at her ribs.
She twisted gracefully, avoiding the blow, and caught his wrist, twisting it to make him drop one dagger.
Without pause, she kicked his side, forcing him down to one knee.
But Michael wasn’t done.
With a swift movement, he summoned every ounce of strength, slashing with the remaining dagger and knocking her sword aside.
She laughed, raising her sword again. "Not bad at all."
They both circled once more, muscles burning, minds sharpened.
The fight was a dance, each waiting for the other to slip.
Michael felt a new fire inside—this was more than a sparring match; it was a lesson in survival.
She nodded approvingly. "You’re a fast learner. Let’s keep going."
Michael would have loved to say no, but before he could even protest, she lunged forward again, sword aimed straight at him with.
Michael barely managed to raise his daggers in time, blocking the powerful strike that sent a jolt through his arms. Breathing hard, Michael felt adrenaline kick in as their clash echoed through the training center.
This time he tried to be more aggressive—feinting left, then darting right, aiming a quick jab at her ribs. She twisted effortlessly, countering with a swift kick that grazed his side.
"Not bad," she teased, eyes flashing. "But you need more speed and precision to keep up."
Michael wiped sweat from his brow and forced a grin. "Easy for you to say!"
They circled again, each waiting for the other to make the next move. The tension rose as the sparring became faster, their weapons flashing in a lethal rhythm—her sword sweeping wide and powerful, his daggers striking quick and close.
Time slowed for Michael as he focused on every breath, every small shift in her stance.
Then, spotting a tiny opening, he lunged forward, dagger aiming for her hand.
She blocked, but just barely, and it was enough—Michael felt a rush of confidence flood him.
"Got you!" he whispered to himself.
Michael’s breaths came in sharp gasps, each inhale burning his lungs like fire. His legs trembled beneath him as he struggled to stay upright.
Leia’s sword hovered mere inches from his chest, the intensity in her eyes both fierce and respectful.
"I’ve seen enough," she said softly, lowering her blade.
"You fought well, considering how little training you’ve had," she said.
Michael swallowed hard, wiping the sweat from his face. His heart pounded—not just from exhaustion but from pride swelling in his chest.
Despite the defeat, he felt something awaken inside him.
"I’m Michael," he managed, voice hoarse as he looked up at her.
Leia sheathed her sword, her relaxed posture betraying the warrior beneath.
"Leia," she said. "Remember that name."
They shared a moment of silent understanding, two fighters bound by respect forged in battle.
Leia smiled, stepping back toward the exit.
"Same time, same place. We’ll do this again, spar. Train."
Michael tried to stand taller, summoning the last of his strength.
As she disappeared from sight, the empty training center felt less daunting.
Michael sank down, cradling his daggers.
There was still time, so Michael rested before continuing his training, because he was planning on showing his strength in the ranking and going all the way to the top.