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... rough the training yard, his boots crunching on the dew-laden gravel. His shoulders throbbed from the drills of yesterday, yet he embraced the discomfort—it was evidence.

Proof that each day, he was dragging his past self closer to the grave.

Sir Alric stood ahead, arms folded behind his back, eyes narrowed. The man didn't waste time with greetings. "Today, you spar against steel."

No blunted wooden swords. No armor. Just the raw edge of live steel, like in the battlefiel ...

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