A couple of days later, the sun blazed mercilessly overhead, casting its scorching rays upon Desmond's expansive backyard. The oppressive heat might have drained the energy of mere mortals, but Desmond remained unaffected. With unwavering determination, he stood tall amidst the lush meadow, his left hand gripping a gleaming sword.
Swing... Swing...
The rhythmic sound of his blade slicing through the air reverberated beneath the chorus of chirping birds. Each powerful swing sent a gust of wind swirling around him, a testament to his unparalleled skill and finesse.
"50," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a hint of satisfaction.
Swoosh!
Rivulets of sweat cascaded down Desmond's body, saturating the verdant grass and drenching his attire. Beads of perspiration clung to his tousled hair, only to be whisked away by the sheer force of his relentless swordplay.
