I spat on the dirt ground and threw my opponent a disgusted glare. Across from me on the make-shift circle that served as the training grounds' fighting arena, Xavier Vaughn was trying to catch his breath, his right arm hanging limply at his side with his hand clutching the hilt of his katana like his life depended on it. He was exhausted, bloody, and bruised.
I couldn't stand the sight of him. Before my sleep, he would've bested me in any sword fight nine times out of ten. After four centuries, it took half a dozen strikes from me to completely wear him down.
"We've only been at this for about ten minutes, Vaughn." I watched as the fresh wound the tip of my katana most recently inflicted upon him quickly closed up and healed.
"I haven't done this in centuries, Novak." Xavier never did address me as his prince or superior. It was one thing I liked about him. "I'm a little bit rusty."
