"Haaah... haaah..."
Smack, smack, smack!
A lonely figure stood in the middle of the dilapidated dojo with two shortswords in hand. He was a young man with messy black hair, a clean-shaven face, and a skinny body.
Sweat dripped down his shirtless body and fell to the cracked floor. His body was skinny, lacking any masculine muscle tone. If there was anyone watching, they would wonder whether he was intentionally starving himself.
"Ha!" Ambrose shouted and slammed his shortswords into the wooden dummy. He then reeled back his swords and slashed repeatedly into the wooden torso of the dummy as if it were his mortal enemy.
'Slow, sloppy, and weak.'
Words echoed in his ears.
"I don't need speed. I need strength!" Ambrose shouted and slashed one more time. This time, he left behind two tiny scratches on the dummy.
He breathed heavily and plopped down on the floor.
