"Keep your chin up! Don't look at my legs, look at me!" Dosav's voice boomed across the training yard, startling a few birds nearby. Judge winced. Why did it always sound like he was getting yelled at, even when the man wasn't mad? Dosav was normally pretty chill, but the moment swords got involved, he turned into a drill sergeant with a grudge.
Judge sighed. Swordsmanship wasn't exactly his forte. He'd picked up a few things from Seraphis— though honestly, 'learning' might have been a generous term for what was essentially survival training with occasional visits to the ozone layer.
When you are in an adult body, fending off an ether infused attack was one thing, but if you think fighting Seraphis was hard, try being a four year old trying a grown man's swordwork— it redefined nightmares, and his nightmares normally involved wine.
