The next day, early morning.
Next to the pavilion in the Franzer family courtyard, Reiger held a wooden sword in an attacking stance, but his eyes were tightly shut.
He maintained his posture without change, his sword-holding hand showing not the slightest tremor, the entire person immobile, as if transformed into a statue of a swordsman.
"Breathe—in—"
While his body remained motionless, Reiger gently breathed in, taking in large amounts of air at times, then exhaling it.
His breathing rhythm became very strange; sometimes fast, sometimes slow, at times loud, and at times barely audible, even the volume of inhale and exhale varied.
Just a second ago, Reiger had inhaled a large amount of air, but after a while, the amount of air he exhaled was pitifully small.
Just a moment before, the air Reiger inhaled wasn't much, but when he exhaled, the amount was significant.
Reiger continued to breathe in this peculiar rhythm and manner.
