Eric stood in a large yard, surrounded by open space with nothing within a 100-meter radius. The air was clear and pleasant—perfect for training.
He was clutching a dull wooden sword in his right hand, standing before Grandmaster Gryndor. The reason he wasn't using his cursed sword was because there was always the danger of accidentally striking Gryndor and dooming his soul.
Taking a deep breath, Eric gathered his strength in his legs as he dashed with everything he had.
Raising his sword, he was prepared to strike.
"Weak," Gryndor spoke as he effortlessly blocked Eric's slashes with one hand.
"You are slashing aimlessly, hoping that your attacks connect with your opponent," Gryndor explained as he kicked Eric in the chest and sent him flying away.
Eric grunted for a moment as he stood up and asked Gryndor, "Then how am I supposed to attack?"
