The training ground behind the inn was a flat expanse of packed dirt with practice dummies lining one wall and weapon racks rusting in the morning humidity and absolutely nothing pretty about it, which meant it was perfect for what Dante had in mind.
"Again."
Astrid was drenched in sweat, her platinum hair matted against her forehead while she panted with her axe drooping in her grip and her arms shaking from exhaustion. They spent the last three hours drilling formations and she looked ready to collapse.
"My arms feel like wet noodles," she growled, but she raised the axe anyway because giving up wasn't in her vocabulary. "You're a sadist, you know that? A genuine, certified, guild-licensed sadist."
"I've been called worse." Dante watched her stance with eyes that missed nothing, cataloging the micro-adjustments her body made as she tried to maintain her form. "You're compensating with your right shoulder again. It's bleeding power from your swing."
"My right shoulder is fine."
