The rest of the afternoon blurred into a grueling sequence of clacking wood and bruised flesh. Solomon fully embraced his role as a strict disciplinarian, transforming the dirt ring into a nightmare for the royal guards.
Every five minutes, a loud smack echoed across the courtyard. A tall sentry attempted the spinning deflection, but his shoulders remained entirely rigid. Solomon stepped inside the man's guard and drove a swift left hook directly into his cheekbone.
"Your kinetic transfer is completely broken," Solomon critiqued, watching the soldier stumble into the dirt with a bleeding lip.
He moved to the next man in line. The guard swung his wooden sword in a clumsy, forceful chop. Solomon slapped the blade aside and delivered a punishing jab to the man's nose. "You locked your ankles again. Let the momentum carry you."
