As they arrived at the private training grounds of Percival mansion, the blade in Christina's hand gleamed under the midday sun, her feet planted firmly on the ground as her stance lowered into an aggressive posture. Her eyes—sharp, unwavering—were locked on the man standing across from her. A man with no weapon, no armor, no shirt, and no fear.
Shennong.
She had watched him earlier, closely, silently. The way his movements bent around the logic of swordplay. He didn't carry blades. He summoned them. From the air itself, as if the very elements whispered into his palms which made her assume Shennong was a mage.
But she also noticed something she didn't want to notice. Shennong was the most handsome man she had met. The prince of the sturgon could not even come close to this man in terms of looks, and for some reason he reminded her of Princess Maria, who dangerously looked similar to this man.
Christina's grip on her sword tightened.
